Was I a famous and friendly guy? Yes it was me. At school I was known by everyone. I was smart and friendly. But I was not a happy guy when it comes to romantic relationship. I had always fallen in love with girls who didn't even care about me or who would hurt me. Especially for these girls I used to wear my heart in my hands. It was, I used to fall in love with them easily.
I was funny, and it helped me to have all the friends who would later hurt me or make me feel humiliated in my life.
But these pains and these devastations helped me grow. They helped me become a better man, and I learned from them.
I just graduated from a community college. I attended a public university. During the first week of the school, anyone living in the dorms would normally stay out to meet new people and get to know them.
I was out sitting on a black chair in front of my door apartment. When I sat I saw two girls passing by. "Hey," one of them said. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," I replied. "What is it about you?"
"Normal, as usual," she replied. "What's your name?"
"Nicky" I said.
Nicky was a nickname that everyone used to call me; as a result, it became my favorite. It meant that if someone asked me what I called, I would say I am Nicky.
Usually, even though I was friendly, I never started a conversation with someone I didn't know. I was shy when it came to it. People I didn't know were usually the initiators of almost every first conversation.
When these people became my friends, they would feel surprised that they didn't expect me to be so open with them.
"My name is Sarah," said the girl.
Sarah was beautiful. She had long hair. For me, she was one of the most beautiful girls ever on earth. She did not, however, impress me so much because I felt more attracted to the other girl, the girl who was with her.
"What's your name?" I asked the other girl.
She smiled and said nothing.
Sara told her that Sarah was petting her right shoulder, "He's talking to you."
"Mhmh," she muttered. "My name is Jenny."
"Why do you give him the wrong name?" said Sarah. "Her name is Camellia."
I answered Sarah, "thank you."
Sara was twenty years old as she told me. She was a junior at the university, a major in communication. She lived in the sixty eighth apartment. "I like your dress code," Sarah said. "I would like to be friends with you."
As usual, I liked to dress. I was known by all as a great agency then back at my community college. Several girls liked my style because of my dress code. As a result, many of them became my friends.
I told Sara that I was twenty-two years old, a junior with headquarters. I had passion for writing. "I live in this building," I told Sarah.
I changed the phone number with her. Before leaving, she gave me a hug.
I tried to shake hands with the other girl. "I'm not shaking hands," she said as she put her hands in her pocket.
"Shake hands with the man Camellia," Sarah gave. "Don't do something like that."
In a desperate way, Camellia gave me her left hand and I tenderly shook it.
When I shook my hand I could feel something. I could feel that there was something that struck and transformed within me that I could not describe. I felt so blessed that day to shake hands with her. However, I also felt that some of me seemed to say that something between me and her was not common.
As I got closer, I saw her rolled ears and her elegant nose. She whipped me with her nose, and I couldn't believe it. It was customary for her people. I counted. It was love at first light. Her bright, white-white teeth flashed as she pawed me with her movie star nails. Her hair was a radiant tumble of ray-gold and her virility-brown eyes set my heart a thump.
"Good night," Sarah said.
"Thank you," I replied. "Have a good night."
Sarah gave me a hug again before she left. She refrained from her right hand when I went to her apartment.
During that night I had met many people, especially women, but unfortunately Camellia was the one who experienced me.
Before I went home to go to university, my mother told me something. "Be careful with people, especially girls. In this country they have all the power," I remember she told me.
I had just been hurt in the past by someone who doesn't care about me. All I wanted at that time was someone to cure me, someone who really wants my heart and soul. I was looking for someone who would show me what love – something I had never experienced for a long time – was about.
I didn't want to get hurt again because I knew how it felt. "It's hurt," I told myself.
Even though I had been injured so much earlier, I still believed in love. I didn't try to avenge. I was ready to forgive anyone who had hurt me so that I could start over again.
It was something that had always happened to me in my life. The people I really loved never felt the same way I did and never cared about me, but those who loved me and care about me, I never felt the same way they did.
There were times I wondered, was it my fate?
I didn't decide for myself. It was the heart that decided.
My fate simply did not give me the chance to avoid these pains, these tears.
My heart was ready to love, but unfortunately it couldn't find the right person.
The next day had come. In the morning, Sara called me and asked me how I was doing.
I told her I was great. "How are you?" I asked. "How's your friend?"
She replied, "I'm doing okay, and she's doing well."
"That's fine," I said with a joyful voice.
Sarah said she spent the whole night thinking of me. She was thinking of calling me, but she didn't want to disturb me in sleep. "I thought you were sleeping," Sarah said.
I told Sara that I was thinking of Camellia. I wondered how could I get close to her?
She laughed desperately on the phone. She said in a desperate way, "Okay."
As usual, since I was home, I liked watching sports, especially basketball and football. One day I went to the village's main room. Many watched a football match on a large TV screen. I looked at the whole game with them. Everyone was noisy. Both teams played very well. Almost everyone was happy.
Since that day, it became commonplace for me to go and watch sports in that room. There were times when I was there and I used to see two police officers. I never talked to them. I was always quiet in the room.
One day one of the police asked what I called. "Why don't you ever talk?" they said. They told their names. I gave them my name in return.
Still, when I went to the room, I was always quiet. I never had a deep conversation with them.
It was a time that Sara called me. She told me that her father was a billionaire. He owned many companies and encouraged her to large corporations, but she was more interested in communication or journalism. She told me that her father paid for all her school fees.
"What is your father's name?" I asked her.
She told me that her father was named Christ.
When I asked her to tell a little about Camellia, she replied that Camellia was a multimillionaire. Her father was a football player, and her mother was a singer; As a result, it made her doomed or snobbish. "It might be why she didn't even want to shake hands when you first met her," Sarah said.
After Sarah told me I could feel something in me. I felt scared and small. From there I started thinking about how I could get in touch with Camellia. I had found no path despite all the deep thoughts.
When it came to me I was intelligent, but I didn't have the money. I came from a poor family. I trusted my parents to pay for my education. I did not get a contribution from the government, but I got one from the school that I came from because of my intelligence. My father was a farmer who worked all day and all night to educate me. My mom was a merchant and selling sweets on the street.
There were times that I struggled financially in the dormitory. After I paid for all my school fees, I had insufficient money to stick to the rest of almost every semester.
I didn't have a car, not even a bike too little.
My father's name was Jean Jacques. Being a farmer was not a big deal for my dad because he thought he did this kind of job to educate his children. He was thirty-five years old.
For that I had much more respect for my parents, and I made a commitment to myself so as not to disappoint them.
As usual at the university, I went to the pool every afternoon.
One day, in the afternoon, when I stepped into the pool, I saw Sarah, Camellia and a girl come.
When they arrived they told me, "Nicky, how are you doing?"
"I feel good," I replied to them as I got out at the pool to come and shake hands with them.
The pool was white lined as a sheet covering the bottom. The shape was that of a rectangle with the edges smooth and rounded. It was filled with sparkling water clear as the sky, not shady anywhere. It sloped gently and went far enough down so I couldn't guess the depth. Some parts were tiled, and the tiles glinted in the sun, making the water sparkling and shimmering even more. There were no waves – everything was still. The water was so calm. It looked like I could go out on it and just keep going forever, never get wet at all. Like a silver-smooth pavement, it was straight and formal in appearance. When I looked at it, my instinct would pop in, dive down, down, down … all the way to the bottom, however far it may be. When I looked closer and my first awe had a little bit, I noticed some special things. One was that there was a small lead just before the water started, and water was constantly rushing into it and fell in. I also saw the walls-the white, true. They also had small marks on them, mostly crosses and thick lines. I saw that these markings continued as tiles along the road at the bottom. These were the plates I had seen before, and I wondered about them.
"Her name is Betty," Sarah said as she pointed one of the fingers of the girl I had not met before.
"My name is Nicky," I told Betty.
After a while I looked at Camellia. She stopped speechlessly. She didn't want to get in touch with me. But I knew. I knew better why.
Without a doubt, I'll be back at the pool.
After a few minutes I talked to Betty, exchanging phone numbers with her. She welcomed me as her friend.
Even though I talked to Betty, even though Camellia saw it, she didn't say a word.
It was time for the pool to clean. The guy who was in charge came. He was big and had strong muscle. He came up with a lot of material, including a pool cleaner machine to do the job.
"Hello guys, I'm not going to be there later," he said. "Can you make me a thank you service? Can you let me clean the pool? I'm sorry for the trouble."
"Yes," we replied.
Camellia, Sarah, Betty, and I left the pool. I went to my room. When I arrived, I said goodbye to them and came inside. Camellia, Sarah and Betty went to their apartments.
After a couple of hours I went to the class.
The class was now over. I went to the village's main room, the IVP room, to watch TV.
The heat was playing. The room was full of people making noise. Usually, it had been in Florida for years because most were heat fans.
"Why don't you ever talk?" asked one of the officers.
"As usual, you are always silent," said the other official.
I secretly laughed at myself.
I was silent not only because I didn't want to talk but also because I thought about how I could be in a relationship with Camellia.
The officer said his name was Lieutenant Roro when he shook with me.
"My name is Evens," said the other official. "You're welcome to talk to us anytime. You can't be silent all the time."
When the game was over, I shook hands with them and said goodbye.
I would sleep.
The next day had come. It was a Saturday morning. Sara called me and asked me to go out with Betty, Camellia and her. She advised me to call Betty to confirm to her that I would go to the party.
I called Betty. I told her I was going to the party.
"Good" she answered.
Betty liked this opportunity to tell me she was twenty years old. She was a freshman at the community college.
I said a little to Betty about me.
After a visit Sara came with a 2012 BMW. It was the car of the year.
Betty, Camellia and Sarah were extremely beautiful. They came out in the car. They dressed very well.
"Hey Nick," I remember Sarah said when she got out in the car to hug me.
She kissed me on the front and on her mouth. She opened the car's door for me so that I could sit in. She closed the door for a while.
"How are you all doing?" I asked Betty and Camellia in the car.
"Good" Betty replied with an exciting voice.
Camellia, on the other hand, replied with a small voice that she didn't want to answer, "okay."
"Are you ready for the party?" asked Betty.
"Yes," I said. "I'm ready."
Sarah said, "Let's go."
She started the car and drove it.
When we arrived we went out into the car and went to where the party was.
The party took place in a pub, a drinking facility, which the local people came to relax and socialize after a hard working day or enjoy the weekend with friends and city dwellers. The choice of beer was varied as the local customers, and there were many docks originating from the local area, and there was a brewery behind the building with the metal's exterior hidden from the street. The walls were a variety of brown shades that glowed the golden from the yellow lights hanging from the beams. The interior had a warm glow to it which had a homely feel. This secret feeling caused the people to forget their concerns and chat with the locals. The pub was a place that wasn't too small, but not a nightclub either. Some people enjoyed beer, wine and spirits, but some sometimes delayed it if they were rowdy and had to leave. It was peaceful and homely once more. Eventually the townspeople left the pub for what some men call "their second home" with their wives and children. After a while, music played.
When I was at the party, "Do you want to dance with me?" Sarah asked me.
"Yes," I replied.
When I danced with Sarah I could feel something. I could feel within me that she knew me something. She felt something that seemed special. She danced with me in a way that no other girl had ever done before. Like I was more than her boyfriend, she danced with me. She hugged me and kissed me because she definitely wanted to give me something that was sacred during that night.
When I danced, Camellia was the only one in my mind. I looked at her as she sat somewhere with Betty.
"Why are you watching her?" said Sarah.
"I want to get in touch with her," I replied.
The music was now over. Sarah and I stopped dancing.
"Can you make me the favorite to dance this new music with me thank you?" I demanded tender Camellia.
She replied, "I don't want to dance Sr." But she danced the music with Betty.
Soon the pub was empty and then closed for the night, just repeating the same pattern for tomorrow.
We left the pub to go home.
Yet I didn't give up. I always wanted to talk to Camellia. She sometimes humiliated me, but I continued to do so. There were times when I tried to talk to her, she would go away without saying a word. When she did, I would follow her for a second chance. I would tell her, "Please talk to me. Why don't you want to talk to me?" She would use profanity to beat me.
I was so thirsty of her love. So I saw myself, but I wasn't stupid. I looked desperately.
I was so patient and tolerant of her.
Seeing her made me feel so blessed and so alive. I would sit at her class every day just for that.
She used to work at the university. I would sit outside the building she was working on so that I could see her or get in touch with her. When she came out, there were times I would say hello to her. If she didn't answer, I'd tell her when I followed her for a second chance, "Please speak to me." She would ask me to leave her alone or to stop irritating her. Sometimes I would answer carefully: "But I do the things I do because I care about you." Sometimes she would get angry with me.
In the country I went to study it was against the law to contact someone consistently or too much, especially if the person did not want to get in touch with you. It was a crime; As a result, they would regard you as a criminal. Subsequent someone was also unsuitable, especially when you improperly exercise the person when she did not want you to.
Back in my country it wasn't so much a big problem, especially if you loved the person, if you didn't try to hurt.
It was also a good thing in my country to hug someone, even if the person was a woman. When you hugged or kissed someone on the cheek, especially your parents or family members, you showed unity, friendship, love and respect.
Men kissed men on their cheeks and hugged as a way of showing love and unity.
Like any Haitian family, it was mandatory for children to kiss or hug their friends, community adults, or their family members after leaving school or church. If they didn't, their parents or the adults would beat them up. They would regard them as disrespectful children.
Shaking hands with a woman was also awkward and offensive. You had to hug or kiss the cheek.
It was offensive because when you shake hands with a woman, it just meant that you considered the woman as a malgason.
"Malgason is a Creole word meaning homosexual or lesbian", a Haitian would answer you if you asked a question about this word or its definition.
Most Haitian women, or rarely, if ever, all of them did not like being called by this name. They may not want to shake hands.
You had to hug or kiss the cheek.
But in the United States, it was different. It was against the law to do something like that. Shaking hands with someone could even be against the law depending on the circumstances, a hug was a bigger deal and a kiss was the worst thing you could do.
It was considered sexual harassment.
The police should arrest you as a sex offender. A sexual offender was a person who committed a crime involving a sexual act, such as harassing men, women or children sexually.
As a sex offender or when you had sexual harassment charged to you, you would not allow to stay around women, especially children. Convinced sex transducer was primarily put to strict testing. You couldn't visit any public park. You should be prohibited from owning a smartphone or using the internet or computer and not talking to anyone younger than 17, even immediate family. You would forbid to go to any facility that served alcohol, and you had to be home before 8 am every night. Sometimes it can be before noon. Convicted sex offenders were forbidden to visit any public area where there were children, so a convicted sex offender also did not live in his or her parents' house or a family member's house if the house was 800 meters from a public boat ramp, only shy at 1000-foot distance minimum. They can force you to leave prison, go to a house and be yourself and be alone in the foundation. It can be difficult to find a place to live either. I meant because of all the restrictions. You could hardly live in any city in the country because you have to be so many feet from a school, church, and park. You had to stay in a place like a desert in any city that met the distance needs. They tried to make you feel you were less than a monster. They wanted you to be a monster. You have been treated worse than a murder.
An act was considered a type of crime if the other person saw it as such a type of crime.
Any unwanted touch was considered a battery or an assault.
The law was too complicated in this country.
Contacting someone too much was considered harassment or stalking.
But unfortunately I was not aware of them.
I became more unaware of them especially when my female friends at the university would jump on me to hug me and kiss me. There were not one or two friends. There were more than many.
As a result, when I saw them, I would do the same in reciprocity. I would give them a friendly hug even if their boyfriends were there. Their boyfriends wouldn't care about it. They felt like a friendly guy. It was not just my friends and their boyfriends who knew it. It was almost everyone.
I would kindly hug them in return without expecting anything bad in reciprocity.
At that time, Betty and Sarah were my best friends.
There were times I used to talk to my dad, Jean Jacques. He used to tell me that he had gone through a lot with women. He knew how they were.
"Women, especially those who are your friends, are hot and cold at the same time," my father told me. "When they are with you alone, they would do something to you. Hug you. Kiss you. Play with you anyway. When they are with their boyfriends, they would pretend they didn't even know you."
He used to tell me things about romantic relationship.
He said to me one day: "Sometimes the way you feel for a woman is not how she feels about you. When a circumstance that it presents is all you have to do, if you continue to stay you will be hurt by almost every single thing she will do to you. "
What my father used to say was not great deals for me. I didn't believe in them. I quite believe in perseverance. No matter how difficult it was for you, it was better to endure. I believed in friendship.
My friends would hug me and kiss me. I would do the same in return when I saw them. Even in front of their boyfriends, they would do it. I would do it sometimes.
Although Camellia showed me she didn't feel the same way about me and didn't care about me, I didn't give up.
Sarah, on the other hand, would do her best to listen to my voice at least once a day. She used to sit in front of the class every morning and waited for me so she could at least see me or get in touch with me. She would call me every day and ask me to go out with her sometimes.
I couldn't even say hello to Camellia. She would be angry if I did. But she was the one who wanted my heart and soul.
I felt tired of my pain when I said hello to her.
On the other hand, I would sometimes ignore Sarah when she asked me to go out with her. There were times when I decided to go out with her, she would pay for everything.
She said some things might sometimes impress me or stimulate me so that I could make the first move. You look cute, she sometimes said. "I like the way you dress. Is there anything you like about me?"
I would answer, "Thank you. I like all my friends, and I like everything about them."
One day she said, "Nick, don't you know someone is dying for you?"
I laughed. I knew for sure what she meant, but I used other statements to oppose her or to fight against what she really wanted to say to me.
I would even ask her sometimes, "How's Camellia?"
She would laugh and tell me, "Camellia doesn't care about you. There is someone who cares about you. Try to do the first place instead."
One day I called Betty and told her that I had gone through something in my life for so long. One thing I wanted right now was that I wanted to get in touch with Camellia.
"I'll try to help you," Betty said.
Next week had come. It had been the end of Spring Break. I went to my finance class. After the class was over, I went to sit in front of the class Camellia.
When she came out of her class, I got up and said, "Hey Camellia! How are you doing?"
"Don't talk to me," Camellia replied. "Can you leave me alone?"
When I tried to approach her, she hit me in the face.
This day was one of the most painful days I have ever had in my life. I cried secretly to myself. I let her go.
I went to my room. I took a shower. I lay down on my bed and thought about what had happened to me and some possible action that I could take. After a few minutes, I fell asleep.
The afternoon had come. I woke up. I took a shower again. I went to class.
It became more common for me to go and sit at Camellia's class every day. I just did it to see her, and it helped me to cope with the tribulation. Seeing her pleased me and reduced my pain. When she came out I never said a word to her because I took deep and great care. I was afraid of getting a slack from her again. The first one was painful.
Betty told me one day that Camellia was not interested in me. But I was not discouraged by what she said.
After a while I went to the class. After a while I went to sit in front of the class Camellia. I was trying to talk to her. She got mad. She closed the door on my face.