Why I Identify as a Hopeless Romantic
I’ve read somewhere that if you have relationship trauma, the only way to heal the wounds is by being in a relationship.
That’s never been my logic. I’ve always said that I’ll get to romance once I fix what’s wrong with me. Because it wouldn’t be fair for the other person to get into a relationship with a fucked up gal, right?
Well, what I discovered was that that way of thinking was just another excuse not to poke that gushing disgusting wound. I was just protecting myself by sticking to what I know: being alone and not really trying.
But, in my head, I was trying so hard: I read every single self-help book. Am I unlovable? Are my expectations too high? Am I one of those hopeless romantics? Because I am guilty of devouring YA romance novels in my teen years and bawling my eyes out to Taylor Swift’s Enchanted.
My relationship with love needs untangling, pretty desperately. I can feel it’s fully stuck together like three different strings of fairy lights that have been sitting in a box untouched until December 1st hit.
For the past half few months, I left it alone, that gushing wound. I got tired of poking it, pouring salt on it, plastering bandaids all over it.
But I haven’t tried tracing my steps back, revisiting every stop my heart’s been at.
However, right now, I’m finally happy being single. I now realize that I used to be obsessed with the idea of being in love because I thought there was something wrong with me. I remember turning 21 and sobbing in my university dorm room because I thought I was going to be lonely my whole life. See how single here shifted to lonely? This was where my self-worth had hit an ATL (to quote Bo Burnham, that’s an all-time low, not Atlanta). I was unlovable, no one would ever look at me romantically, or want to be a friend with such a ball of anxiety.
I hate how I saw loneliness and being single as somehow synonymous. I don’t anymore, thank fuck. I know my self-worth now, I’m not the most confident person, but at least I know I’m worthy of love. I have a handful of close friends that I’m completely platonically in love with, and I know they love me too. But, most importantly, I’m in love with myself. And that’s all that matters.
I’m happy being single. But I’m also a full-on hopeless romantic. So I am happy, but I have my moments where I can’t help but wonder what would it be like to say I’ve found home.
Top 10 things that shaped me into the hopeless romantic I am today
Taylor Swift’s Enchanted: this is how a fourteen-year-old me imagined all love must feel like. All sparkles and ballgown dresses, none of that heartbreak bullshit.
Peeta Mellark’s monologue in Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins: when I first read that scene of them in the basement, the one where Peeta’s all like I can’t remember most things but that’s your favourite colour, etc. I was legit in love with the way he loved Katniss.
Holiday season: just the whole shebang. I don’t know who or what exactly started this yearning for romance every time I saw snow falling and the city light up in thousands of fairy lights. Fuck Christmas, honestly. Every December still makes me want to put on those pirate patches on both of my eyes. Everyone just seems too happy for my liking and jealousy is an ugly emotion so I’d love to avoid it as much as possible. Thank you.
The absolute classic Ella Enchanted: this is my origin story, a hundred percent. I believe my eight-year-old ass went into a full Sailor Moon costume transformation type of moment when I saw the movie for the first time.
This is where I was introduced to the enemies to lovers concept. Now that I think about it, I believe I’ve always gravitated to the forbidden love trope because I didn’t come out for a long time, and even the thought of me loving someone out loud was an insane act of bravery. Maybe a little part of me still believes that (and that’s why Fleabag season 2 got me very hot and heavy).
Seeing old people in love: I used to work in a posh restaurant that was mostly used as a wedding venue. I was behind the bar with four guys who would literally talk about stuff like how girthy their dicks are (a literal discussion that happened during the Duncans’ first dance).
Meanwhile, on the other side of the bar, an old couple was having their first dance of the evening too. We got talking after they were done, I got them some sherry on the house. They’d been together for over forty years and haven’t lost that teenage bickering type of love. The couple spent the rest of the evening by the piano, sipping sherry and playing four-hand piano pieces
First looks at weddings: I’m guilty of watching YouTuber wedding videos (looking especially at you, Saphya and Tyler) and balling my eyes out the first looks that the couples do. I wish.
The concept of meet-cutes: are you kidding me?! This is the only thing that I want in the whole world more than not having depression anymore (but they’re close contenders, I’ll say that).
I’ve had one k-drama worthy meet-cute that, of course, I had to fuck up. Back in uni, I went to my local Waterstone’s/Costa combo to get some writing done for the next day’s Character Study workshop. While the barista was making my coffee, he asked me about the book I was holding, it was something for my workshop. So we ended up talking a bit about studies, he said he was doing something with sound engineering. I grabbed my coffee and sat down. A few minutes later the guy brings me a cupcake which I didn’t order, I tell him he says oh, I know and walks away. There was a note with his number next to the caramel cupcake.
You know what I did later that afternoon? Texted Joe, the barista. You know what he did? Didn’t reply. You know what I did next? Saved that scrap of paper in my diary and never showed my face in that particular Waterstone’s ever again.
When I was telling this story to Cam over a bottle of Barefoot rose, she asked me to see the evidence: the note and the text I sent. You’re the dumbest thing on this Earth, Cam said and chucked my phone at me. You’ve sent the text to the wrong number! He didn’t reply? No shit, Juliette!
So I never texted the real Joe because I was embarrassed. So if you’re out there, Joe who worked in a Waterstone’s/Costa combo in 2016, I’m sorry. I strongly believe I have dyscalculia. But you made me believe that I’m worthy of a meet-cute.
Granola type of songs about marriage: I can’t even justify this one. I too want to be so in love that I can’t wait to get married and have someone to call my wife!
I am also a girl, standing in front of a boy asking him to love her. Are you KIDDING me? What do you mean this one single line wasn’t supposed to raise my expectations for romantic confessions through the roof?
