It’s my first time too

I think about this a lot — the changes we undergo are the beginnings of many firsts. I doubt anyone remembers their first steps, the way you struggled with each step. You probably fell, time and time again, and eventually you learned how to walk, your feet steady, and your first time became somewhat cherished — by your parents, your family, and maybe those who think a baby’s first steps are so significantly remarkable.

How about your first perfect score in school, was it hard? Did you try several times to reach your goal to get a perfect score? And when you failed, did it pain you? I think overcoming your first failures and disappointments can shape you completely, and with clear-edged cuts, you find yourself comfortable for it is your first time — failing, succeeding, crying, laughing, feeling too much or too little, and then it leaves you stunned, the realization that most of your firsts are memorable to many around you but not necessarily yourself, that half of your life was made up of firsts and yet overwritten.

Do you remember when you first cried? Not when you were a baby coddled in your mother’s arms, but when you were on your knees and it was hard to breathe and you thought that it was the end? I know, that’s a first many might remember, a first that is hard to forget and even harder to overcome.

I forgot — that my firsts can be forgotten, by everyone but myself when I’m an adult. I know, It’s my first time living the age of 23, my first time teaching and learning from my passion, and my first time finding myself able to spoil everyone rotten for they are a part of every love letter I write, addressed to no one yet sealed shut with a wax seal as a promise to always be there but never forgotten.

I failed to realize that the people around you can fail you even as an adult, not acknowledging that you haven’t lived this life ever before, that this is your first time experiencing situations and obstacles you’ve yet to overcome.

And I’m left in a puddle of doubt — have I lived this life before? This passion, these people, have I known them in a life that isn’t this one? Do I deserve all this harm for feeling puzzled about reactions directed towards me that carry nothing but underlining hatred? Do my firsts not count anymore? How come I can understand everyone’s behavior for this is their first too but I am not finding the same compassion anywhere I go?

This is my first time too — my first time being an adult, living this life of new responsibilities, understanding new patterns and manners, my first time teaching and acknowledging why I love it, and at times why I find myself distraught about it just the same. This is my first time too — I’m not meant to be shamed for the things I lack for I am yet to acquire the knowledge of those more experienced than I am. This is my first time too, I am promised a life just as meaningful and kind as you do.