March 03. 1998
I’m 15 years old. These are my thoughts as recorded over the past/next couple of days years, months, years. I went through some of my things at home and found my journal.
“I have analysed all concepts of love that has been presented to me. Now, I am very much less than receptive of any of these concepts. Love is what you make it to be. That means it is subject to change, making it uncertain and unreliable”.
It’s now September 4, 2007 and I can only imagine what could have happened that led me to write that. It lacks any information about specifics but I know myself, I got hurt, someone did something to me and, well, let me jog my brain.
March, 1998. I was in fourth form in high school. I didn’t have a boyfriend, at least, not one that I can remember. My current b/f just reminded me that I did in fact have a relationship of sorts with someone. The first man in my life really. The first man to ever entered me, the first man I had sex with.
I thought then that I loved him. He was so much older than I was. Years! He had so much experience. I thought I had enough experience in life to think I knew I was ready, but not enough experience to know that he could never really love me, to not know that he didn’t love me. I laugh right now just thinking about it. I was so naïve. I guess hindsight is 20/20. He was a jerk, he used me, and some part of me knew it then, and he still is. Still I’ve managed to keep him in my life, years later. It’s the sadist in me; it’s the masochist in him. It’s something about my first that keeps him as one of my closet friends. The first person I ever let in, that a momentous occasion if there ever was one, I would imagine. It’s so sad, isn’t it?
Ladies, really, it’s all about if you think you are ready. It has nothing to do with how you feel for him. It never is. It’s always about you, and I’ve lived just a few years, 20 something, but I’ve learnt that that’s how it always must be. Memoirs of a teenager
I’m 15 years old. These are my thoughts as recorded over the past/next couple of days years, months, years. I went through some of my things at home and found my journal.
“I have analysed all concepts of love that has been presented to me. Now, I am very much less than receptive of any of these concepts. Love is what you make it to be. That means it is subject to change, making it uncertain and unreliable”.
It’s now September 4, 2007 and I can only imagine what could have happened that led me to write that. It lacks any information about specifics but I know myself, I got hurt, someone did something to me and, well, let me jog my brain.
March, 1998. I was in fourth form in high school. I didn’t have a boyfriend, at least, not one that I can remember. My current b/f just reminded me that I did in fact have a relationship of sorts with someone. The first man in my life really. The first man to ever entered me, the first man I had sex with.
I thought then that I loved him. He was so much older than I was. Years! He had so much experience. I thought I had enough experience in life to think I knew I was ready, but not enough experience to know that he could never really love me, to not know that he didn’t love me. I laugh right now just thinking about it. I was so naïve. I guess hindsight is 20/20. He was a jerk, he used me, and some part of me knew it then, and he still is. Still I’ve managed to keep him in my life, years later. It’s the sadist in me; it’s the masochist in him. It’s something about my first that keeps him as one of my closet friends. The first person I ever let in, that a momentous occasion if there ever was one, I would imagine. It’s so sad, isn’t it?
Ladies, really, it’s all about if you think you are ready. It has nothing to do with how you feel for him. It never is. It’s always about you, and I’ve lived just a few years, 20 something, but I’ve learnt that that’s how it always must be. Memoirs of a teenager
1 comment:
What a nice idea. I hope you keep your journals forever. Take care.
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