Such Irony
Apparently conversations have been made about my love life, or lack thereof.
From friends to colleagues to acquaintances even to my immediate family. Some took the polite route by talking about it in front of my face, downplaying their incorrigibly relentless nosiness by masking the inquiry with watered down concern and barely-there sympathy. After debating with my best personal therapist (i.e. myself) I have realised that there is no easy method of discussing about my love life. This isn't to say point blank curiosity is unwelcome because at least the inquirer has honour and guts, however I would have preferred if other people would actually move on from their obsession with what went wrong with my past relationship and why it didn't work.
Because, really, it has been three years since the breakup. A lifetime of weeks ago. A lifetime of endless yapping with my loved ones, movie nights with my baby brother, cafe hopping with my friends, sleepovers with my favourite people, reading mystery/thriller books, tasting the latest trendy food and dessert in town, maladaptive daydreaming about scenarios that might never come to realisation, and a lifetime of moments lived.
Yet, it is also a lifetime-worth of weeks of not participating in the social scene of modern day dating.
The social scene in which, if you witness it firsthand, you'd comprehend that it is quite nearly impossible to encounter a proper paramour. I suppose, if I have to reflect, I cannot say that I am faultless. After years of self-therapising and listening to various pop psychologists, I have come to a realisation that, even though I may have seem to never let myself be vulnerable enough to have someone witness my pain willingly. I’d rather endure my own pain alone than suffer the unendurable humiliation of being known and never been picked. Such irony that I've always wanted to be loved for my entirety, but I never let myself completely open up to just about anyone. Apart from the obvious (my close knits), it is always the unassuming people that know my identity—who I actually am at my core. And I prefer it that way since it's easier to explain everything without getting too emotional and, on top of it all, expecting emotional reactions from them.
Another thing I learned from those various pop psychologists is the fact that there is a lack of appropriate response and retort from the people around me. It is quite unfortunate, I suppose, since I believe I have always given other people the most suitable (both emotional and logical) counter to any news, accident, or any given event. There had been moments in which I expected at least the minimum amount of anger and protectiveness for my side, the same kind of anger and protectiveness that I always extended on behalf of the people that I hold near and dear. Only a few handful of people have displayed that level of emotional reaction, which I am grateful for, whilst the rest has never shown me any emotion whatsoever when they witness my getting inconvenienced or even unfortunately being mocked.
Well, I understand that at my core I am very difficult. Not an easy soul to interact with. Not an easy person to be with. But, don't I deserve the same amount of effort and protection?