I have so many memories of a hot, overheating laptop resting on my stomach. It would illuminate my dark walls as I would squint to read notoriously cliche stories on Wattpad. Each one of them would manage to feed my unbelievably naive idea of a real relationship. During that particularly whimsical, hormone-filled time, love was a dream. It floated in the clouds, high above my frizzy hair, seeming to live solely to flaunt itself in my pimply face.
Fast forward through four cringe-filled years. It’s safe to say that a lot has changed (except for the pimples, I still have those). Love is a secret that everyone seems to know except me. I escaped adolescence expecting a rose-colored world. Instead, I was met with a big, gaping wall of confusion. Being here at Purdue, I’ve come to a couple conclusions.
Timing is everything.
We held our breaths as the beloved Jim and Pam inched closer and closer together towards an engagement-breaking kiss. For them, timing was the dictator of their story. I’ve realized, it can be the dictator of ours too.
A good friend of mine recently suffered from a heartbreak. It was a five-year relationship. The couple was the epitome of high school sweethearts. They were fantasizing about weddings. They were discussing engagement. She was picking out a ring. Still, their separation has become the new normal. All surrounding lives continued regardless of the fact that the opposite had been true for literally years. I’ve begun to understand that while the sky’s falling for you, it can be quite the opposite for another.
To me, timing can also be described as (hear me out) a big, fat map. I picture it as a huge paper. It extends miles and miles, with crisscrossing lines, roadblocks, and signs.
I was sitting in class as the live-action Cinderella played on a large screen in from of me. Lily James smiled, sharing a sweet moment with a certain brunette prince. I remember crossing my arms, my expression tightly knit, as I worked through my thoughts. Beside me was my best friend. It took me a while to realize, but in my head, she had become Cinderella. She, similar to the enchanting blonde, was on the edge of a new kind of happiness: her first relationship.
It took me even longer to realize who I had dumbly become. I was the stepmother. I was completely bitter, self-absorbed, and jealous. Looking at Cate Blanchett’s resenting face was like looking in a mirror.
The truth that was desperately waving its hands in front of my face wished to say that we’re all on different paths. We’re all on different roads. We have different roadblocks and turns. To put it simply, there’s a time for everything and everyone. If it’s not time, it’s not time.
Your favorite romantic comedies have lied to you.
I’m awkward. People are awkward. Everything, in general, is insanely awkward. It’s not at all like Meg Ryan’s perfectly imperfect confession of love. In reality, when faced with someone you really, really like, there’s a sudden inability to talk. You’re stuttering. You’re repeating words you (barely) just said. You become suddenly closely acquainted with the ground because you can’t seem to meet their eyes for more than two seconds.
However, when it does work out, when he actually happens to like you back, it’s something else entirely. You’ll look back at the night, cringing at yourself and maybe even your adorably awkward date, before being unable to press down a smile. While you’ll be embarrassingly infatuated, eventually, a deeper affection begins to grow. You don’t always have to leap into his arms ready for a swoon-worthy kiss. Sometimes the only thing you really want is a hug. Because when you’re with him it’s warm and sweet. It’s uncomfortable, yet safe. It’s a mess of contradictions. It isn’t like the fiction we’re used to. It’s almost better in a completely unexpected, real way.
Love is weird. Even the idea of being in “like” scares me. Yeah, it’s still an enigma, but it’s something I’m slowly becoming open to explore. And if you haven’t already, maybe you should too.