[ 13 - 9 TEEN ]
When I was thirteen,
my (unofficial) first boyfriend was the kid I had a crush on when I was twelve,
the one who swore at me (when we were barely even friends).
He was the cutest guy I've seen, at the time.
At the beginning of my teenage years, I didn't really think about many things.
If he was cute, liked the same food as me,
had his birthday in June and the infamous Beiber haircut,
he was the one.
The first one who broke my heart, that is.
I didn't know how painful a heartbreak of a two week relationship would be,
but it really hurt.
Looking back, I can't even recall how he broke up with me or why,
but I remembered crying - a whole lot as a matter of fact.
But from how I see it now, it wasn't so much about breaking up.
I think it was my pride that was hurt.
Now, a prideful teenager would be quite an irrational one.
How do I get back at my first ex with the damaged pride I had?
Other boys, of course. Boys I didn't even really like.
The supposed 'yes' to the other boys after this one were almost nothing.
One 'yes' lasted a week, and the rest aren't even memorable.
Not long after, I got back with my ex. And the cycle began.
The butterflies, the excitement, the flirting, the glimpses;
Oh- We ended after 3 weeks.
What I lost?
My first peck, our friendship, and too much time on Taylor Swift songs and Bebo's deep skins.
What I got out of it?
Lasting friendships, valid (but definitely not worth it) experiences and an interest in writing.
(We should thank him, shouldn't we?)
When I was a teenager, that was what life revolved around:
Myself, boys and friends.
I remember my mum told me I was selfish, and at the time,
I thought she didn't know what she was saying.
But I can clearly see why she would say I was.
Because I was.
I was young, selfish and immature.
It was fun, though. My teenage years.
But there were times that were quite painful.
I spent the next year mourning over my first boyfriend.
He didn't know, I think I did a really good job hiding it.
He even thought I hated him, which was ridiculous.
So he hated me, and I suppose I grew to hate him, too.
The first boy who helped me move on wasn't the next boyfriend.
It was a thing. No, not a material thing.
A thing-thing. Like a fling-thing.
We barely spoke face-to-face, and he was quite bad at flirting,
but I grew to kinda like him.
or at least, the idea of him.
No, not just kinda, I really was infatuated with him.
But everything worked out, we never got together.
He left an impression of being a player, and we had some complicated situations together;
but guess what? 'till this day, we remained friends - and a platonic one at that :)
The second relationship I got into isn't one I'm fond talking about.
But I'll summarise it as it is;
When I was fifteen, I gave someone a chance. My heart wasn't in it, and I was still young.
We dated twice. The first trial was out of pity-love.
I suppose I thought it was worth giving it a shot. I was wrong.
But the reasons to why it didn't work were direct - even 'till now, and made complete sense.
The second trial, I actually liked him.
Despite being opposites, the language barrier and him knowing absolutely nothing about me,
he was crazy in love with me.
Because of that, I do think now that he was indeed crazy.
And perhaps I was too.
We parted when I left for Malaysia.
He went back to where he came from.
And the rest is.. where I left it.
The above mentioned were all almost puppy love.
I met my first love when I was sixteen.
Wait, no. I met my first love, a long long time ago.
We first met back in our pre-school years,
probably when I was 4 or 5, and he was 5 or 6.
But I met him again, when I was sixteen.
It's quite a complicated story, but I suppose it worked.
'What worked?', you may ask.
I think his plan worked - if he even had one.
But he must've had one. because then how did things work so perfectly?
You see, he wasn't the kind of guy I would've liked.
Besides, he had a girlfriend then. but we got closer through forming a friendship.
And the rest is history. A very memorable history,
one I hold close to my heart.
This was the last relationship I had in my teen years.
and the impact it had on me was evident.
I never found another relationship since.
Not because I can't find someone like him, nor is it because I want him still.
Coming out of that relationship showed me a whole lot about myself.
It showed me that I had a very fragile heart,
I had a capability to love, but I have yet to learn how to love well.
It showed me that I was clueless, reliant and broken.
It showed me that I needed what I've always needed - my creator.
And although I was very much in love with him,
I realised that he too, needed to grow and learn.
He needed to know himself, his self-worth.
He needed to know what he wanted, and act on it.
He needed to know that I wasn't perfect,
and he too, needed his creator.
With that, we left being strangers after being lovers.
And we have remained strangers since.
Now I'm just entering my adulthood, and he's already an adult.
When I was a teenager, relationships were events that took place that formed a huge, huge part of who I am today; my morals, my beliefs, my experiences and values.
Instead of wishing they were reversible and regretting,
I choose to use them for the better, in a way, it made me better.
With these, I have a collection of stories to share.
I have formed friendships beyond my intentions.
I was able to be transparent with my parents, and draw my family relationships closer.
I have also developed a firm and sound relationship with God, since the last heartbreak.
Now, I am able to look forward,
and I'm excited to see the new phase of relationship begin in my adulthood.