Being surrounded every single demented workday by mostly single women, sometimes, their melancholic sentiments are contagious. If you add it to my own blocks of melodrama, I cannot help but be depressed yet again. Being single is fun, I know that. And it really is. Especially for someone like me who is not ashamed to admit that she loves herself so much and should (and must) have some “alone” time per week. However, as a friend’s friend recently enthused, singlehood is so great, but sometimes, there’s that brief moment when you feel very sad that you’re unattached. And that “brief moment” can be so painful, it actually eats up the entire time that you supposedly felt great about your romantic solitude. It strikes at the most inopportune time, and in several times when you can somehow see it coming, still, you cannot just take it in stride. And if you do not have friends who are ready and willing to support, or you are just ashamed to admit you are feeling it, you end up hurting alone.
Anyway, taking off from that rather cheesy line of thought, let me share my favorite lines from the movie The Holiday. I wasn’t so crazy about this movie as a whole, but only with these lines that, once again, struck too close to bone. No, to the heart. Emphasis mine, and if you know me, you would know why.
I’ve found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said “Journeys end in lovers meeting.” What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said, “Love is blind”. Now that is something I know to be true.
For some quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night. And then, there’s another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert.
Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one-sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space! Yes, you are looking at one such individual.
Wait, there’s more…
I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn’t know you had inside you. And it doesn’t matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends… you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he’ll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you’ll go somewhere new. And you’ll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.
The last few sentences are quite hopeful, and it’s a beautiful thought to see yourself already in that period. But of course, you cannot do that without sacrificing in some form of great romantic pain.
I don’t want to think that I was born unlucky in love, or that I have not tried looking. Maybe, there are moments when I seemed to not have done enough. It’s always been the story of my life. My very obvious problem is that I always try to level, to impress, to be on the same league as the men I like, without realizing that if they are going to like me back, they will ignore, unconsciously, everything that (I thought) I lack. Maybe it is also a defense mechanism because one other bad habit I have is jumping too much into the “what if’s” of the future. I always have this fear that I will never measure up to anyone and it will be the reason why I will be left behind, or that my man will grow tired of me eventually. That’s why I eagerly try to be this best person I thought he would like, losing a large chunk of who I really am in the process. Sometimes, I tend to overlook the similarities and too much “reference points”, as a friend said, which are almost always sufficient to be good breeding grounds for a relationship. I should be capitalizing on them, right? But I do not. I engage myself in petty jealousy over people I don’t know, over situations I am not even sure about.
Anyway, in one of our rarely serious conversations, a special friend agreed that I felt terribly hurt by the last few men I loved had feelings for because my intense feelings were unrequited. Probably. A more hurtful concern is when it will stop – the pattern, every year, of falling in love with someone in silence. And again, it’s not that I have not tried saying it or having it felt. I took two to three steps forward but all of them, as in a dance, either did not move an inch at all or was confused if doing the same is a good thing to do. On both counts, I fell flat on my face.
It gets pretty tiring, you know. And this, with a full wide view of friends who are suffering ridicule, losing money, losing time, damning family ties, sacrificing principles, all because they love and are being loved back. I should be feeling sorry for them at some point, but I’m not. Because they’re happy.
Well, I am happy, too.
Hahaha, maybe I’m just trying to get your attention.