Primum et Extremum

I didn't take Latin in school. It was either Latin or French, so I went for the living and opted for French. Maybe not the smartest choice I ever made but in the end it's just one of many insignificant ones that did or didn't shape my personal path of life, which seems to revolve around these take it or leave it decisions continuously.

To be, or not to be.

Take your chance or leave it.

It's all about binary pairs. Binary beings in a binary world. Two eyes, ears, arms, legs, lungs, kidneys....duality everywhere. Male or female. Old or young. Good or evil. Yes or no. Black or white. Which makes sense in a way that it structures the complexity surrounding us, guiding us towards decisions, categorizing, labeling, defining. Constructing meaning in a way we couldn't without these pairs, without words for them, without opposites. But the choices we make, the decisions we take aren't about black or white, they're about the shades of grey in between. The personal experiences of everything we voluntarily or involuntarily encounter.

Especially the firsts and lasts. Our own personal firsts and lasts, although we as humans share so many of them, we might think they should be similar.

The first firsts are deleted from our memory, only being retold to us by those who have surrounded us our entire lives, witnessing these first firsts, maybe the most important firsts we've ever had. First breath of air, first smile, first words, first steps. When firsts came naturally. Growing up they outweigh the lasts, new experiences being added to our mental curriculum vitae on a daily basis, linked to memories, feelings and songs only we can make sense of. Like remembering the first time my Dad took me to a soccer game when I was four, the stadium a green and white cauldron of chanting and shouting fans, cheering on the one team I am still a fan of. Dad simply trying to make sure I don't turn out to be one of these übergirly princess daughters that solely play with dolls and refuse to wear anything but pink. Check. Bless him for that.

And then, at a certain point or place in life the firsts and lasts began to merge, a maelstrom of excitement and timidity, one door being closed while another one opens up. As they always do. To change you, to open up possibilities, to shape your personality, your point of view, your self- perception. Like the night before the first sleepover at a friends house being the last night you couldn't let go of your stuffed toy tiger. And suddenly you can. Easily. Or the first time doing a somersault from the 5-Meter tower being the last time to attend training after six years of high diving. Experiencing height phobia for the first time, accepting it, dealing with it, taking consequences. Crowdsurfing for the first (and last) time in '97 at the first (and luckily not last) punkrock show I ever went to. They all go hand in hand.

The first sex, being not nearly as exciting or sensual or overwhelming as your friends or the media constantly promised it to be, at your own regret. Only much later the first time it actually turned out to be as indescribably, thrilling and satisfactory as you always hoped it would be.

The firsts we couldn't wait to happen, to check them off our inner To-Do List, to cross them out and be happy and proud about it. Like the tattoo I kept begging my parents for for months when I was seventeen. The tattoo they said I could have when I am of legal age at 18, being completely responsible myself for what I do. What can I say, I am still a tattoo virgin. One of the firsts I failed on or rather chose not to experience. A first spark of wisdom?

And after a while the firsts and lasts begin to balance each other. More and more lasts start to invade our daily repetitive rhythms of simply adding 'once more' to the things we previously did for the first time. The last day of school, a last one you couldn't wait for and suddenly it's there and you wish it wouldn't be as it is as definite as anything can be, marking the end of your childhood, a sacred, carefree time.

Not all, but many firsts and lasts start to have a different meaning now, a more profound one. They don't come naturally anymore. Lasts we didn't expect, lasts we didn't hope for. Lasts we never wanted to have. The unexpected lasts, the ones you didn't know would turn out to be lasts, are the worst. Like the last time I hugged Steve goodbye, not knowing he'd be gone a year later. Now wishing I would have cherished that moment more than I did back then, instead of just being happy to see him. To suck in every second of it, making sure not to forget a single smile or gesture.

Or that last kiss before it all fell apart, before breaking up that special relationship that wasn't supposed or planned to end. Finally, the firsts we never wanted to happen. Hospitals. Funerals.

The planned firsts and lasts are rare these days. The unexpected ones tend to pop up more often and although some of them will be unpleasant and scary and devastating, I am in general looking forward to the things to come in the distant future. Hopefully. The firsts and maybe even lasts you hope for.

Important firsts, like the first firsts we ever had.

Each at its time.