Someone said, “The first experience can never be repeated. The first love, the first sunrise…” and I agreed immediately, being good-natured as I am, afraid of offending by disagreement, eager to smooth things over at the expense of self expression. However, I don’t agree with such an overt admiration for the “first”. There are just as many bad “first” as there are good “first”. For example, your first time behind the wheel–the thrill you had imagined was not very thrilling, especially when overshadowed by the awkwardness and the narrowly missed collision with a tree.
My first love was not a disaster and that’s only because it ceased to exist before becoming disastrous. I talked about it in a previous post. My first friendship is too infantile to worth mentioning; my first Lunar New Year festival in living memory, I was sick with indigestion because of overeating; my first cigarette, I felt terrible for wasting one stick out of my friend’s precious possession since I disliked the taste; my first alcohol, I can’t really remember since I started to take little sips before I had a memory; my first essay in primary school was so awful that when I reread it several years later, I couldn’t believe I wrote it.