Prologue:
In the ninth grade, my English Lit class read Romeo and Juliet. Then, for participation points my teacher made us read assigned parts aloud. I don’t remember who read the part of Romeo, but as fate would have it, I was chosen to read Juliet.
I remember all the other girls being jealous of me. But I had a slightly different take... You see, I told the teacher, in a desperate attempt to get a smaller part, that I found Juliet to be a complete and utter idiot. When she asked me why I thought so, I told her.
For starters, she falls for the one guy she knows that she can’t have. Then she blames fate for her own bad decision rather than taking responsibility for her own actions. My teacher and mother both -my mom was called in for my “insubordinate behavior”- tried to explain to me that when fate happens, choices and reason fly out the window. I absolutely did not agree.
When I was thirteen I saw black and white. Right and wrong. There was no grey areas in my life. I believed that love- like life- was about making choices. Fate simply had no say in our actions. Fate was a cop out.
While everyone else thought it was so romantic; the story of Romeo and Juliet. The story of true lost love. I believed that if Juliet was dumb enough to fall for the enemy, drink a bottle of poison, and agree to go to sleep in a coffin… well, she deserved what she got.
But now I wonder if maybe I was too hard on Juliet. Maybe Juliet and Romeo were fated to be together... but maybe it was just supposed to be for a little while. Maybe it was just supposed to be a temporary love and not a forever love. And maybe their time just passed. Maybe if they had known that beforehand, maybe it all would have been okay in the end. Maybe Juliet would have found forever love with Paris... or some other guy.
But back then, I can remember telling my mom that when I was grown up, I’d take fate into my own hands. I wouldn’t let any guy drag me down.
My mother just laughed and told me that I’d be lucky to ever find that kind of passion with someone. And that if I did, I’d be stupid to give it up. She told me that I would find a way to make it work- even if I had to sleep in a coffin and drink a bottle of poison to do so. I didn’t understand her then.
Even now, I still believe that love is about choices. It’s about setting aside the poison and sheathing the dagger. But now, I also understand what my mother meant... She meant that sometimes, despite all the best decisions, and best intentions, fate can win anyway. Sometimes we don’t get a choice in the matter. The choice is chosen for us and we can’t change it. No matter how much we did- right, or wrong.
