We should be wooed, and were not made to woo

Ah MSND. I suppose Shakespeare got it right. But I keep getting mixed messages from the internet and everyone. Some say, oh it’s better to let the guy confess first – it shows that he likes you more. & some are like, no it’s the 21st century, times have changed, if you want something you should go for it.

Sometimes I have this strange urge to do something crazy, like make a pretty V Day card and give it to him. Or come up with some reason to message or something. I suppose it wouldn’t be a big deal if we were friends. Problem is, he doesn’t know who I am.

Each day I watch as my friends fall in love, or get confessed to. So many times, I’ve wanted to give up on love. I wished so badly to be aromantic, to not have to worry about love (or lack of it) all the time.

Isn’t it ironic, that my friends who couldn’t give a damn about anyone have been confessed to while I haven’t? But then I heard Sharmila’s story today, & I realised that love is so beautiful that I don’t think life would be worth living without it.

My mum keeps issuing this ultimatum, don’t you dare get a boyfriend or I’ll save myself money by not letting you go abroad. I don’t know what’s sadder, that she won’t let me , or that she doesn’t even have to worry because I’ll never get a boyfriend ever anyway.

 

I’m not a girl,

that thinks a guy is the answer.

I’m just tired of being alone.

SO TRUE

I wish I were aromantic, so that I could care only about my studies, and focus on building a great career. I wish the opinions of all these boys and girls didn’t matter. I wish that I couldn’t care less if anyone liked me or not.

I don’t know how many more times I’ll have to listen to love stories and gush, knowing full well that I will never be able to relate.

I don’t know how many times I’ll have to listen to a friend tell me of someone being confessed to or dating, and then affirming that it must be because she was pretty.

I don’t know how many times I’ll have to watch movies that make me cry, listen to songs that I wish were dedicated to me, or write lyrics that no one will ever read.

It’s why my mum was so mad at me for using omegle. She is convinced that all the users are dirty old grandpas with beer bellies out to trick little girls. I think I was lonely, and that made me vulnerable. I’m weak, I know.

I told her that I would give my whole heart to whoever was good enough to appreciate me. It’s a risky promise I’ve mentioned before, and sometimes I wonder if I should make such a strong statement, but I thought about it and it seems that there’s not going to be anyone anytime soon.Ā  & if I do get my heart broken, then it’s my fault.

We’re all animals, aren’t we.

We could look at love through the eyes of science – believe that it’s nothing more than chemicals, genetics, whatever.

We could think of it as a numbers game – the more people you meet, the higher the probability of landing the right one.

or we could just believe in it as it is. That it’s inexplicable. It’s fate, it’s magic, you can’t figure it out.

What use is Google šŸ˜¦ it doesn’t provide the solace I seek. I can find some girls with similar problems, but a lot of them have had at least one person who has told them that they liked them.

I’m sick of being so old and so alone. Constantly ignored by all the boys in favour of someone else, anyone else.Ā 

I should prepare myself for a life best lived alone. I’ll try my hardest to stop thinking about love. If only like in Delirium , love were a disease that we were all vaccinated against. It wouldn’t hurt anymore.

I’m rather surprised that some people do read my blog. While I suppose I constantly lament the same things I’m glad you all find my musings worth a gander. Not a male goose.

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