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Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been dreaming about the Right One for me, a man who shall adore and accept all the aspects of me and together with whom I shall live a harmonious life with no compromises. I feared compromises and I didn’t want to make use of them in the single aspect of my existence that I cared about the most. I’ve been searching for the Right One ever since. One can observe that I used Right instead of Perfect, for I was and I am not perfect and, in the end, perfect really doesn’t exist. But a man that would be tailored to suit me best was what I most desired. Anyway, I really tried, I looked for Him in every man I met, but to no avail. How can one not despair, if that’s being the case? How can you not become a nihilist, cynical, bitter, single woman in your thirties when every man you come across is either scared of love, doesn’t want/need a relationship or can’t commit at all? What happened to us, what scarred us so badly that, suddenly, love became something we fear, something we runaway from and not towards? Telling someone ‘I love you’ from the bottom of your heart should be one of the most precious things in one’s life, but not when the recipient of your affection is too damaged and thus these words can only scare them away.
This fucked up world we live in has tricked us into believing that we don’t deserve love or that the love we deserve is something fabricated and no longer exists in our space and time. We fail to appreciate who we are and, subsequently, those we have around us – the ones that shower us with affection or stand by us no matter what – in favour ofthe more ephemeral things: material possessions, jobs or projects that are actually not and never will be more valuable than a real person. Because, at the end of the day, after you met that deadline, after you successfully did that project and that particular job, you come home to no one: no one to embrace you when enter through that door, no one to kiss you and congratulate you on your achievements, no one in your bed to cuddle and share your day with. Somehow, having someone special in your life is now regarded as an obstacle in the path of your dreams, a lover could distract you from your goals, a partner will only act as an intruder in that all-so-perfectly-ordered life of yours. But this is a distorted way of seeing things, and I don’t know what lens are all of you looking through. Because, through my lens, I see a life where my special someone will be there to support me no matter what, where my lover will only help me achieve my goals, where my partner is someone I can build a future with, a far more bright and durable one than that hermit-like loveless existence.
In my aggrieved pursuit of wanting someone that I cannot find, I blamed my fate, I blamed the Universe for acting against me, I blamed myself, I blamed the feminists, for the emasculation of our men, I blamed capitalism, I blamed Nietzsche for killing God, I blamed the times we live in and the impossibility of leading a life that not more than a few decades ago was so easy to achieve.
Even the cave people mated – this is how we came so far today –, the ancient people had mating rituals, meaning that one’s love life was in the centre of one’s attention, and this is why I dare to say that evolution has done us wrong: we are no longer forced to seek food, shelter and a person to mate with for life (because now we have some many easily available options, right?), instead we are tormented by existential crises that hinder us from living a content, optimistic life together with someone else. We are too picky, too proud or too selfish to accept someone else in our intimate space (be it physical or mental), because why would we in the first place? It’s easier to just see about your own business whenever. Then again, it certainly doesn’t feel right to fight so badly for something that should only come natural. And it also feels like the more I want it, the easier it slips away through my fingers…
Ever since I was a little girl, I had this fantasy of finally finding my man, but having to endure the sorrow of missing him or losing him in one way or another: I was romanticizing the idea of the happily, devoted wife who was waiting for her husband gone to the front lines, out at sea, or absent in any other way from the couple’s life, while she was proving to him her unswerving love by giving herself to no other man. And maybe, in a twisted, fucked up way, I shall see my fantasy come true: waiting for a love that was once briefly mine, but spending the rest of my life yearning for that someone, never to return.
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