We date back to my first ever “dare to be great” moment in which I(grade 7) revealed to my first crush, let’s call her A, that I in fact had this funny feeling in my tummy every time she entered the room and made me lose control of my brain whenever she looked at me and all I wanted to do every time I saw her was to awkwardly kiss those gorgeous lips and hold that soft hand. After all, what did I haveto lose? It was the last day of school and she and I were going to different high schools. How bad could it be right? It would turn out to be a rejection that only I would know about and would not have to face on a day to day basis. WRONG! On revealing this childish, pubescent feeling I was greeted with: “well, Zoydberg, I don’t like you like that. I actually have a huge thing for Random_Boy.” Instead, he wasn’t that random, he was my best friend. I then proceeded to hook them up….every romantic experience since, as John Cusack’s character once said, has been a different version of the same thing….Zoydberg the martyr.
Skip forward a few years to high school…let’s call her B. Smart, witty, God damned attractive and super popular…”Err, B, I have to tell you, that my mother told me never to tell a girl I would move heaven and earth for her, but for you, I would”…”sorry, Zoydberg, I see you as a gay best friend and feel comfortable enough with you to change clothes in front of you, but what’s up with Random_Guy2, he is so hot!” Also, not that I seek such circumstances, but random dude turned out to be new best friend in high school. He didn’t need much help (or quasi permission) to cure her curiosity.
Fast forward a few more years and I start dating the first woman I was to fall in love with, C. Granted, she had a wee bit of a reputation before we hooked up. I however, soon discovered that there was a plethora of awesomeness to her that she needed to realize. I validated her, she proceeded to be philandering and dismissive partner that ensured I owned the title of “broken ex boyfriend”. Christ she looked stunning the day she dumped my ass!
Skip through the puntuatory(yes, just made that up) dates or random hookups and we have documented experiences of dating someone that actually met “suitors” set up by her family(D)… then, super emo who was oh so promising then turned out to have more personalities than a talented ventriloquist (“I love you like a brother”, thank you E), another that was also uber emo and uber promising and didn’t want to broach the issue that despite my best efforts I had her unhappiness on a hair trigger (F), the “I-think-you-rock-and-I-actually-do-want-you-but-we-can’t-be-due-to-insert_reason_here”, G and the made for TV in true Bollywood style, I-think-I-love-you-but-we-can’t-be-together for…err…still figuring that one out…H
Not to leave out the initially promising I, who chose to try to “save me”, be dismissive and judgmental of those less fortunate, then want to shag me to keep me…J, who is smart, uber intelligent, cultured, liked me enough to want to be with me, but not enough to not want to mould me and make damn sure I articulated just how lucky I was to have her…K, whom I had a huuuge crush on, validated her more than her piss poor selection of boyfriends, and on rejection from them (always horribly inebriated, of course, cos she has too much pride otherwise) decides to articulate my awesomeness, before sobering up the next day, in which I was again safely tucked back in the Dawson’s Creek friendship box…Uber posh(and hot) L, who loved spending evenings in with me, but was too chic for such public displays…etc…etc
Before you jump on your horse named High, there is much context to each. There always is. In every single one of these scenarios, be them in cases of me actually getting to date/be with X, Y or Z or merely trying to woo and win them, I have given and given and essentially, been the cavalier romantic fool I have given every impression I am. I’m the one that believes in the Hollywood romance of her getting off the plane after some uber epiphany that I really, really, do rock or the even less likely, her calling me to say she would like to give this a shot because life is too short and to regret is the worst thing in the world.
I continually find myself convincing women to be with me. Trying to get them to see that I am actually attentive, sensitive, insightful, witty, charming, low admin and will make you feel like the most desirable woman on this planet. I remember the small, arbitrary details and glorify the important ones. Yet still, they enjoy the preview but don’t bother buying the season ticket. Dogged by perceptions of who I might actually turn out to be, their own unchecked baggage filled history or just confusion of what they want, I am the loser left with my heart quite literally on my sleeve.
Many quotes come to mind. There are no half martyrs or if you put everyone before you, you eventually end up last or it just wasn’t meant to be, but the one that echoes most eerily is that of you should never have to convince those that already know you.
Despite their best efforts, I choose to remain this terribly optimistic, hopeless romantic. Maybe a re-evaluation of my own worth and a lowering of the “BS acceptance meter” is called for, but if I don’t have the tenacity and lack of fear, who will?
“It’s better to say too much, than never to say what you need to say”
