The Plight of the Hopeless Romantic

The season of love, in all of its mushy glory, is upon us. February 14th. The Big One. The day we run away from and avoid like our Apple Music membership bill. The day that some people have all the luck. The day that some people have no like at all. Overflowing with fuzzy, jumbo bears, assorted chocolates and flowers that meet their maker, all too soon: Valentine’s Day is here.  


Love seems to captivate us as we pass by love-struck couples, who seem to be locked in a state of euphoria alongside their Romeo or Juliet. We watch, mouths agape, as Christian Grey devours all of Anastasia Steele during the duration of the 120-minute movie. We sit, teary-eyed, as videos of seasoned elderly couples surface on our timeline on Twitter. As they practice that same love, decades later, just the same as when they had first met, we often long for the same experience. To love and in return, be loved.

We often find ourselves, staring into the abyss just picturing what could be. Where’s our tempestuous, yet passionate love affair with our very own Mr. Big? We want the romps in front of the brownstones and the late night dinners at the most grandiose restaurants of New York. We want the stolen glances across the room and the smug smiles in our designer dresses. We might even want the heart wrenching emotion that we felt when Big left Carrie at the alter; every crushing blow from the bouquet, pained us because we pondered on what would we do if it happened to us.

The thing is, love isn’t always as conventional as we would like for it to be. Love is ugly and it really sucks at times (to sound quite immature). Though we have a hard time remembering when love held us tightly and caressed our cheeks, we can always remember the shocking scorch from the first time we got burned. The tears stung our eyes and the snot was abundant and WE SWORE, love was dead. There were many of times when we fought back tears in absence of the unrequited lover of our choice. Times where our heads and our hearts felt too heavy to function, we’d lost our appetite and the songs got more and more sad with each replay. “Was it really even love?” haunted our thoughts.


Can we even be upset though? We know V-day comes every single year and yet we still act shocked as our friends ask us what we’re doing, because they know we don’t have a date. If it helps, there are many people around the world who are “bae-less.” They have no Jack to their Rose, no Carrie to their Mr. Big. It’s more like Nikki Parker to their Professor Olglevee.


I think the best way to look at it simply is: every pot has a lid. If this reigns true, then why are we so concerned when it will come to fruition? If every person is indefinitely meant to find someone that is MADE for them, we should stop wondering when and how it will happen and just let it be. Now this is easier said than done, even I can attest to that. We've all been in a situation where we stare at the ceiling, late at night and overthink until we arrive at the question: "Why am I single?" Don't deny it, we've all been there. 


 Who’s to say we can't try on multiple lids until we realize that that the lid we tried on years ago actually is the right fit after all. Maybe that due to trial and error. Maybe it taking chances and gambling. 


I'd like to believe that my lid is out there. My lid is handsome and intelligent. My lid laughs at my corny jokes and also respects my boundaries. My lid is funny and is open-minded. My lid also has a passion for life and is hungry for adventure. To put it simply, my lid is, my lid. And though I don't when or where or even if he's out there in the first place, I do know that if have to be patient and stop wondering.