Disclaimer! These are MY thoughts and do not at all represent the views of TamilCulture. So if you’re going to get upset, get upset at me.

The title of this piece is exactly what it is. It’s not about my first love; I’ve never been in love and don’t expect to fall into that pit of pleasure anytime soon. In fact, I’ve only told someone that I loved them once and that was just a slip of the tongue because my pubescent-self thought the silence between make-out sessions needed to be filled with the whispers of sweet nothings. It didn’t, somethings are better left unsaid. This piece, or whatever you want to call it, is about my first relationship.

I got into my first relationship when I was really young. Too young to really remember how it started, but I do know that my parents were the ones that pushed me into it. They’d take me to her place once a week and we’d sit there awkwardly talking, not really sure of what to say or do. But then I got older and started to understand how this relationship worked: I was supposed to do whatever she said without protest and my parents made sure to enforce this. She got a little preachier. She told me how to live, what to say, what to do. She told me about how great everything would be if I followed her rules and how if I didn’t I’d regret it for the rest of my life. She was mean and kind all at the same time. She was in control and I didn’t say a word because I didn’t want to upset my parents and people around me that had seen this relationship blossom. She said she loved me and didn’t want to see me go, so she set a bunch of rules in place that I would follow so I wouldn’t leave her. So that’s what did and that’s what drove me away.

As I got older, more mature and more learned, I started to notice the other girls around me. And they were beautiful, with their short skirts and tans. Fake tits and make up. I was seduced by their looks. I started talking to these other girls but they were all like my first. Telling me how to live, telling me what to do. I couldn’t understand why I was supposed to live within the confines of these rules. But it was always justified with the fact that I’d be a better person because of it. That if I lived the way they told me that I’d be happy in the long run.

I was confused. Lost. Scared that I didn’t fit in because everyone around me had someone that they were in deep committed relationships with, while I spent time alone. But in that time, I found the one.

She was amazing from the get go. Sure, she had a bad reputation, but she was one of the kindest, sweetest girls I had ever met. She was just misunderstood and I’m eternally grateful that I took the time to get to know her. She was different, she had no rules. She told me to do what I loved, to act from my heart and not by some predetermined and outdated rules. She taught to me to respect people for who they were. She told me to believe in myself because that was the place to start. She was amazing. She made me realize that it was time for a change.

That’s when I broke up with God, my first relationship. I couldn’t live with her rules that tried to dictate how I lived, how I treated others and who I became. I couldn’t stay with someone who hated others for being in another relationship. I found someone who didn’t tell me what to do or say. I found someone that let me live and make my own mistakes. She didn’t make me live in a world were my mistakes would lead to a life of eternal damnation. She let me determine what was right and what was wrong. She didn’t make me wake up early on Sunday morning. She let me sleep in watch football and eat all the food that my cholesterol filled heart could handle. She made me a better, but maybe not as healthy, person.

I stayed with her for my parents’ sake because the last thing anyone wants to do is to let them down. But I realized they’d much rather see me in a happy fulfilling relationship than be miserable.

I don’t know what happened to her. Nietzsche told me she died, but I’m starting to think that she was never real at all.