Growing up for me was hard. I never trusted anyone. I question people's intent. I kept my past a secret. And my background covered in snow white paper. Hidden in the depth of the shadows, of my dark sorrow and pain. I tried to live like the normal teeneager with no success. For the awkwardness always too diligent to be my company.
I've lost my virginity and innocence during secondary school. With someone who's not even my boyfriend, nor even my classmate, nor even my schoolmate. I barely know that guy I meet in a a friend's birthday-swimming party but I gave in for the curiosity had me.
I was perplexed after my first. I felt dirty. And felt stupid, and felt used, and I felt wanting for more. I started dating up until college and slept with few men. At the age of 18, I've experienced a lot but never even had one single boyfriend. The innocence came crushing down as I develop my new perspective and personality on every encounters I made. My body goes with the flow of things as it changed from a petit girl into an object of lustful desire. I was untamed. Dangerous. Liberated.
One night, I slept with a guy different from the others. He made love to me instead of mere fucking. I opened myself that night. Let him see my soul. My fears. And hopes. My dreams. I submitted my self into his eyes and let myself be vulnerable by his touch. Least that was what I felt towards him. He took care of me before, during and even after we did it. He was memorable. For the first time, I think I'm in love. And for the first time, I felt rejected at the same time.
I was in love. Or should I say, I was infatuated. Because I gave up. Because I don't know where I stood on him. After I changed my ways for him. I tried to be better. Left everything behind (as if I still have anything left). But reality slapped me too hard like a flat-bamboo stick that I will never be enough nor even worthy to have a shot on love and be loved. That the only thing that I heard he said beautiful about me is my name. Helena.
And just like a post-coital hooker, I left. Walked out the door crushed. With a scar embossed and palpable across my heart.
Labels: life, original