Last weekend, I went out with my sister from another mister. At first, it started as a two-hour casual pre-dinner sushi-binge while talking about some high school drama that never seemed to stop, even after high school is long over and most of us have bills to pay. This has always been our routine since high school, I suppose. We would meet up at a sushi restaurant, eat anything salmon, and we would talk about anything and everything. Afterwards, we would either go to a coffee shop, or we would stroll around to spend money on something that was not particularly necessary. It's little things like this routine that keeps me going.
After what it felt like an eternity of eating on the sushi restaurant, we spent another eternity at a make up store and then at a bookstore. Finally, it was almost nine when we decided to sit down and have a cup of coffee; as a perfect end to our ancient routine.
Alas, we did not end it with coffee. We ended the night by talking over two glasses of pink and red liquid.
I forgot what first prompted us talking about our love life, or obviously lack thereof, but knowing us, we would try to bring up that topic as often as we can. There we were, two women, who obviously did not intend to wind up there, with hearts on our sleeves and each had been slightly broken by the people who were sadly unable to handle them. Two hearts, each seeking for a solace. Two hearts, side by side but still unspeakably lonely.
Of course, we started psychoanalysing what was wrong with us; people had a clear theory for her inability to establish a romantic relationship, whilst we could come up with zero reason for mine. To be completely honest, we did not need those two pink potions in order to do this, we had done this since before we even could sit on a bar without the barkeep asking for IDs. Seven years of friendship, but we still sat on the same spot pondering about what life hadn't offered us yet, including free beverages from complete strangers that ask your number. Still pondering about love, unrequited. About love as an impossible feat. About finding a potential, an almost, that couldn't be anything other than that. About the inevitability of waiting as a hopeless romantic single woman in her twenties, with her own income and a good head on her shoulders.
The waiting could be dangerous, as I have learned from my colleagues. One day, you were in your early twenties, and casually waiting, purposeless but hopeful. But then you got caught up with work, what with your flexible time. And then you woke up in your early thirties, without anyone to call home.
But the worst thing about it all is not that hypothetical scenario, not the bar visiting, not the paycheck getting, not waking up alone. It's the looking, and consequently the hoping. It's that time at the end of the day when you realise that you wasted another day, that every single glance you threw over the eligible proverbial fish in the ocean was not fruitful. That those painted lips did not able to entice anyone.
That everyday you know you have to go through that again. You, waking up alone in the morning, glancing over the empty space next to you that should have smelled like aftershave and cologne. You, painted your lips with practiced precision, gaining tiny sliver of hope that maybe today would be that day you meet someone good, someone that you can eventually see yourself with. You, with your smile faltering as the hours go by, painting your lips over and over again. You, going to bed with bare face and barely any hope. You, and only you. Me, and only me, over and over again.
I really want to say that I'm still young; that there are still years in front of me waiting to be unfolded, food that I haven't tasted, scenery I haven't seen, books I haven't read, and even soulmates I haven't found yet. But still, and I believe my friend agrees with me on this. Still, there is that coming home emotionally and mentally alone, Still, there is that feeling when you are left out, with your friends being asked to the dance floor with hot strangers, with your friends getting free cup of coffee from a cute barista with dimples, with your friends not having to worry about paying the bills. Still, there is that feeling of not enough for not having been able to find someone that can almost completely relate to you. Still, there is constantly fighting your demons alone and solving your problems with your own tools.
Still, you feel inadequate for a period of time you know not.