Two years ago, The most I said to you Was an introduction I shook your hand We exchanged names Then, you got back to working the stage I got back to working the room One month ago I crashed your birthday Didn’t mean to I meant to see a friend Who happened to be hanging out with you She said it was alright You didn’t seem to mind I didn’t expect you’d remember me From one handshake Two years ago So I introduced myself as a brand new person But you remembered I was severely overdressed And overly bubbly from Too much caffeine You said my friend and I Floated into the restaurant As if we were a celebrity couple He wore a bowtie I wore a gown I knew I was ridiculous But you didn’t seem to mind Didn’t think much of this night either Other than I had a good time I left that night, Happy I made a new acquaintance Saw you again a month later At a Halloween party I laughed I exclaimed How every time I saw you I was not dressed normal This time I wore a catsuit I held a whip I was catwoman I knew I was ridiculous But you didn’t seem to mind I thought much of this night I thought the whip was only part of a costume I never anticipated it was a talisman That brought out people’s hidden natures When I held it, I felt powerful, Brave, I no longer felt the anxious shakes That I hide in public I was sassier than usual My jokes were landing How could I expect you Not to be drawn to the glow I was radiating I couldn’t stop myself from sparkling No matter how I tried I don’t remember the exact moment, But we had a moment We had a few moments Something felt different between us We connected I told you about my past life A persona I had forgotten A person I buried I shared more the next day Next thing, we were talking every day And then we finally met I was nervous I kept telling myself He’s just a friend Stop blushing He’s just a friend Take a deep breath Calm your nerves Hide how attracted you feel As day turned to evening I felt myself falling Not for your shine But for your humanity If only you knew That your imperfections Are exactly what make you whole All I wanted to do Was take you into my arms And pour into you From my heart Not fix you Just hold you Just be there You wore your scars so openly That I felt safe showing mine I could relax I could melt right into you One look in your eyes And I knew you understood my pain I could feel that you knew Exactly where I hurt The more we connected The more nervous I felt As evening turned to night I kept telling myself He’s just a friend Stop blushing He’s just a friend Take a deep breath Calm your nerves Hide how attracted you feel He can never see I must end this night Before I reach a point of no return Before I give in to something I might regret Night continued I could not resist your invitation To keep talking To play more music We listened to a song I leaned my head on your shoulder I felt you place your arm around me I was cocooned in your warmth I felt your heart beating so fast I felt you take a deep breath From the corner of my eye, I saw you staring at me I was afraid of the longing I saw in your eyes Oh, they were so blue I averted my eyes I thought if I didn’t make eye contact, I’d outsmart fate I’d prevent the inevitable The song ended The moment ended Or so I thought You put on another song I put my head back on your shoulder I ignored the beating of your heart I avoided your gaze You leaned down and asked If it would piss me off if you kissed me right now I couldn’t help but smile What a thing to say But I couldn’t deny my feelings anymore I turned my head towards you Your lips touched mine And there was no turning back I tried to turn back I stopped you “What if we regret this in the morning?” I told you I was scared That I loved talking to you That I loved singing with you I was scared that if I got any closer to you I’d lose you You said you were scared too I said, “See? You get it.” But the kisses never ceased And as night turned to dawn We never left each other’s arms When dawn turned to morning, I wanted to stay next to you and never leave Just stay there and luxuriate In the feeling of your body against mine Never face the day Never face the possibility of regret Never answer the questions What is this, and what will it be? Looking back now, I know the answer It was a moment in time I will cherish forever And never regret Because for one night I felt connected One night I felt seen and understood One night I opened my heart And bared my soul And you held me And calmed the chaos in my head And that is a beautiful thing How can I ever regret something so beautiful? I hope I gave you something beautiful in return But I can’t speak for you I’ll probably never know And that is alright But when I look back All I feel is happiness and warmth I don’t regret you at all Even though our time together Didn’t last Beyond a moment But day turned to evening Evening turned to night Night turned to dawn Dawn turned to morning Morning ended our moment But our moment turned into a memory A memory that will last far longer Than the beating of my heart Than the rise and fall of my breath A song of gratitude resonating throughout the universe for all of time
Prosperity and Desire.
Weeks ago, I had a dream You told me not to look too far into it I pulled out my dream dictionary anyway In my dream, I decided to leave you You asked if we could talk We walked along the beach It was a beautiful conversation Your eyes sparkled My heart ached But I knew it was the right decision You knew too We returned to a beach house You gave me a box of strawberries And a bouquet of asparagus Before we parted ways You laughed when I told you that part But I still got out my dream dictionary Strawberries, a symbol of desire Asparagus, a symbol of prosperity It made sense I believed that as long as you let me love you I’d have everything I wanted I didn’t need you to love me back I thought I’d be happy as long as I was near you Poor pathetic pet that I was But I could see that though you never expressed it explicitly There was a part of your heart you kept for me Though your love was never perfect It was always present Our love was not sustainable You always wanted more I always wanted more Giving each other more was too much for Either of us to give Desire Prosperity In my dream, you asked me to make something with the bounty you gave me Desire Prosperity They weren’t yours to give me Even though for the longest time I thought you were the source They were always mine to do something with I was the source of the desire and prosperity I coveted I should feel empowered by that realization Yay, I already possess everything I desire Yay, self love Instead, I feel even lonelier I feel like a failure because we didn’t work out I wonder how you must feel Small chance you’ll tell me I’ll just hold onto a memory when I did something absolutely inane, and you smiled. In that small moment, I knew I was loved Without you saying anything. And I’ll wish you the best And thank you for the memories And thank you for the beauty you brought me
Eclipsed
To say I wish happiness for you is the truth.
I imagine she soothes your soul’s wounds
with her smile,
with her voice,
with a mere touch of her hand.
But to say I myself am happy is a lie.
The news at first
made me feel like
I was eclipsed by the sun.
How special she must be,
to have the joy of waking next to you
and admiring your profile
in the morning light.
To share your secrets and your dreams,
to witness the brilliance of your mind,
to hold your heart in her hands.
On my bulletin board
I kept a photo of you,
a playbill
a ticket stub.
I took them down
and placed them in a box.
If I cannot see your likeness,
I won’t be reminded
of how she gets to love you
freely
openly
while I struggle to
smile for your sake
hide the look in my eyes
that says three words
I will never say out loud
three words
I will never say to you.
But then it occurred to me
that perhaps I have it better.
We’ll never see each other’s flaws
We’ll never grow bored with one another
We’ll never say an unkind word to each other
We’ll never hear each other’s voices
raised in anger.
The more I think about this
The less my heart breaks.
Sometimes I wonder if you chose her
because you couldn’t live without her
or because you wanted to protect me from you.
Probably wishful thinking on my part.
Stay in love with her.
Stay with her.
By the time you turn around,
if you ever do,
I will have moved on.
Vanished.
Gone.
c. 2021
Creation.
Another morning in the lobby before class. He sat on the couch. I sat in a swivel chair by the window. I liked being so high up. It created more space between us.
I gazed out the window, silently enjoying the sun on my skin until he drew my attention to the easel by my chair. “So,” he said, pointing to the big, blank piece of paper on the easel. “Will we get in trouble if we draw on it?”
By we, I thought he was referring to only himself, so I replied, “As long as they don’t see you, I guess it can’t hurt. Plus, they can always put up a new piece of paper.”
Wrong answer.
He said, “You’re right. Let’s draw.”
I looked at him like he had three arms.
Undeterred, he commanded me to draw something.
I began to protest, but I could not argue with the resolve in his eyes. Reluctantly, I shifted to the next chair to make room for him next to me. He began sketching a tree.
“Do you draw?” I asked him, amazed at the detail he gave to the branches.
“No,” he replied, as he added more leaves.
“I used to draw,” I added.
“Then draw!” he ordered me.
I took a deep breath.
The cartoonish dog I scribbled did not appease him.
He demanded that I draw more.
I drew a fishing rod in the dog’s paws and added a sea with fish.
“More,” he insisted.
Desperate to end this interaction, I aimed for the ridiculous. I drew a T-Rex with a bunny riding on its tail, and I added an exclamation mark above the bunny’s head.
He approved.
Anxiously, I blurted, “What if we’re late for class?”
“We have ten minutes.”
A bead of sweat ran down my temple. Distressed, I squeaked, “What if someone sees us?”
He smiled at me. With devilish self-assuredness, he said, “No one will see us.”
I looked up, and I noticed for the first time that his eyes glowed like ambers in the sunlight. To my amazement, I felt my fears disappear in his warm gaze. Suddenly, I realized I had probably been staring at him for eternity, so I looked away.
He leaned close to me and drew a speech bubble and a thought bubble. Then, he asked me to fill those in. As I thought about what to write in those bubbles, I imagined what he and I would’ve been like in elementary school. He would have probably teased me and dipped my hair in ink—not that the ink would have changed my hair color.
After a few minutes, I glanced at him. Relaxed, he leaned his body into the easel. He expressed his disbelief at how we were in our last year of undergrad.
“You can probably see the stress on my face,” he remarked.
“What?” I said, surprised. “Your face is perfect.”
I immediately regretted saying that.
“Oooh,” he purred, his eyes twinkling. “My face is perfect?”
I turned away to hide how red my cheeks were turning.
“Yes,” I admitted, begrudgingly.
“My face is perfect!” he exulted. “Tell me more! Give me an ego boost.”
I cringed. As I watched him, I admitted to myself for the first time that he was handsome. This realization made me feel like such a traitor. My roommate had a crush on him freshman year. Even though it was just a crush that was years ago, I still believed in girl code.
I also felt like I was betraying my boyfriend. We had been dating for years. I wasn’t supposed to find anyone else attractive. Unfortunately, I had lost hope in our situation, and I was delaying what I knew I needed to do. I hated myself for the way I felt.
However, I couldn’t wallow in my guilt for much longer because people were approaching us. My breathing quickened again.
“Oops,” he said, laughing. “I guess I should have listened to you when you said we should go.”
We packed hurriedly, but it was too late. One of them was already behind us, and he saw our artwork. I avoided eye contact as we left the lobby.
As we entered a staircase, I vomited a litany of what-if-what-if-what-ifs. Once again, he smiled at me.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice soothing me. “If we get in trouble, I’ll take all the blame.”
Touched, I calmed down, but only for a second.
“No!” I cried out. “I can’t let you do that! If you take all the blame, my conscience will kill me, and I won’t be able to live with myself!”
I felt myself heat up again underneath the intensity of his gaze. “Don’t worry,” he said with absolute confidence. “You can trust me.”
We walked the rest of the staircase in silence. When we finally reached the classroom, he picked up a piece of chalk and started drawing on the black walls. He gave a dinosaur a pair of high heels and a necklace. Emboldened by our earlier experiment, I drew too. As I drew a window, a crescent moon, and stars, I imagined my friend as Harold with a purple crayon.
The next day, I bumped into him at the café next door. I tried to pretend I didn’t see him as I sat down with my stir fry, but then he plopped down in front of me.
I picked up my phone to check my email. He sat there and watched me. He did not say a word until I acknowledged him.
“Oh look,” I said, showing him my phone. There was an email entreating everyone to “kindly refrain from chalk drawing on the walls” and asking for volunteers to repaint the walls.
He returned his gaze to me and smiled.
As for our other joint creation, it stayed in the lobby. They kept our drawing on the easel and wrote notes on the sides.
[c. 2021]
[secret ally]
You don’t need my pity, and I don’t need your thanks, but take heart. Someone cares about you, someone you don’t know, who doesn’t know you-- and I’d like to keep it that way. One time, I was so close to you, I could breathe you in if I wanted to. I was with people you knew, so you came over to say hello. I moved away. I couldn’t have you know me. I couldn’t have you look into my eyes and have you see the knowledge they contain-- knowledge about you, knowledge about him. Neither you nor him nor anyone knows I have info I didn’t ask for, info that found its way to me. I felt like if we met, we’d grow close, and I’d feel guilt about hiding the things I know, and you’d feel the wall I keep between us, and you’d feel hurt that I would never let it down, no matter how hard you try. I couldn’t hurt you like that. I know you’ve already been hurt, because we share him in our respective histories. I hate myself, for knowing how he hurt you, knowing how he hurt others, and not being able to hate him. I know he himself is hurt, and he needs to heal, and once he heals, he’ll finally find happiness without doing the things the does and saying the things he says. All I can do is wish him well from afar; he was never mine. He doesn’t owe me anything. All that happened was that one day he was so close I thought he would kiss me. I looked like a deer in the highlights. My eyes told him, “You’d better not.” I was loyal to another man who left me anyway. Sometimes I wonder: What is the point of loyalty if they leave you anyway? But I digress: He hurt you more than he has ever been hurt in his life, and he knows that. He doesn’t know I know that. You don’t know I know that. I’d like to keep it that way. All of this just to say: I hope you find happiness and peace. You don’t need my pity, and I don’t need your thanks, but take heart. Someone cares about you, someone you don’t know, who doesn’t know you-- and I’d like to keep it that way.
Jackie Adonis (c) 2020
Why I’ll Never Be Someone’s Evita
Historical inaccuracies and lack of cultural representation aside, the film version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical, Evita, was one of the most influential films in my life. Say what you will about the controversial Eva Perón–to me, her rags-to-riches story was an example of how determination can overcome even the most dire of circumstances–and that has been fuel and inspiration for me in my darkest days.
The number that got me was “I’d Be Surprisingly Good for You”–and at once, I saw on the screen my ideal relationship: two people lifting each other up and working together towards their dreams. Two people singing a duet.
A few years ago, I met someone at a wedding. He was striking. His shiny, dark hair contrasted with his impeccable, cream-colored suit. An Asian with freckles, just like me. I didn’t expect to find romance at a wedding or anything to happen with him. I felt shy, and I was more than happy watching him from a distance.
However, he approached the bar, and I had already had two and a half glasses of wine, so I was feeling impulsive and brave. I reached out my hand and introduced myself. Soon, he came to my side of the bar, and we spoke some more. Of course, we got to the inevitable conversation topic of “What do you do?”
“I work for _____, but my true love is acting,” I said. I braced myself for all the possible ways he could respond to my declaration of my dream. Condescending things I’ve heard before like, “That’s nice. What’s your backup plan?”
He didn’t say any of those things.
He said, “I want to be the next president of the United States.”
He wasn’t being sarcastic or ironic. I looked into his eyes. He meant it.
I felt my heart flutter. It had been a long time since I met a man with that level of ambition, vision, and drive. I calmed myself down, but I was eager to know more.
We left the bar and walked in the vineyard. It was cold and rainy earlier that day, but it was nice and sunny. Or perhaps it just seemed that way when I was with him.
We returned and danced for a while on the dance floor. We talked some more. Finally, after what felt like forever, he asked me for my number. Breathless, I gave it to him.
Thus began a relationship that lasted almost a year. An eventful almost 365 days of dates, road trips, walks in the moonlight, and rides on horseback along the beach. We even sang duets in public. I thought I had found my soulmate. I called him JFK, and he called me his Jackie O.
But perhaps, as I was swept up by all the romance, I had placed too many expectations on him. Arguments happened, and at the time, I was not good at controlling my temper or conveying my feelings in a constructive way. He pulled away from me, and I felt like I was never forgiven.
Eventually, we parted ways.
I recognize that I have a tendency to put a man on a pedestal, to see him as my shining knight who will carry me on horseback into the sunset, towards our dreams. I recognize that is too much of an expectation to place on a man. He is only human, and so am I.
At the same time, is it so bad to dream? Is it so bad to dream that one day, I’ll find someone I respect and admire and adore? If I don’t feel those things for a man, I don’t feel anything at all. It is bad that I want someone with traits that are admirable?
I’m so confused. Are my expectations too high or too low?
That being said, I have, for the moment, tabled my childhood dream of being someone’s Evita. I have yet to find a man whose vision aligns with mine. There is a part of me that says not to give up.
There is another part of me that says I don’t need to be someone’s Evita. Sometimes, I want something to be mine and mine alone, and not to have to share it with a significant other. I once said to someone a few years ago that if I never find romance or have children, that is fine because my art is my spouse and my legacy.
While it may be true that my art sustains me, I feel lonely sometimes. Sometimes, I’ll swoon at a pair of sparkling eyes. My heart will flutter at a well-timed joke. I’ll melt a little bit at the sound of carefree laughter. But I hold back. I refrain. I put my wall up.
I fear extremes: that I’ll place too many expectations on a man, or that he’ll make me stay put and stifle my ambition. No man will come before my art. Ever.
In life there are no guarantees. Ambition is a risk. Love is a risk. Walking out of my house to check my mail without getting run over by the neighborhood kids on their bikes is a gamble.
I miss who I used to be: a carefree, hopeless romantic. Maybe I’ll be her again. Maybe when I finally feel safe. But for now, my heart is ice and stone.
Overcoming the Self-Blame Game
This is based on a Tumblr post I wrote years ago–I have no idea how long ago. I find it amazing how my younger self can be wiser than me sometimes. I’m glad my younger self wrote this because I needed this reminder.
People need to start loving themselves and stop blaming themselves for what goes wrong in a relationship.
I read too much advice in books and on the internet about “Why Your Relationship Went Wrong” and “Why He Cheated on You”, etc. While some good advice can be gained from this information, I don’t want people feeling like it is always their fault.
Should we take responsibility for our actions? Absolutely!
Should we do what we can to be better people? YES!
However, although these articles and books mean well, they don’t take into consideration factors that are out of our control. Sometimes, even when our intentions are pure and we’re doing our best, it isn’t enough…and that’s because sometimes other people are jerks. There are factors out of our control that contribute to their behavior, like their upbringing, their past, and who and what they surround themselves with.
On top of that, we’re human. We can’t be perfect all the time. Sometimes we fall from grace, and that’s the beauty of love–knowing that the other person has flaws and loving them anyway…or even loving them because of those flaws.
On that note, if that person couldn’t love you even with your flaws, you deserve better. Life did you a favor by taking this person away so that you could be open to a person who could love you more deeply than anyone else ever has.
My point is: learn from your mistakes and forgive yourself. Hopefully, with time, you’ll forgive the other person. Whatever you do, don’t beat yourself up and blame yourself completely for what went wrong.
Please don’t let other people judge you and tell you “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts”.
You know that saying, “It’s not you, it’s me”?
Well, sometimes, it is the other person. And that might be even harder to accept.
It’s painful to think about, isn’t it? Well, take that pain and let it be the hammer and chisel that “sculpt” you into a better person, the person you were meant to be.
You Had Me at Hello
**The Ayla mentioned in this post has her own blog, The Awkward Adventures of Ayla. Check out Ayla and her antics here!**
“Hi, I’m Ayla,” she said, smiling at a group of boys sitting on the sand.
“Hi,” they replied, admiring her.
They turned to me. I froze. What was I going to say? What is my own name? How did I get so drunk?
“Uh–hi…she’s Ayla,” I managed to say.
“Hi,” they said again.
Full of rum punch, we sashayed to the clear blue waters of Nassau beach. Or rather, she sashayed. I have no recollection of how my inebriated body made it from point A to point B.
That was last summer. A few weeks ago, Ayla and I told this story to her family during our week-long vacation in Avon, NC, resulting in a round of raucous laughter.
After their giggles faded away, something inside me clicked–Ayla had shared with me her secret to breaking the ice, and it was so simple.
“Hi, I’m Ayla.”
So freaking simple.
No crazy pickup lines.
Just an introduction.
Wow. If I only knew that when I was younger…
When I was eleven years old, I had a crush on this boy in my class…and so did a bunch of other girls. Every day, I tortured myself admiring him from afar and watching this one girl effortlessly approach him.
Her eyes twinkled. His eyes twinkled. They exchanged smiles.
“How does she do that?” I thought to myself. “How does she flirt?”
I filled my diary with my preadolescent frustration and longing.
During those middle school years, a rumor went around that I was mute because few people could see past my shyness. Anxiously, I decided that it was better to be silent than say something stupid. After all, I couldn’t speak to a guy (let alone make eye contact with him) without stammering and blushing and beating myself up later for being so awkward because goshdangit, Jackie, all he was asking for was a pencil.
Le sigh.
It wasn’t until right before I graduated the eighth grade that I had my first victory. It was the last dance of my middle school career, and I still had not danced with anyone. I resigned myself (for the millionth time) to being a wallflower and watched from the sidelines as my classmates smiled at each other and swayed to the music.
I would have looked back at this night with disappointment and regret if my best friend hadn’t literally pushed me in front of this guy I had been feeling all sorts of tension with since the beginning of the first semester. The force of her push made me almost collide into him. We stared into each other’s eyes for a second. It was now or never. Breathlessly, I asked him if he wanted to dance with me. He put his arms around me, and all at once I understood the feelings I had denied all year.
But still, that didn’t happen on my own. That moment was sponsored by my friend’s uncanny arm strength, God’s impeccable timing, and my brand new Charlotte Russe skirt (which still had the ink tag, as I discovered later).
Without that combination, I was still the clueless girl who had no dramatic entrance, no opening lines, and no game.
Fast forward to my first year of high school. I was crushing so hard on this guy who eventually became our class valedictorian, and I was so awkward it was pathetic.
In my diary, I scribbled a poem.
I know that you avoid me
And I avoid you too
Because of fear I cannot
Bring myself to talk to you
I pined after him and his coke-bottle glasses all Freshman year. The year after, at Homecoming, I asked him to dance with me, and I told him how I felt. He let me down gently, but it was awfully ironic that DHT’s version of “Listen to Your Heart” was playing in the background.
Damn that song.
Junior year, I finally got my first boyfriend. That was the beginning of my winning streak for the next few years of my life. I finally grew into my features, and boys started noticing me. No one knew that I still got tongue-tied or shy because I didn’t have to approach the boys. At last, they were coming to me.
But even so, to this very day, I am still mystified by the art of flirting. How does one do it? How does one approach a man?
Just the thought of putting myself out there paralyzes me with fear.
But here, in the present, while sipping pineapple juice and vodka, Ayla made it all so simple for me.
Flirting is not complicated. Neither is approaching a man.
All I have to do is say, “Hi, I’m Jackie.”
Fate will take care of the rest.
Womanhood
This post was featured by Lauren Hope on her blog The Good Girl Chronicles. Check out Lauren and her adventures when you have a chance!
Disclaimer: The author was not paid to endorse any particular brands for feminine hygiene products. However, if you would like to film her in a tampon commercial, please reach out to her agent. Thank you.
My first period was anticlimactic. I went to the bathroom on Christmas Eve, looked down, and thought, “This is exactly how the video in P.E. class said it would be.”
No big deal.
My mom’s first period was something else.
No one told her what it would be like. When she looked down one day and saw all the red, she screamed bloody murder. She thought she was dying.
Her mother and her aunts gathered around her and calmed her down.
Then, they proceeded to steep an array of herbs in water and bathe her gently.
Afterwards, they told her to lie down and rest, and they would not let her lift a finger.
She was treated like a queen for the rest of the day.
Wow.
I’m not sure if other families in the Philippines do this, but when she told me this, I got so jealous.
Why wasn’t I bathed with herbs? Why was I unceremoniously given a Kotex pad instead of a day of relaxation?
Once my envy died down, I realized something crucial about our society: how we approach our first period is how we approach womanhood. Although I wish someone warned my mom about her period, I could see that this moment of her life was treated as a celebration of her coming of age.
I’m not saying we need to lather our bodies in herbs or throw a themed party, but we need to discuss this moment in our lives with excitement, not dread.
As my grandma and her sisters tended to my mother, they were silently saying, “Welcome to womanhood. You have your whole life ahead of you. Soon, you will realize how much you’re capable of.” My mom and the mother figures in her life looked forward to her growing up. It was something positive.
I’m not sure what happened to my mother in the years between her first period and when she had me, but something must have scared her. From the moment I came into the world, I imagine she was not only filled with joy but fear.
Even though my mom made sure I was prepared for this moment, she made sure to treat it with as much nonchalance as possible. Yes, she was trying to make sure I wasn’t freaking out, but that also communicated to me her reluctance to see her little girl grow up. My development fed her fears of not being able to protect me from the world. My inability to at first accept the womanly parts developing before my eyes fed my fears as well. My new hips. My new breasts. Would people look at me differently? Must I now enter that dance between women and men? I did not feel ready for all this adult stuff. The fact that my period started so early at age 11 did not help us cope either.
It’s been over a decade since my first period, and eventually we both accepted that I had to one day grow up. Over time, I realized that I was capable of protecting myself, and that being an adult can be as fun, if not more fun, than childhood.
Now I have cousins who look up to me, and one day I might have a daughter. What I want to communicate to them is that they can approach their womanhood with courage and excitement. Being a woman isn’t easy, but womanhood is full of so many wonderful things, like having choices and being in charge of myself. I just want young ladies everywhere to realize that yes, the blood ain’t pretty, but all that red is a bright, blaring signal that there is so much for them to look forward to.
Romeo & Juliet
A big shout out to Lauren Hope for featuring this on her blog The Good Girl Chronicles. Check out Lauren and her adventures here!
Can you really fall in love in one day? YES.
90% of the world is probably quoting Elsa from Frozen saying that you can’t marry someone you just met, but…well…
(Whoops spoiler alert, but the story of Romeo & Juliet is public domain, right?)
Think about it. Romeo and Juliet are teenagers. Remember when you were a teenager and fell in love for the first time? Remember how it felt so good being with this person and you felt like this feeling would last forever? Left to your own devices, you probably WOULD have eloped (thanks to different state laws, there is an age of consent nowadays that prevents young, impulsive souls from eloping).
Now, some of you are saying, “Well, remember when that feeling went away? Remember how the divorce rate in the US has risen to roughly 50%?”
YES. I DO. I remember my first love. I was 16. We fell hard, and we fell fast. Within a couple of weeks, we professed our love to each other and proclaimed we wanted to be with each other forever.
We felt like we were Romeo and Juliet. Our love was forbidden. My parents thought I was too young to have a boyfriend, and his parents were afraid having a girlfriend would ruin his grades.
Love conquers all, we told ourselves. Our love is too strong, we told each other. “Why don’t we run away?” we joked with each other. Too bad we didn’t have our own cars. Or enough money to be on our own. Or common sense. I fantasized about a day when we would be together with nobody to tell us no. Or where to go. Or say we’re only dreaming.
Ok I’m done with the Aladdin reference.
Anyway, it wasn’t too long before we fell out of love with each other. Well, actually, he fell out of love with me,and I was heartbroken and inconsolable, and THEN, in typical teenager fashion, he asked me to take him back three days afterwards and I told him no. We’ve moved on to falling truly, madly, deeply for other significant others since then.
So yeah, as much as I do remember the giddiness and impulsiveness of my teenage romance, I also remember how quickly it all ended, which also made me wonder if Romeo and Juliet would have eventually fallen out of love if they lived longer. Or lived, period.
I like to think that they would have loved each other forever. Let’s put our cynicism aside and remember that in real life, there are couples who are in love until their dying day. They do exist. They’re not unicorns or anomalies.
And I’m not going to go into a speech about choosing love above all, putting love first, love is hard work, blah blah blah because we’ve heard it all.
Instead, I’m going to be honest and say that I tried to stop myself from crying when I saw the opera version of this play. I knew the story so I didn’t expect tears to run down my face, but I couldn’t help it.
“Why was I crying?” I asked myself. Because I remembered the feeling of falling in love, being in love. I wondered if I could ever love someone so much that I’d rather die than be without them. My cynical heart had taught itself to move on and get on with functioning in life. I had taught myself not to need anyone that badly lest I get hurt–and THAT was the real tragedy…that my heart hasn’t been as open as Romeo’s or Juliet’s since my teenage years.
I remember arguing with my parents. “Why can’t you approve of him? Don’t you remember what it’s like to be in love?”
Have we become too bitter? Too wise?
How about we just let people be in love? Love on, world. Don’t let anyone, especially yourself, stop you from letting your heart be open. Perhaps if we allow ourselves to believe again in how magical love can be, we can find the kind of love, faithfulness and devotion that Romeo and Juliet had…except without the poison and daggers.
Yeah, ain’t nobody got time for that.
theartinmyself 