Having a boyfriend in high school is a waste of time. Think
about it… you’ll graduate and it’ll end. You’ll fight and it’ll end. One of you
will move and it’ll end. Every point of view I’ve tried to consider leads to
exactly the same outcome: it will end. In other words you could say that love
in high school isn’t meant to last, unless you’re willing to give up a college
education and a life plan to be with that one person you found in school. In
this day and age, very few people are willing to do that. Some people in this
day and age have been willing to aim at long distance relationships but, despite
books like The Notebook, normal
people don’t write romantic letters every day for a year hoping to keep love
alive. Every experience I’ve ever heard of points to long distance
relationships being more myth than reality. Even though I constantly hoard these thoughts in my head, I
find myself celebrating six months of
being with my high school boyfriend today. I’m a senior, which means I have
only a few months left until I graduate. How did this even happen?
I have come to the conclusion that there is such thing as
love even though people constantly argue against it. I’ve heard arguments about
the young kids of this generation being incapable of love because we have been
raised in a world of lust. Not only do I completely disagree with this, I can
also offer myself as proof against it. Here I am after all: an eighteen
year-old girl who thinks she is in love.
If someone asked me to define love I probably wouldn’t know
what to answer. Knowing me I’d come up with a way to avoid it or make a joke of
it because definitions are too hard and too permanent for me to come up with.
What is love? Hell if I know. Books describe it as a warm
feeling, which is more often than not accompanied by stomach butterflies.
Movies show it as an explosive thing where fights and disagreements are
constant and always about serious issues (granted, this is mostly for dramatic
effect). My parents have showed it to me with their actions all their lives but
they do not experience it as movies or books say they should. As for me, I
don’t even know how I understand it.
When I met my current boyfriend I had promised myself that I
would spend senior year single because having a boyfriend would make it too
hard to leave. Also all the kids in my grade were terrible for me in a romantic
sense, I didn’t think I would even have an issue with romantic life. Of course
the new kid had to come up and mess everything up.
I am aware that this sounds like the beginning of a very
corny chick-flick, but there is no other way to retell my experience. We spent
one day alone together in school out of utter coincidence (namely that all our
teachers decided to be lazy and not give us class that day) and with one phrase
he had me. “You’re weird… I dig it.” It was that easy. For someone who doesn’t
want love I am way to easy to impress. In my defense, I was used to people
commenting my on my so-called weirdness with an annoyed look or a pair of
rolling eyes, not admiration. It was unusual. It was funny. It was weird as
hell. I liked it.
Due to this stupid catch phrase he didn’t even realize he
managed and help from a friend, we happened. And now I think I’m in love with
the kid. Crazy how things happen so fast. Still, the doubts I have harbored in
my mind for years are there, and I can’t help but always get to the same
conclusion: it will end. So what’s the point of all this then?
I guess the idea of it all will never change: there is no
point. It is, in a way, a waste of time. It’s a waste of time I enjoy though. I
think it was The Seven Habits of Highly Effective teens that said, “Time you
enjoyed wasting is not wasted time.” I really hope that’s true. If it isn’t I
have just wasted six months.
Part of me is hoping for the really naïve outcome of
universities in the same town and a continued relationship. The other part
knows that the chances of that are very low.
I guess al there’s left to do is enjoy this pointless thing
for as long as I can.
I’m not going to finish this by defining what love is,
because I don’t have the authority or knowledge to do that. I will try to
explain what love isn’t for me: it isn’t mean, it isn’t explosive, it isn’t
crazy and stupid, it isn’t predictable. It doesn’t have a point.
Still, I feel it. I feel it hard. Whatever it is, it took
over me way past what my mind can handle and stop. It took over when I didn’t
want it to. As if this weren’t corny enough already, I have to say that I
wouldn’t change this insane manifesto of the most complex feeling I’ve ever
felt for anything in the world.
Whatever love feels like to others, I guess this is how it
feels for me. Not explosive, not intense, and as for the butterflies… I guess I
digested them.
