Four score and seven crushes ago, I had the notion that true love would come rapping on the front door and telling me to run away with him, or something of the similar sort. I never really thought about it, nor had I any set of standards listed down for him. I never really thought about the symbols, the metaphors, or anything. I think I was totally fine before that whole “can’t-you-see-the-signs” fiasco, also known as where I currently am: stuck trying to interpret symbols I can’t even begin to fathom.
All seven of those boys I liked had gone from extreme belief in love to a more downplayed, calmer approach to it as I had gotten the same answer from all of them: “no,” “we’re just friends,” or I never even bothered telling the rest of them. Needless to say that despite the pain, I had never really learned my lesson because who were those seven boys? Name-dropping would make me a Taylor Swift and sorry to say, I’d much rather like to put them in code names, so like the mature person that I am. And as much as I like to say that they all make up a part of my life, the answer was screaming right in my face:
Can’t you see the signs?
Much like trying to interpret what God’s message is for us, so we do with our romantic destiny. We interpret so many kinds of actions, from the slight shoulder touches to the flirtatious exchanges, we’ve all been there and yes, girls, we have all done our share of cryptography. Does he like me because he offered to share with me his lunch for the day? Does he like me because he would much rather like to sit beside me than choose to move elsewhere? Does he like me because he throws a glance for one second too long and our eyes meet/ Does he like me because–because I just feel he does?
It’s not our fault, okay? It’s not our fault that we try to put together all the words, the actions, and thoughts into one big ball of confusion. It isn’t our fault, we were just trying to understand the ways of the world. It’s not our fault that people mislead us sometimes, or we become too blinded to fall for them. We’re just people. We can’t read minds, though it would have been more helpful to determine. It’s not our fault we try to find the One because we have always believed there are people that fit our standards.
And get this, the questions are thrown out there into this vacuum. I call it vacuum because those questions aren’t really said out loud, these questions are just thoughts you’re too scared to pull out. You shiver slightly as you fall into his trap again, and you hit yourself in the head after you’ve told yourself countless times that THIS IS THE LAST TIME I’M GOING TO FALL FOR IT. And why can you not stop yourself from this? It’s the emotion, honey. It’s the emotion.
It was destiny? Even Beyonce had to give up on being its child at some point. The fates don’t contemplate and plot everyone’s love lives and map it out for us like a treasure hunt. The universe does not owe us anything, it was here before us and it will be here even when we’re gone. You definitely do not find love at first sight (unless he’s the only living man on this earth–actually how sure are you that you’d fall for the only choice?) or find love because the two of you were brought together by some stroke of fate. If you found love when he accidentally dropped his tray of eggs on your shoes, serendipity and “meet-cutes” are slightly excusable (but nevertheless, temporary).
But what if we look past all those emotions, those googly eyes at how physically and aesthetically pleasing his body looks? Or the way he talks with his mellow accent and deep voice? Or the way his perfume smells? And ask yourself this instead: How many “The One” candidates do I have? Oh come on, we’ve all been there. He’s the One because he’s really smart and I like the way he dresses. He’s the One because he’s my soulmate. He’s the One because it’s him and me against the world. Please, please, for the love of God if you cannot so much as explain why he is without using metaphors– NEXT.
“The One” was someone I was supposed to believe in and was supposed to wait for when “the time is right.” “The One” was supposed to be the one who would love me for all eternity and would be there for me forever and always. But that’s just it. You’re objectifying your “one true love” with that title: “The One.” And face it, you kind of focus on him being “The One” because he fits all the qualities you like, the qualities you have grown to love in a man of your standard. And you find yourself torn apart after you realise that he isn’t what you thought he was, nor was he the guy you found something in common with. What is that? It’s called infatuation. You basically fall in love with this made-up guy inside your head and you threw that image onto “The One” who just happened to pass you by and was the first guy you found cute.
So why then should he be more than just the One? He is more than just the top of some list, your list I might add. He should be more than just the One who you found through the signs, through horoscopes, and through random songs that play on the radio. But if you can reason why you love him and vice-versa, when you go beyond the metaphors and finally see him for who he is and consciously accept him for it, maybe you’ve got it this time around.
(Sadly, this is a lesson I have yet to learn.)
for: the seven guys I have liked and for all of you out there. (I’m looking at you, Thought Catalog.)