30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 14 (Your Life in 7 Years)

Day 14: Your life in 7 years

Good grief. I can't even picture my life in seven months, let alone seven years. It could be anything -- literally.

Let's see, it will be 2022 in seven years, and I will be 28 years old. I already don't like the sound of this. Where will I be living? What will I be doing? Who will be in my life? This is stressful.

Just last week, my chiropractor was making small talk with me and, knowing I'll soon be graduating with an IB degree, he asked me which country I want to live in when I grow up. My knee-jerk reaction was to say France or Britain. But, I told him, I would also be fine staying in this country (for now) as long as I can move to another state. I told him about Boston and I think he could see the stars in my eyes. But for the moment, any permanent decision remains to be made.

I haven't the foggiest idea what I'll be doing at 28 years old. Will I be writing? Will I be a digital content manager? Will I work at McDonald's? Will I own a company? (God, I hope not.) I don't know. But that's kind of the terrifying beauty of it. I don't know what I will be doing seven years from now, any more than I know what I'll be doing seven hours from now. (Sleeping, I hope.) Whatever I'm doing, I know I'll be happy.

Who will be in my life? That question is yet another amorphous blob of mystery. The people who are in my life now may stay or go, and certainly there will be others I've yet to meet who come along as well. Will I be married? (I certainly hope not.) Will I have children? (No.) Will all my friends and family still be alive and available for me to call on the telephone? (Fingers crossed!) But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

I think back on my life seven years ago, and that's how I know there is no way of knowing the future seven years from now. Seven years ago, I was 14 years old. It was 2008, Obama was just about to win his first Presidential election, the US economy was almost ready to tank due to the housing bubble, and The Black Eyed Peas had just dropped "Boom Boom Pow" on the radio. I was a freshman in high school (oh how I wouldn't relive those days) and I had no idea I was in for a long and bumpy road of school, homework, bad teachers, late nights, early mornings, boyfriends, heartbreak, best friends, questionable haircuts, hard work, international travel, a feminist awakening, and even becoming a big sister.

There is no possible way that if I were able to go back in time to 14-year-old Alyssa right now and tell her everything she has in store, that past Alyssa would believe it. Who I was then and who I am now are two different people, entirely. The damage and the growth alike are irreparable and irreversible.

So, as for my life in seven years, the only thing I can say at the moment with any clear certainty is: I don't know.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 3 (Your First Love & First Kiss)

Day 3: Your first love and first kiss; if separate, discuss both

They are separate, so I will discuss both, without naming any names.

What do I remember about my first kiss? Well, it was a terrible experience. Due in large part to the fact that I didn't really like the person it was with, and I had no real desire to kiss him anyway. I was fourteen and I certainly had no idea what feminism was or what active consent meant, and all I knew was that this was something I was supposed to do at some point in my life, and now seemed like as good a time as any. We were both simply playing out the roles we were socialized to believe were fit for us.

I remember his mom was waiting for him in the car and he walked me to my front door and I only had about three seconds to think to myself, "oh crap, this is it," and then it was over. I do, however, remember I was wearing a very strongly-flavored peppermint lip gloss from Bath and Body Works. You know, that really sticky, goopy, gel kind of lip gloss that your hair gets stuck in on a windy day, like a spider crawling across a glue trap? Yeah, it was a nightmare.

Looking back at it now, I laugh at how stupid the whole thing was. It was so anti-climactic. He never asked me if I wanted to kiss him, or if I thought it would be a good idea for him to kiss me. Nope. He just went for it. That actually kind of pisses me off now. But all in all, there was no real harm done to me. I'm pretty sure that "relationship" only lasted about two months' worth of ninth grade anyway; and if I'm being honest, I wasn't genuinely invested in it in the first place. I had my heart set on another boy, and as it would turn out, I would kiss him shortly after the peppermint lip gloss incident, anyway. And I did really want to kiss him.



My first love. That's a tough one. Hmmm. It began at a time in my life as it does for many others: high school. Funny how high school is responsible for some of the worst memories a person has, but it also gets to take credit for many of the experiences that mold a person into who they are. This is no different.

My first love was beautiful, emotional, clumsy, well-intentioned, painful, and tragically messy all at the same time. I rode the roller coaster up to the top of the highest drop with him, and we screamed in exhilarated unison in anger, confusion, hurt, and anticipation all the way down. When the ride was over, we departed the roller coaster and left the amusement park in separate ways, both heading in a better direction than where we were when we arrived.

It was the first relationship into which I invested so much of myself. That being the case, I invested too much and I learned just what over-investing yourself can do to you, the other person, and the relationship itself. Neither of us were perfect. But we both had the purest of intentions never to hurt the other, and that's what provided me with solace in the end. I can't speak for him, but I knew him pretty well at the time it all went down in flames, and I would wager a guess that he was comforted in a similar way by that notion.

Getting over it hurt a lot, and it took some time and self-reflection, but all the best things do. The thing a lot of people fail to realize about the grandiose ideals of a first kiss and a first love is that the word "first" automatically implies there will be another. At a young age, going into relationships with no experience and very little foresight, a person has no way of knowing that. But after getting a few bumps and bruises from love, you start to realize that "first" is no guarantee of "last," and more importantly, you learn how to be okay with that. It takes time, forgiveness, and an incredible amount of growth, but being honest with yourself about the totality of your experiences -- good and bad -- is what catapults you to where you're meant to be in the future. In the right place, at the right time, so when the next person comes along... you're ready.