Desperate times

For my admission exam for Film Academy, I had to do an analysis of a movie about two runaways who fall in love. I thought the movie was rather stupid and unbearable to watch, but it would’ve been better if the plot didn’t revolve around love, so later during the admission interview I was given feedback that I shouldn’t speak on issues regarding love, because I don’t seem to understand what it truly is. I was 19 at the time, completely shocked and offended by hearing it. But five years later it has me thinking, is that right?

I admit I’ve never been in love before. Perhaps once, because the other person completely matched my criteria. But it was so short lived, I wouldn’t call it love, just an infatuation. All of my relationships, encounters and crushes seem to be based on commodity, impulse, romance and obsession, but never love. I’ve never let any of these situations distract me from my own life, from being self-sufficient, because there’s this little signal in the back of my head that goes: “It will end at some point. This is not forever. Don’t take it to heart. You’re enough.” To be honest, I can’t differentiate if that thought is rationality or an inner saboteur.

It’s embarrassing to confess even to myself that I’m desperate; that I’m out of options. I don’t want to give up, but there’s nothing I can do anymore. It feels like I’m spare; like I’m just not part of society, but welcome to engage from time to time. I’m this great person you turn to for advice, but once I show emotion or seek connection, I’m immediately pushed to live in isolation. I’m talkative, communicative, outgoing, fun; I just don’t actively seek solitude, I’m forced to live in it. I’m not angry anymore – I’m sad.

Speaking to a new friend of mine, who had just recently ended a three-month relationship, it was surprising to hear he’d fallen in love during that period. I didn’t believe him, I asked “How could you fall in love in such a short amount of time?” He insisted it was love and so I asked him to explain it to me. He’d spend long hours waiting for a reply or a call back, bursting in excitement when he receives one; he’d clear his availability solely for the other person; he’d open up and talk about trauma, give out advice, try to help and be emotionally available for the sake of being in love; he’d be ready to do anything, without expecting something in return. He didn’t pay attention to the other person’s bad characteristics until after the relationship was over and even shared to me he was ready to spend his life with them. To me it just sounds like he’s infatuated and kind, rather than in love. But I could be wrong – this is what love could look like in the modern era; and I’m used to the romantic kind of love from all the classic books and stories.

This is an issue I’ve severely overanalysed – whether it was in conversations with friends or in blog posts. I haven’t gone through everything I’ve published here, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say every third or even second post is about complaining that I’m not in love. But I’m born to live in a period of historical peak in global communication, yet I’m stuck in painful solitude. They say there’s plenty of fish in the sea; am I in the desert?