I am someone who has no major problems in life. Both my parents are good to me; they are strict but fun and understanding. I did not have to go through the troubles they did growing up. In a way, I wish I did endure such difficulties. I wish I grew up in the projects instead of a somewhat good neighborhood. I wish I had boy trouble in high school and had my heart broken so I could understand most girls my age. I wish that I was social, went to parties drinking alcohol. I wanted to do so many things and excel in them. But no, I have too much common sense and a mind that was raised to think before acting. I got into fights with boys and befriended boys but never really attracted them. I graduated high school never having a boyfriend. I did not really talk unless I was spoken to first. Whenever a boy showed the least bit of interest, I got very weird and my guard was standing, protecting me from them. I have never been superb in anything I have done. I have been dancing since I was five years old and developed a passion for choreographing. Yet I am not great at it, or at least I think so. When I moved to California in my junior year of high school, I felt empowered. Although I did not make friends, people thought I was excellent at dancing and that I was dangerous for coming from Brooklyn, New York. Moving back made me feel a little better—I guess I was still high on being empowered from my California classmates. It made me appreciate myself more and where I came from. It boosted my confidence. I even opened up to boys…and got my first boyfriend after I moved back.
This boy named Alberto had made my mind go crazy since the seventh grade. We attended junior high school together but we never talked; but we were aware of one another. I was not aware that I had a crush on him. I just liked to look at him and something was telling me that I needed to know him. In seventh grade, I saw him in the park I lived by with a friend. His friend recognized me and called me over to hang out with them. Them being boys, they started swinging on these bars (that were not meant to be played on). All of a sudden I see Alberto lose his grip and fall, breaking his wrist. And what did I do? I laughed. I did nothing but laugh, not because I thought it was funny. I am not sure why I laughed, but I did. It was the first time I was really ashamed of myself. I realized what happened and I was mortified. He probably hated me. All hopes of me trying to talk to him had vanished. Thinking back today, I don’t know why I hadn’t said anything to him sooner than last year. A few years later, when Facebook became big, we became Facebook friends. But we did not say one word to each other. I still sort of liked him and felt a pang in my chest when I saw that he was in relationships. Then last year he posted one of those pictures that read “like three of my pictures if you’ve ever had a crush on me.” So what did I do? I liked three of his pictures and BAM! Eight months later, my middle school crush is my boyfriend.
