oh, to think that I’d be alone forever
As I was walking on my way home — which is a 950k-a-month-9-square-meter bedroom where I live — with a grocery bag in one hand and my dinner in the other, this one thought suddenly popped up in my head, “Hey, I guess this is it, huh? This is how it’s going to be from now on; you, the predestined never-to-be-married old maid, doing grocery and having a takeaway for dinner, going home to no one but your idealized-carefree-comedy-like-lifestyle of yours that you always think is going to last forever. I mean, are you ready for doing this All Solo for the next fifteen-twenty-forever years?”
Because all my life, all I have always wanted and think am going to do is embrace my independent single lifestyle. Because all my life, I always think — no, believe — I am cut for being alone. I’ve been dreaming about this; about having a place to call my own, a job good enough that I actually like, the freedom of being my individual self, the self-responsibility without any demands of responsibility for others, and tons of other things that I actually am, have, and do now.
Because I’ve been doing fine on my own. No, actually, I’ve been doing great.
But the thing is, I’ve never been actually and truthfully on my own. The truth is, I’ve been always surrounded by tons of friends with whom I’ve been having good friendships that actually replace my repressed longing for any kind of romantic one. And I really genuinely thought platonic friendship could replace my repressed longing for a romantic one forever.
But then, all of a sudden, I wake up to find that all of my friends’ first priorities have become romance.
And I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that they’ll be leaving and being mature and appealing enough to start new chapters in their lives while I’m still here clinging into this ultimate dream lifestyle of mine that is starting to get old.
Because I can’t just put myself out there and start seeking a romantic relationship because that would automatically mean altering, belittling, objectifying, and compromising myself. That would automatically mean betraying myself. Because, all my life, I believe in freedom, in being independent, and in that woman, in particular, shouldn’t and don’t aim only for love. And I know I probably have either consciously or subconsciously chosen to never emotionally grow up for thinking that I’ll be just as glad as anyone if I end up alone somewhere, eighty, knitting sweaters for no one but myself in front of the TV watching Community for the 1000th time. Because I can’t just put myself out there and start seeking romance because I believe that my life would probably become a cliché with a guaranteed unhappy ending because I feel like no one in this world could truly make me happy.
And I do still want to embrace my independent single lifestyle. But I guess I didn’t calculate back then how lonely it’s going to feel. I didn’t know what a lonely path it is to take. And this is safe to say that maybe, maybe, I just really and genuinely don’t want romance. And I don’t want it because I believe it goes against every single thing that I think would make me happy. But, again, the world I am living in is the world where romance is prized over friendships and sometimes even familial bonds, leaving those who don’t want romance feeling isolated — inevitably.
But maybe this is just a lonely person who knows the value of love without its guarantee talking. Because, everything aside, I still hope that I’m not too afraid to love. Or that I’m just too proud to be loved.
Because I do still hope that this loneliness merely precedes good company — whatever kind it might be.
inspired by: if this is a rom-com, kill the director! (tumblr.com)
