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2013-09-30 - 1:14 p.m.

At first, I'd like to give this entry a title that says: "All I Want Versus Reality Around Me." However, I don't want to sound too negative toward the issue. (As usual, I'm trying to be more positive these days, but also realistic at the same time.)

So, what do I really want these days? And how does reality work?

I'm 31. I'll be 32 in November this year - and I'm still single. (Oh, is that so bloody surprising?)

Honestly, I don't know what I'm feeling about this - or supposed to, really. Should I feel sad and lonely, or should I just accept it and be happy? What?

Numb is probably the closest description to what I've been feeling lately, regarding the subject of...romance. (No wonder I'm still romantically-challenged to this day.) There's nothing to celebrate or dwell upon here, really. It's just another year, another ordinary birthday.

I know. Sounds bitter, empty, and depressing, eh? (So much for trying to sound more positive with life lately.)

Maybe that's why I've been avoiding this subject. I know what's going to happen once I start talking about this all over again.

Here's the same old thing: I know how to be friendly - and friends with guys. I'm good friends with many of them. In fact, I'm more like a sisterly presence in their lives. (A big sister, who takes care of them and listens to their rants and other problems when they need it. A kid sister, who often jokes around with them or protests slightly when she becomes 'the target of the joke'. Go ahead, take your pick. I'm that good at being both - even at the same time.)

That should be a good thing too, eh? I'm used to being that, anyway.

I don't know how to be a girlfriend material, okay? I don't know how to act like one - or even close. I don't know how to play hard to get or act mysterious that can drive men crazy and make them unable to stop thinking about me or wanting me in their lives. (Okay, I'm not looking for some deranged, delusional, and obsessive psycho-stalker on me - but I'm sure you get what I mean.)

"Girls like you make good wives," one of the guys I'm still friends with once told me that long ago. What he didn't know back then, it had brought tears to my eyes. (Of course, none of us had used a voice chat or a webcam.)

Now I don't know if I still believe in it or not. (I want to, though.) Maybe I just don't have enough faith for it.

Most guys like me because they think I'm quite funny and the sisterly type of a girl. I've known that already, because...yeah, I'm just that good. And I get that too.

However, that doesn't mean that can make them fall in love with me. It's just how my reality works and I've already come to terms with that. (I'm not and don't want to be Ophelia, thank you very much.)

Whatever happens, I have already vowed not to let these dangerously dark feelings just successfully bring me down...again. Never! Even if it's just me and my shadow in this department of romance, I'm the only one who can - and always will - take care of myself. There's only me. Prince Charming only exists in fairy-tales; and I'm already way too old for such lame fantasies anyway.

It's not solitude that scares you, really. It's what it can do to you; start forming a thick-but-invisible wall around you, halfway against your will or conscience. (I know this sounds odd.) Once it's there, you forget what it's like to reach out to the world outside yourself. Sometimes you can find the door, sometimes you'd rather stay where you are. Not many can find you there, unless those who are really willing to reach out to you. You're safe. You don't get hurt or heartbroken easily, or even disappointed as hell. You feel protected. You make sure of that yourself.

However, that also makes you feel hollow on the inside.

That's why you still keep yourself busy these days. Work and write. Hang out with friends. Read and watch. Go to concerts when you have the money and the time. Travel. Anything.

If you ask me what I want, I want a lot of things - perhaps too many to mention here.

I want to be able to stay happy, either alone or with anybody.

R.

 

 

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