She said you were the father of her unborn baby and you threw your arms in the air, in disbelief. How dare she claim that you, her boyfriend was responsible for her pregnancy! As far as you were concerned, she had countless men in her life and it could have be any one of them.

Until then, you had been parading her around. Until then, you had held us hostage by tagging us in your endless (and nauseating) love posts on Facebook. We couldn’t untag ourselves. We couldn’t ignore them lest we be accused of envy. 

The nerve! The nerve to try and tie you down using a baby from God-knows-where! You cut her and everyone she knew out of your life. You blocked us on all social media. You disappeared into thin air. 

Poor Irene thought that you were just in shock and that you would eventually come around. To this day, I don’t understand how people enthusiastically engage in the baby making process and then get shocked when a baby is made. Because they use protection, you say? Name one birth control method that guarantees 100% protection.

Still, some of us chose to believe that you were in shock and that once the shock wore off, you would remember that you, a pathetic looking boy of average intelligence and no wealth to speak of, had won over someone like Irene. 

You didn’t come around. It was all the inspiration I needed to renew my vow to stay celibate until marriage. Until you, I was just trying to be a good Christian. I also did it to protect my future soul-mate (if any) from chocking to death. Death?! What am I talking about?

Well, knowing me, I will probably have to kiss a lot of frogs before I meet my prince, right? Now imagine one day I’m seated with my prince, talking about my past, talking about ‘the frogs’ over tea. 

Then he finally asks the dreaded question, "How many people have you slept with?” *silence* "Ten.” (In a very very low tone). "Two?” "No, ten.” At this point, I imagine him chocking to death. And the country will lose out on a productive citizen. And as they lower him in the ground, I will mumble, in tears, "There goes my happy ending.” It could happen.

Anyway, back to you, my inspiration for celibacy. I met you again today and you pretended that you didn’t know me. You’re very bold, by the way. We were seated in a big group of people, talking about premarital sex. I proclaimed that I don’t find it wise to partake of it.

Bold as you are, you said to my face, "You are naive and idealistic! Girls like you don’t know what they want!” 

Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know what I want. But I know what I don’t want; a fatherless child-fatherless because some immature and cowardly male (like you) couldn’t man up and take responsibility. 

You should part yourself on the shoulder because for the second time, you became my inspiration for holding onto celibacy.