Romanticizing romance: Being a hopeless romantic who’s afraid of love
My concept of love is a collage of shows and movies I have watched.
When I hear “perfect match,” I think of Ikea-hopping like in 500 Days of Summer, eating pizza drunk like in Set It Up, and a confession of love over a meal like in Hospital Playlist. I see myself shouting and dancing to love songs with someone I haven’t met yet. I make playlists for a love I wish would exist.
Since high school, I envisioned a comfortable, almost fairytale-like love. My friends know I get crushes easily; they would be the ones to comfort me when the person I liked ends up only seeing me as a friend. It was such a vicious cycle that I became known as the person who was always friendzoned, who has so much love to give with no one reciprocating it. I remember a close friend saying she wishes she were like me because I wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable about my feelings. I was willing to say I love a person when I knew they probably didn’t feel the same.
I felt love so ardently, but it was like something I could only watch from afar. Would love ever come? Would love be something I could attain?
When I finally had my first relationship, it felt like every love song could be dedicated to my partner. We saw ourselves as the main characters of the movies we watched together. We spent late nights just talking about the milestones we could meet and the things we wanted to do together. But as time went on, we decided to end things because we were very different people. I realized I didn’t really love my partner genuinely.
I thought my partner and I should do certain things because I deemed them snapshot-worthy, or as clichés I was eager to recreate. It didn’t matter if it was with her, as long as it happened to me—I just wanted a whirlwind romance. I loved her, but I was not ready to take things a step further. I placed expectations on our relationship that neither I nor my partner could handle.
As I get older, I’m beginning to realize that I simply throw love in all directions, hoping it sticks with someone. It doesn’t matter who I imagine the other person to be. It’s the scene in my head, the whirlwind romance, that matters.
It’s been a long time since my first relationship, and since then I have loved many people. But I know now that I cannot love them the way a lover could. Maybe I can imagine us living a comfortable life, exchanging romantic gestures and sharing an air of familiarity. But I know there’s a chance we’ll lose that spark of romance, and I’m afraid the person I love realizes that I am flawed and nothing extraordinary. This fear has made me realize that maybe I do not love who I am enough yet for love to be present in my life, in all its intricacies.
Sometimes I still get bursts of yearning where I wish to be in a relationship. I might see posts online and think that maybe I am ready to love someone like that. Maybe I am ready to put myself out there and find someone I could call home. But I know I am still afraid of love. I am afraid of loving someone so deeply that they see all my flaws or I lose sight of who I am. I am afraid that I love love, but not the person I claim to love.
As I get older, I’m beginning to realize that I simply throw love in all directions, hoping it sticks with someone. It doesn’t matter who I imagine the other person to be. It’s the scene in my head, the whirlwind romance, that matters.
I know one day this fear will no longer take hold of me. But until then, I will continue to love the idea of love and all the good and the ugly that come with it. Because in the end, love will come to me when I am ready to see it, apart from this romanticization.