Having common interests with another person is always exciting. Finding a fellow Pretty Little Liars fanatic, or someone who also embraces veganism (not that I do), is really thrilling. It means you have something to talk about, an activity to engage in together, and a connection of sorts. What is most significant is that we find someone who understands a part of us that others can’t. The prospect of being understood as a person – to a certain degree – is comforting. It helps us to feel that we are not isolated in our perspectives.
This applies to romantic relationships as well; however, although two people might have the same moderate conservative views, or love the Patriots equally, that doesn’t mean they are “meant to be” or that they truly know each other.
That is a misconception you were guilty of.
The thing is: You didn’t actually know me. You liked the idea of me, and that was it. You took our few common interests and blew them out of proportion. To you, the fact that we were both more introverted, or viewed religion similarly, made us soulmates…and that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
You oversimplified my personality to put it simply. Instead of viewing me as the multidimensional individual I am, you made me out to be one-dimensional, nice-and-pretty girl. Reducing me to nice, pretty, and easy-to-talk-to, was actually insulting instead of complimentary. You claimed that you knew me and that we were very similar people. How could you make a judgment like that when you had only known me for a few days? I know that by saying “we have so much in common,” you meant it as a compliment, but you only made me resent you. You see, I’m still just beginning to understand who I am. My identity is a Rubik’s cube that I am still assiduously trying to arrange in neat rows of white, orange, purple, and red. So, tell me, how did you manage to figure it out so easily?
I’ll tell you how: you didn’t.
You hadn’t even begun to know about the qualities that make me who I am. You didn’t know that I am history nerd, you didn’t know that writing is my form of therapy, you didn’t know why I love my siblings, you didn’t know that I’m fiercely competitive or why, you didn’t know about the buckets of insecurities I have, you didn’t know that I tend to be passive aggressive at times, you didn’t know that I’m a feminist, in fact, the only thing I felt that you actually knew about me was that I was conveniently available…and you were single.
I understand this is harsh, and that you never intended to hurt or insult me. I really do appreciate that. I’m not perfect – yes, I have inadvertently stereotyped and oversimplified people in the past as well – but you have to realize that a few small-talk conversations don’t equate with knowing the ins and outs of who I am. All you knew was that you liked the idea of me, and your idea of me fit into a perfect cookie-cutter mold inside your brain.
Well, I’m sorry, but the real me doesn’t fit inside your ideals.
What I mostly want you to understand is that as a human being, you cannot begin to know me, and I cannot begin to know you. To say that we were so similar – especially when we hardly knew each other – suggested that there was so little to what makes us who we are. Finally, I am a woman, and this is the real world. “Meant to be,” soulmates, and the “perfect girl” are fantasies that you still believe in. Well, just as you had to come to terms with Santa Claus’s lack of existence, and the fact that the Tooth Fairy is a myth, so must you come to understand my lack of one-dimensionality.Â