And like other girls at the age of 3,
I grew up listening to stories of Prince Charmings,
Tall, muscular, brave Prince Charmings
Swooping in to save the damsel in distress,
The delicate, beautiful, soft princesses.
I was neither fair skinned nor had rosy lips,
And my mother can guarantee I was not the most pliant of little girls,
But nonetheless, I too went to bed flustered and giggly,
Dreaming of my own Prince Charming.
Turns out Prince Charming was just a hoax and boys are just
Icky, dirty, cootie spreading....
Creatures
That get sweaty and pick on boogers.
Just shy of 10, I decided I'll draw hearts with markers on the edges of my paper
And indulge in the forbidden hand-holding of T.V show characters,
But never, never get myself in a mix with actual guys.
Besides, I was the new girl with a British accent
In a country where everyone acted so entitled,
And the LAST thing I needed to waste time on was chasing boys.
Academic validation is just so fulfilling you know.
I revel in the sense of accomplishment it gives me.
Time elapsed, and I was a confused 12 year old with no personality but being smart,
So I studied.
I flattered the teachers just right and
I left my mark on every classroom.
And then I'd turn around sometimes and see children.
Children,
Leaning against each other and going on dates to the Racetrack next to our middle school,
"Whispering" in not so hushed tones with their friends about their first kiss.
I remember thinking,
"What a foolish waste of time."
For I knew it wouldn't last because anything good is only ever fleeting
And I also knew that in a week's time the same shy smiles will become tears of heartbreak.
I don't know if all girls go through this
But at 13 when the gates of society closed to protect against an unprecedented virus,
I began to see through the fog.
The blurriness faded and I realized just how many chains had been restrained against me,
Against my fellow women.
I was growing,
I was angry,
And so I turned to paper and pen to voice out my frustrations.
I loathed the injustice and at this point
Boys went from being a dream to the source of my disgust to utter wastes of my time
And now, not even worthy of being on my mind.
Every kiss scene in movies and any books in the romance aisle just automatically became taboo.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, I guess only time will tell,
I discovered ya fantasy books.
Not the regular Harry Potter or Percy Jackson
But pages and pages of faeries and assassins,
Each littered with just a dash of spice.
The spice of daggers, blood soaked thrones, and a little bit of lust.
Little turned to some turned to lot
Of romance being a part of literally every book I came across.
I was startled at first.
Then intrigued.
Then captivated.
The aggravating angst tugged at my very heartstrings
While the occasional moments of unrestrained emotions opened floodgates of pure fluff and love between the characters,
All amongst the threat of some kind of evilness.
So at 14, words written by women on dead trees
Weaving every woman’s dream man into an overall murderous plot
Became the source of my entertainment and expectation.
Now at 15,
I can’t say my standards for love are any less childish than they were when I was 3.
Maybe even more so now that I know the world for at least some of the cruelties it deals out.
And it might be immature or foolish to base the expectations I have for a REAL person
On the acts shown in books.
Fantasy, books.
Despite my lack of ignorance I have indeed fallen for
The tall, dark, and handsome, morally grey character in the books I read
And I can't help but compare reality to fantasy and hope they match at one point
Because I know nothing of love but what I've read.
It is an abstract, subjective thing,
One I hope I can define later with nothing but the name of one individual,
But I am aware that it may very well lead to disappointment.
I expect a lot of my soulmate,
The first and most basic being respect,
But I think overall, I do not hate the notion of love anymore.
I do not find it frivolous and disgusting.
At such adolescent ages, I still believe it to be a waste of efforts,
But the notion itself,
The idea of one day falling in love and bearing my very heart out to a person,
Walls down, defenses bare,
Fearless, and unashamed,
That notion is one worth praying for.
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