Youth and love.
If you ask me what those two things are, I'll tell you this…
Youth, how should I put it? If I had to sum it up in a single word, then maybe "Annoying" is the most accurate one.
At home, you have to listen to your parents. I get that, we're kids, it's normal to be guided, to be scolded sometimes. Parents want what's best for us, even if their way of showing it isn't always perfect.
But step outside the house, and it doesn't get any easier. At school, it's the teachers. You have to follow their rules, meet their expectations, and nod along even when you disagree. Again, I get it. In a way, they're like temporary guardians, so it's understandable.
But the real problem?
Socializing.
Interacting.
"Fitting in"
When you're among peers, people your age, there's this unspoken pressure to blend in.
You can't just be yourself, not really.
You have to walk on eggshells, constantly gauging what's acceptable, what will make you likable, what might make you an outcast.
You smile even when you're annoyed.
You laugh even when you don't find it funny.
You keep quiet even when you're hurting, all for the sake of "friendship"
People talk a lot about how important friends are when you're young. How they shape who you become. But if I'm being honest, friendship during youth feels fake... Like we're all just pretending to be adults, copying what we think friendship should look like.
Study together. Hang out together. Try new things together. Sounds nice, right? But beneath it all, it's fragile. One small disagreement, one misunderstood message, one clash of opinions, and the so-called "friend" becomes a stranger, sometimes an "enemy"
Just like that.
Sure, some friendships survive. Some even last a lifetime. But those are rare. Most don't.
Most of them are conditional, temporary, based on convenience and common interest, until one of you changes, or grows, or simply stops pretending.
So, what is youth?
It's messy. It's dramatic. It's filled with forced smiles, fragile bonds, and unspoken expectations.
And love?
Love is even more annoying than youth.
If youth is a storm of confusion and pressure, then love is the thunder that makes it worse.
Honestly, I don't think I understand much about love, at least, not the kind everyone keeps talking about.
Romance, affection, confessions, heartbreaks… I've seen it all from the sidelines, like watching a play where everyone's desperate to be the main character. But me? I don't think I belong on that stage.
The only love I know, the only one I trust, is the kind I got from my parents.
It's simple. Pure. Uncomplicated.
They love me not because I did something impressive, or because I made them feel a certain way.
They love me because I exist. Because I'm theirs.
That kind of love doesn't ask for anything in return. It doesn't demand attention, or validation, or to be constantly reassured. It just is.
But even then… Maybe it's not always that simple.
Some parents, maybe most, do expect something in return.
They want you to succeed.
They want you to become someone they can be proud of.
To take care of them when they're old.
To live a life they dreamed of but couldn't reach.
They'll tell you to be this, not that. Choose this path, avoid that one because they raised you, they gave you everything you have.
And maybe they're not wrong.
Because even in that pressure, there's love.
A flawed kind, maybe, but love all the same.
They care.
It's just… Sometimes they care in ways that hurt.
Sometimes love gets tangled with expectations, and what should feel warm starts to feel heavy.
But that, that kind of love, the one from parents, that's the only form of love I believe is real.
Parental love.
Unpolished. Messy. Sometimes flawed. But real.
Of course… That's only when it is love.
What about the parents who hurt their children?
The ones who hit. Who scream. Who manipulates.
Who calls it discipline when it's abuse?
Who claim to love, but only take and break?
My answer?
They're not ready to be parents.
They never were.
They were just kids themselves, kids who thought love was something you demanded instead of something you gave.
And again, it all loops back to the same damn source: Youth and Love.
Young people rushing into love they don't understand.
Creating life when they haven't even figured out how to live their own.
And in the end, the ones who suffer… are the children.
What should they do?
What should a child do when the people who are supposed to protect them become the very reason they are hurt?
I don't know.
I really, truly don't.
And maybe that's the scariest part.
So let's go back, back to the love I was talking about.
The ones floating around in classrooms and whispered in hallways, written in texts and measured in how fast someone replies… It all feels so forced. So shallow. It's not love, it's a performance. A craving for validation dressed up as something deeper.
So, what happens when you put the two together?
Youth and love, both annoying on their own.
Put them in the same room, and you get chaos. You get drama, misunderstandings, jealousy, overthinking, broken hearts over fleeting feelings.
It's like mixing fire with gasoline and wondering why everything explodes.
And right now, I'm standing at the gates of where that explosion happens daily.
The place where youth is expected to shine and love is expected to bloom.
The one place people romanticize but never warn you how suffocating it can be.
High School.
Yeah, if there's a place that perfectly combines the confusion of youth and the chaos of love, this is it.
Some call it the best years of their lives.
Me? I call it hell.
Hell on earth.
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My name is Rey. Rey Putra.
Second year in high school.
And just like I said, right now, I'm standing at the gates of hell.
Not the fiery, demon-filled kind.
Worse.
High school.
The true hell on Earth, where youth and love collide like a car crash in slow motion.
Thanks to my parents, I didn't end up with a face that causes public concern.
But to say I'm handsome? Hmm... Let's go with "ordinary handsome." The kind of face that blends in just enough to be ignored, but not enough to be invisible.
Hobbies?
None in particular.
I do what I can, and I don't do what I can't.
Simple.
Life goals?
Still buffering…
I haven't figured that out yet. Maybe I never will.
Anyway, back to the present...
Here I am, standing still in front of the school gate, just staring at the building like it's some final boss I haven't trained enough to fight.
Why?
Well, because I'm a transfer student.
For reasons I'd rather not talk about right now, I had to leave my old school and start fresh here.
And today, lucky me, is my first day.
So why am I frozen here, just glaring at the building like it's personally offended me?
Because even from out here, I can feel it.
This school… Has a stronger aura of youth and love than the last one.
It's thick. Like humidity you can't escape.
Just look around.
Students walking in, some in loud groups, laughing like their lives are a sitcom.
Others walk in pairs. One boy, one girl.
Couples, probably.
Or maybe just "close friends" in denial. Who knows?
All I know is, this place already feels like trouble.
And something tells me… This year is going to be a real pain.
"…Hey, students! What are you doing there? Class is about to start… Wait a minute, you look unfamiliar. Transfer students?"
A voice cut through my thoughts like a slap to the back of the head.
Firm. Loud. Slightly annoyed.
I turned to see a man in a tracksuit, whistle hanging from his neck, clipboard in hand.
A teacher.
Judging by the outfit and the slightly sunburned face, definitely PE.
Yup. PE teachers always have that "I-will-make-you-run-laps-for-breathing-wrong" energy.
His eyes narrowed when I didn't respond fast enough.
Great.
Now I've triggered the scary teacher gaze.
The one that makes you feel like you've committed a felony just by existing.
"…Ah~ Yes, Sir. I'm a new transfer student," I finally answered, forcing a polite smile I didn't feel.
He squinted a bit, looked me up and down like he was scanning for signs of delinquency.
"Transfer, huh? Name?"
"Rey. Rey Putra"
He nodded slowly, flipping through the pages on his clipboard.
"… Ah, here. Rey Putra. Second Year, Class 2-B. You're cutting it close, kid. First impressions matter, y'know"
"Y-Yes, sir…"
He sighed, then pointed toward the main building. "Main entrance. Second floor, classroom's at the end of the right corridor. And next time? Don't loiter outside like a lost puppy. You'll attract attention"
"Understood, sir"
He gave one last grunt and walked off, muttering something under his breath that sounded like "kids these days"
And just like that, my peaceful pause outside the gates of hell came to an end.
Time to step in.
Into the chaos.
Into the noise.
Into the world of youth and love I've been dreading.
Welcome to your new battlefield, Rey.
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