A Rant On Romanticism

To the reader: If this is your first time on my blog, many greetings; If you've been here before, happy returns to you. Everything you read here will be my genuine unfiltered thoughts and secrets, explaining in full detail everything about me, piece by piece. I wish that you read on without prejudice or judgement, for I am not a perfect person, and I hope that you can connect and empathize with my life's story. -Alex

As a kid, I grew up with the thought that no one would ever love me. I was the social reject, and remained a loner for many years. I can confidently say that I had less than five friends up until 10th Grade (Year 10 by British standards, Secondary 4 by Asian standards).

I was the center of lots of bullying, and was routinely made fun of, or outright ignored. A good day was when someone would give me attention without the intention of harming me, or using me to help with their homework; just pure innocent conversation.

I first started being interested in the concept of love just after the age of 10, and from then onwards the only notion that got me through was that one day I'd find someone I could truly love, purely, and that they'd let me. It never even crossed my mind that I'd be loved in return; I just wanted someone to love unconditionally, and didn't mind me expressing it.

If anyone were to meet me today, they would think I was the most sarcastic, pessimistic realist they ever came across. The truth of the matter is that, no matter what you do in this lifetime, you will always end up hurt. Every beginning has its ending, and everything that rises, falls. Change is the only true constant, and when you think of everything from the external perspective, in the grand scheme of all things, our lives are short and irrelevant. All we can do is strive to find the balance within ourselves, and harmony with our surroundings.

Alternatively, if we were to see that every action were relevant, that even the smallest detail of our lives could change the course of our futures, then the vision of that truth instantly changes, and everything is worth trying.

I grew up as a romanticist. I always believed that there would be someone worth loving, until the end of all time. I loved all the cheesy romance movies that everyone hated because, to me, they were something I thought I'd never have.

I have loved like never before. I've loved so much that I pursued them for years. I cried myself to sleep at the thought of them, and woke up crying from the dreams I had of them. I've decorated stairways with roses, handmade letters decorated with origami and stenciled carvings of their names, and chased them through the corridor into the rain when they cried. I once posted a trail of sticky-notes leading to a gift I had for them.

I've shared personal spaces in which we were safe, and sat down with them alone in empty corridors so that only our words would fill the air when we spoke. I've had Skype-calls that lasted all day and all through the night so we could wake and see each other sleep, and yell at each other when we overslept.

I've carried them to their car, kissed them in the rain, bought stuffed animals, poured my heart and soul into gifts I bought and customized just for them. I've had my heart stepped on and crushed, rejected time and time again, only to pursue them further. I've felt betrayal and the sting of their rage. I've seen and felt both Heaven and Hell in their eyes, in their arms. I've even been told that I was never loved to begin with.

This life is so very cruel.

I've tried to remain self-sustained for a long time now, but I only feel weakened. Physically I've become sluggish, mentally I've become out-of-focus. Without an ideal to adhere to, I've grown weak physically, and mentally inane.

I've learned that love is eternal, and that there will always be more than one person to love. Love is experienced in different ways and expressed in more. Love will never die.

The same cannot be said for the person living through it.

I apologize to anyone I may have hurt, or will hurt in the future because of my altered nature. It's not that I do not wish to love, but I cannot. I've spent so much effort and time on these things that resulted in nothing, that I've lost parts of myself in the process and I have nothing left to give.

So if anyone that ever mattered reads this, I'm sorry I could not be more than I am now.