I must have been a late bloomer. I was already in sixth grade and still I didn’t think much of girls as attractive. Well, I should say, attractive in a sexual way. I have always admired beauty even as a kindergartener. I could tell whether a woman was handsome or homely looking. But sexually attractive? No. Give me a break. Not for me.

Calesas were the main mode of transportation at the time specially for us who couldn’t afford a bicycle – or walking. Imagine a typical calesa packed three people to a bench. Three in the rear, three in the middle and two in front including the coachman. I dreaded getting stuck in the middle, in between two girls  – whether in the rear seat or the middle seat. I volunteered to ride shotgun even during inclement weather. I preferred dealing with the elements than being sandwiched between two girls. It gave me a strange feeling.

Then something happened.

Freshman year high school arrived with much fanfare. I was moonstruck and didn’t even realize it. The girl who lived next door, whose company I dreaded before this mysterious behavior change, gradually morphed into a beautiful, winsome, and alluring creature. She and the other girls who rode the calesas to school suddenly all looked like delicious morsels ready to be devoured.

I was struck by lightning or something and I have lost my ability to reason. I was bitten by a bug the venom of which had turned me into a woman chaser. My nocturnal dreams were of girls and so were my day dreams. Girls, girls, girls.

Their freshly starched and neatly ironed school uniforms smelled of the great outdoors. Their shampooed hair looked shiny and felt silky to the touch. To sit with them in the calesa no longer produced in me waves of strangely uncomfortable feelings. In fact, I savored such times and looked forward to riding the calesa with them. It was as if their close proximity brought about a new and vitally rejuvenating charge to my batteries.

I was going through a major change. I plunged into some perfunctory reading, conducted peer inquiries and quasi-research. I came upon the phenomenon of hormonal activity in the development of the human body. Totally fascinated I found it was interesting reading. I continued my voracious pursuit of more information, reading everything and anything about how our bodies go through great, earth-shattering changes as hormonal activity intensifies and ebbs during certain phases of human sexuality development.

As it turned out, my highly combustible behavior and puerile attitude toward the fairer sex was normal. Thank goodness for that. I thought I was turning into a maniac, what with all those years of repressed social/sexual/economic needs that were largely left unmet, wanton desires unfulfilled, and longings unanswered. My body was trying to play catch up. It was trying to make up for lost time.

Yet there was a certain clumsiness in the way I conducted my routine operations. I wanted to be suave and debonair – just like the cigarette advertisements proclaimed – but like an overgrown puppy I was clumsy, lumbering and tripping all over myself. I suffered from hoof-in-mouth disease and engaged my mouth way before I could depress the clutch and shift gears. It was a terrible time. There was nothing smooth about it. I wanted so much to be all grown up but could only accomplish little to change my juvenile image.

By senior year things have calmed down some. I sensed the infusion of self-confidence building by quantum leaps helped by the pre-military training program offered in high school. It was just as well. I was looking at going to college. Ah… university – the next frontier. High school and all its self-inflicted tribulations will be a distant memory. I concluded I was swimming from the small pond to the open sea. It will be a new world.