Fall For Me

TAKE MY YOUTH

♡ ♡ ♡

First love.

A story of heartache and tragedy.

You always remember your first love. But the reason they call it first love is perhaps, because it comes with the assumption that your first wouldn’t be your last -that a second or maybe a third would come by.

Ultimately ‘first love’ is just a love story that doesn’t last.

Well in that case for me then, I’d like to call it ‘only love’. Because for as long as I live I can’t ever think of being in love with anyone else but Stefan Grey.

It was always him from the start.

“Hello, Avery!” He’d hug me, and I’d kick him because my mom had told me not to let strangers touch me.

I guess it was pretty much fated right then that I’d pay for my sins.

One day, he approached me with streaks of mud on his face and a soccer ball in his hands. I try to cover the red paint on my cheeks as the other kids laughed at me.

But with a million watt smile, he says, “Look, we both have something on our faces!”

I smiled back. I guess it officially started then: My punishment for kicking some poor boy in the balls.

By then, I no longer cared about what others thought of me even when I had paint on my face, on my hair or on my clothes. I figured being artistic is to be messy and my mom definitely wasn’t too fond of that.

And when I was 12, we became neighbours unexpectedly. Just when I thought the universe was finally presenting its grand gesture to me, it gave me braces and bestowed upon me a serious case of acne instead, that comes along with puberty and the confusion of getting my period for the first time.

Growing up can be a bitch. You say you wanted boobies but then you find out you gotta put up with wearing a bra all day. You say you wanted to be mature but you end up smiling less and stressing more about school work. You say you wanted to be independent and start earning your own allowance but then you actually start working.

Growing up as an Asian-American is also a different story.

I don’t think I’ve gone through one day in middle school without hearing “Ching Chong” or “Ling Ling”. I don’t always feel better, but a sense of satisfaction washes over me when I see their wavering eyes in shock and confusion when I flip them off as they wonder why I’m not the stereotypical quiet nerdy asian that takes shit from everyone.

To sum it all up: growing up is just... awkward. We don’t forget that transition into being a teenager and how being a grown up comes with the bleeding in your crotch area every single month when nature calls for it.

Then at the age of 15, the braces came off, but that seems to be the only physical change as I’m still 5′3 and still as flat chested as ever.

I’m basically a flat board.

But that’s okay because at the age of 15, my ‘only love’ spoke to me for the first time since kindergarten. Before this, the encounters we had were only small waves and polite acknowledgement as neighbours. Then suddenly his family invited mine to a dinner party, celebrating his sister’s engagement.

He ruffled the top of my head. “You’re kinda cute you know. Why haven’t we talked before?”

And from then on, our families remained close, but he and I remained as friendly neighbours and classmates.

While he grew popular, I literally didn’t grow at all. Like, I’m still 5′3.

And at age 17. Now, I’m just the Avery Sheng that likes to paint and gives 100% of her in everything she does.

And that includes love.

This last year in high school, I’m determined to make some progress with my first, but hopefully last and only love, Stefan.

But who is that new kid that’s always with him?

And why is he staring at me?