I'm not a writer, but to help out a friend I helped him write a narrative. let me know what you guys think.
High
School Blessing or Tragedy?
To this present
moment, I have daily contemplated the choice I made of taking literally a
clichéd adage, “forever and for always” to heart. It was my third year in high school that I
first learned what it meant to be loved. I hadn’t discovered it yet for myself,
I was a promiscuous teen with only one thing in mind-when it pertains to women
(although high school girls aren’t yet considered women, their voluptuous
bodies prove otherwise.) I wasn’t always juvenile and promiscuous upon entering
high school. I came from a very prominent school that taught strict discipline
when I lived in Germany. Born at the wake of war in my country Yugoslavia, my
family and I were forced to move for safe haven. At fourteen, I was a virgin to
my new surroundings, of what many people would describe as being American-in
things tangible and intangible. I excelled during my first few years in an
elementary school, located in Chicago, because I haven’t yet established an
identity favorable for conformity. I saw myself as an immigrant with only one
thing in mind: education is the key to success and a way out of poverty.
Like most
immigrant children in America, my parents have instilled in me their
aspirations for the betterment of my future. As a child, it is easy to
acquiesce to such wishes. It wasn’t until I learned to socialize among my peers
that I grew to develop my own aspirations and an individualistic identity. My
male friends have taught me that fun could be found beyond a privy and isolated
lifestyle brought by culture shock. They did so by having transformed me from a
subjugated and jaded person, to a mischievous promiscuous juvenile at the edge
of puberty. I felt the high as I took part in my friends’ endeavors of being
showered by beautiful girls at nightly parties. I carried this persona my
junior year of high school when I met my Juliet: the woman who gives me pain by
bringing fourth the best and worst in me. It was through meeting her that I
experienced a romance like no other.
Her
name, for the sake of anonymity is Vivian. Her reputation preceded her as
uncivil with a fierce temperament, that resulted to many of her female
colleagues fearing her. Her reputation wasn’t my sole interest; it was that her
beauty was undeniably breath taking. Her voluptuous pink lips, dyed blonde
hair, and fare skin juxtaposed her Asian ethnicity. From the first time I laid
eyes on her, I knew she had to be mine.
I
was never much into organization or planning, I am impulsive, and out of
impulse I charged at her with the most clichéd lines ever used in history. The
memory is vague of the exact words exchanged among us, but I do remember it did
the job. She wasn’t the typical girl I’ve grown accustomed to courting, instead
of being entranced with my lines and handing over her number, she preferred
slow and steady. We spent months conversing on the phone almost every night,
and although I had gotten her in trouble for it many times, she did not concede
to her parents. It was then that I knew she felt more for me than those many
times of conversation; I had a feeling that this girl loved me.
As
months went by we took our relationship further. We did what most high school couples
were accustomed to doing: attending school related functions. The midnight
walks at the park, going to the movies, and dinner dates would come till much
later; her parents were of stereotypical Asian parents: strict and cultured. My
one year seniority was of no importance to her, we were inseparable. Because I
had focused my world around her, I neglected my own studies resulting in me
extended my high school experience a few months there after graduating mid
summer of ’04. While many high school
relationships ended at the brink of senior year, I wanted so much to continue
my relationship with Vivian. I worked instead of college, with the intention of
waiting for her. When she graduated she had flown to California to be with her
father. The old me returned the first month she left, until I decided I could
take it any longer: her absence made me crazy, her presence brought a great
change in me, and for that I loved her. And because I loved her, I moved away
from my family and friends to be by her side.
Knowing
her family would disapprove of me, for many reasons that went beyond my racial ethnicity
and religion, I stayed by her side. I was there for her when her relationship
with her family crumbled. Though I make it sound like we’re the most perfect
couple ever created, there is no such thing, and we are not. Our ideals and
personalities clash, yet at moments when a shoulder is needed to cry on and
comforting words for solace is required we are there for each other. There are
many times I regret having left my family. At times when arguments among the
both of us become so intense, I yearn for a piece of home. Vivian is a jewel I
will most treasure, she may make me crazy or mad, but because she’s the one
person who helped me realize what were once my goals, my parents’ aspirations
for my future, I will stay with her always.
Many
say that high school sweethearts are just that, high school sweethearts. When a
relationship hits a bumpy road people tend to weaken the trust among each other
finding solace in another. I’ve not always been the best boyfriend, for I have
yet to learn, but I do understand that problems are better solved when talking
to each other about them. When I met Vivian my world was spiraling down. She was
a blessing that helped me change and prioritize my life. It was through her
that I experienced my first romance.