By Janina Lim, Lifestyle Editor |
“He’s just not the sweet type,” I would defend in my mind whenever I hear my friends say, through their silence, how he hasn’t proven his spoken love for me, how he’s not worth my time.
But the other half of my mind, I have to admit, is in agreement with their thoughts.
We are gathered around the table in a crowded shawarma place as I stare down at my cup of coffee and they munch on their dinners. I realized how my love life is like my coffee; unsweetened. I’m a reader. And I don’t think there is anything in this world that can take away that part of me that would want to have a life a little like my favourite book.
I cannot help but be an Eliza Bennet with a Mr. Darcy to love and accept her, to be a Juliet with a Romeo ready to die for her. This is not to say that I want him to be Mr. Darcy or Romeo for had this been the case, I would have left him a long time ago, let alone took interest in the first place.
Besides, being the book lover I am, I have faith that the worlds have conspired to save at least another dashing debonair for me.
He’s a flirt, a non-reader, a heavy smoker and drinker, a frat guy prone to vicious brawls. Everyone knows that; including me. And I’m not looking through all that. I’m accepting them. In fact, I have accepted them. And I am prepared to accept whatever flaw and weakness that he or situations are still to reveal to me in the future, for each of that flaw and weakness makes up this man I love.
I do not ask him to be someone else. All I ask from him is a sign that he loves me too.
I do not ask that he come to be romantic since I do not even believe in the word as a possible adjective for a lover. An idealistic act of showing love is not an act of romance, simply an act of love. And isn’t love supposed to be idealistic? Isn’t love supposed to move mountains, victor over evil stepmothers and break spells? Or did I just plummet down the rabbit pit again?
Am I still in Wonderland? Perhaps not. There is not a sign of a Cheshire cat nor a running rabbit with a pocket watch within my view.
I will wait a little more though. I will wait for him to show me that love he claims he has for me. I‘m not waiting for a dinner by candlelight, or a love letter to be thrown over into my balcony, or any of those sorts you see in movies to happen to me. All I’m waiting for is that moment he will make an effort to be by my side and let me know that it is exactly where he wants to be.
I will wait because I love him. But if I walk away, that’s because I also have to love myself.
I will wait; but not too long for my hair to outgrow that of Rapunzel’s because unlike this blondie, I do not live in a fairy tale where one, from the very beginning of the story, has the assurance that the guy asking to let down her hair is Prince Charming worth the wait; the assurance of a happy ending.
The world I live in does not allow happy endings. It does not allow immortality. I am given only a short period of time to find my happiness, my peace, my love. And I do not want to waste away the seconds I have left on someone who might not be the one, when there might be someone else out there who can handle better loving a reader like me.
However, being the fictional book lover that I am, I will, for a little while, remain to have faith in a magical realm waiting for us within this world. But there is no Pegasus to take us there; no Magic Carpet to hitch us a ride. From what I’m learning so far from reality, the only means is a reciprocation of love expressed, not just in words, but also in acts.
And if all else fails, I will have to end this chapter of my life, write my own sequel with someone else; perhaps one more colorful, more entertaining, more of everything unlike my unsweetened coffee.