“I don’t normally do this kind of thing,” you said.
“Neither do I,” I assured you.
Later it turned out we had both met people online before,
and we had both slept with people on first dates before,
and we had both found ourselves falling too fast before. But we comforted
ourselves with what we really meant to say, which was:
“I don’t normally feel this good about what I’m doing.”
Measure the hope of that moment, that feeling.
Everything else will be measured against it.
“The Lover’s Dictionary,” David Levithan
This was the moment where I stopped falling in love with people. Everyone comes up with this idea that at this point in my life, I either have a boyfriend or a ten millionth infatuation. But that’s the thing. What if I don’t want to fall in love just yet? It sometimes scares me that in this lifetime, I’d be married and with children. It sounds like a happy sitcom altogether, but I can never imagine myself after this point at nineteen years old. I’m still undecided about everything, and the truth is, my dreams are becoming foggier each time I blink my eyes.
Why have I stopped liking people all of a sudden? In my two years of college, I have liked about a zillion people and really felt for the elite few. But now, I glance at strangers passing and they have become faces to me, faces I can never stop to ponder and think, “hey, this could be the person.” Other people have felt that, how come I haven’t? I wholly blame Ted Mosby (yes, I’m getting into that talk again, so sue me) for raising the bar and for the fact that my anxiety and my burgeoning love for privacy blockades me from feeling such mutual understanding with another person. I have shunned away everything that leads to that, and I just simply nod whenever friends get together.
Not that I blame them, but because I don’t understand any of it. How do you do it?
Of course there aren’t any mechanics for it, nor are there signs or ways to fall in love. You just do, they said. It’s a strange feeling, but definitely not the kind of thing you see on television. Of course, it’s an exaggerated trope for some. But well, that’s the realest thing for me at this point (but as an avid hater of teenage love, I have to wait a few more years).
Even the guy Benjamin who was the closer thing to this falling in love mechanic, he’s a ghost to me. We’re strangers, sad to say. But isn’t that how life goes? Like that Youtube video Strangers Again? How do you know someone so much that in the end, you end up not knowing at all? You know he’s the one, you know you guys are good together, and yet you don’t know why it ended? There’s always doubt at the end of the rope. Even for the surest person in the world, he will at one point doubt.
“I don’t normally feel good about doing this kind of thing.” The fear and the unknown thing of doing, of falling, is what scares me. While it’s a great feeling, it’s a risk. Like how they describe cliff diving, or eating leftovers. You sign this waiver and life gets out for a while, and you’re on your own. Yes, you’re on your own because for now, you don’t even know if the other party’s into you as much as you are to him.
But the beauty of it is when you both understand, and I’m not in a rush to do so. It just terrifies me that no one will ever be right for me because I always have to find the flaws and imperfection sometimes just doesn’t work.
But that’s just me.