Reflections on Romeo, Juliet, and Self-Love

Chapter 10: Navigating the Maze of Choices and Expectations

"Ugh ... I don't even know what to think about this book," I muttered, flipping through the pages of my textbook with a mix of frustration and resignation. It seemed like no matter how hard I tried, I could never quite grasp the concepts. It was as if the words danced just out of reach, taunting me with their elusiveness. "Welcome to my life!" I added with a sigh.

I had just turned nineteen, a time when everyone expects you to have it all figured out, but honestly, I felt like I was stumbling through a fog of uncertainty. My name is Faith Jacob Jill David, and while I may be independent in many ways, my life is anything but simple. I live in a cozy studio apartment just two floors up from my parents' house. It's a nice compromise between independence and proximity, though it often feels like I'm straddling the line between freedom and overreach.

My father, a man whose life revolved around sports and military discipline, had given me a set of expectations when I turned eighteen. "Time to take care of yourself and be more organized," he had said. His desire for me to be independent was admirable, but it also came with a set of pressures that felt anything but liberating. I didn't mind going to parties without makeup or fancy clothes, but to my father, appearances mattered. He could never quite let go, always peeking in to make sure I was adhering to the standards he had set for me.

Then there was my mother, who seemed to have her own set of expectations. Every time I went out, I found myself asking her for advice on what to wear or how to style my hair. It was as if I was still a teenager looking for guidance from Miss Universe, but in reality, I was just trying to navigate my own choices. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate her help, but sometimes it felt like an invasion of my independence.

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. My father's concern about me not being capable of handling things on my own was, in its own way, a form of love. He'd always push me to my limits, but I knew deep down, it came from a place of care. Though, I often joked about his extreme measures, like hanging me upside down by my toes for poor grades, a part of me wondered if he might actually consider it if he thought it would motivate me.

As this was my final year of high school in Pasadena, I faced the looming question of what to do next. The idea of studying in Italy or Spain had crossed my mind, but I was still uncertain. My father's love for my independent streak was clear, but he also had a hard time letting me go too far from his watchful eye. The idea of a fresh start in another country was both thrilling and terrifying.

I was responsible-ish, which meant I managed to keep up with my studies and maintain a semblance of order in my life, but the pressure of deciding my future loomed large. My father and mother treated me like a visitor when I dropped by their place, which was a strange mix of familiarity and distance. They loved me, I knew that, but sometimes I felt like I was intruding into their lives.

My physical appearance was a reflection of my own decisions—long, beachy waves of brown with pinkish tints, some blue and purple streaks. It looked like an ice cream swirl, and I loved it. My father was proud of that choice; it was my first major decision made entirely on my own. I also had a collection of tattoos, symbols of significant moments and people in my life—my name in Latin script, a campus map, my grandfather's name, and dragons. Each tattoo was a chapter in my story, a way to wear my history and experiences on my skin.

I had a diverse circle of friends: Eliya, Courtney, Mia, Catherine, and Edward. They were my support system, providing a safe and fresh environment where I felt valued. But with friends come enemies—Heather, Mary, and Lia, the so-called evil triangle. Despite their disdain, I was tough enough not to let their negativity get to me. It's not cool to be alone with a book, but I could manage. It wasn't the end of the world. My friends' safe environments were comforting, but solitude was also a part of my life.

I often wondered about other people's lives, their struggles, their dreams. It made me realize how universal our fears and aspirations are. I was still undecided about my major—English, art, criminal justice, or something related to computers. The decision weighed on me, and I knew I needed to explore my options further. Maybe a course orientation could help clarify things.

My train of thought was interrupted by the familiar buzz of my phone. "Hey ... how are you? What are you doing?" It was my father calling.

"Hey, just laying around. I might head to Mom's in about twenty minutes," I replied.

"Okay. Keep yourself safe and make the best of your day. Duty calls," he said before hanging up.

"Okay, bye. Love you," I said, the familiar warmth of his words reassuring me.

I needed to get ready for school. It was already 8 AM, and I planned to have breakfast at my mom's before heading out. I showered, styled my hair, dressed quickly, and gathered my essentials—phone, power bank, bag, keys. A quick walk later, and I was at my mom's apartment.

"Good morning, Mom!" I greeted her.

"Hello, dear. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen," she replied.

I rushed to the kitchen, the smell of breakfast wafting through the air. "Oh God, I haven't eaten anything yet, and class starts in ten minutes!"

"Do you want me to drive you?" Mom offered.

I laughed. "No, thanks. I've got my car. But I appreciate it." I kissed her on the forehead, quickly ate my breakfast, and headed out.

Fifteen minutes later, I was parked outside the high school in my red SUV. Catherine and Eliya were already there, along with Lia, whom I hoped wasn't causing any drama. The high school in Pasadena was nothing fancy, but it was home. I waved to my friends as I walked towards the entrance, the school bell ringing in two minutes.

I headed to my locker, where Eliya appeared, running up to me. "Oh hey, you!"

"Hey, you. Anything new?" I asked.

"Yeah, life. My body has cells you've never seen before," Eliya joked.

"Yeah, I just saw them," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Don't be sarcastic. Everyone saw them. Idiot," Eliya shot back.

"Okay, my first class is art," I said, checking my schedule.

"Yeah, every Monday you ask that question," Eliya teased.

"How was your weekend?" I asked.

"Good. No accidents or crashes, so that's a win," Eliya said.

"Glad to hear. I, on the other hand, got a warrant," I said, smirking.

"For parking in front of the market for over fifty minutes?" Eliya guessed.

"Really, again?" I asked.

"Well, in my defense, it was midnight, and I didn't think they'd actually fine me," Eliya said, shrugging.

"Neither did you last week, last month, or last year," I pointed out.

"Exactly," Eliya agreed, laughing as we walked into the art classroom.

As I settled into my seat, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and anxiety about the future. The end of high school was fast approaching, and with it came the weight of making decisions about my future. The prospect of studying in Italy or Spain was thrilling, but the uncertainty of not knowing what I wanted to major in added to my stress.

But for now, I was surrounded by friends, a supportive family, and the familiar routine of school. Life was a maze of choices and expectations, and while it was daunting, I knew I had the strength to navigate it. With each passing day, I was one step closer to finding my own path, making decisions that were right for me, and ultimately discovering who I wanted to be.

And so, I took a deep breath, focused on the present moment, and embraced the journey ahead.