“Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind. Don’t assign me yours.”
Clementine Kruczynski, Eternal Sunshine on the Spotless Mind.
If I tell you a story, would you dare read it?
And if you would, I wonder how should I tell you?
Should I regale you of a tale of two star-crossed lovers? Lovers, who, by the funny tricks of time, met in a busy street under a starry night sky – or a train to Vienna. They get caught up in a whirlwind fantasy where romance blooms as poets write and sigh in ecstasy. The way their eyes met and suddenly long hidden emotions evoked within them. Sensations spreading, coursing through them and like sparks, flying sporadically, they felt their lives were shaken completely. Yet, like fireworks exploding in the sky, so beautiful yet briefly times, like shivers and goose bumps, their love came and went like the wind. Like embers from the flames, they float apart, nevertheless, half-hoping they would move on and half-hoping for fate to let their paths meet again.
Hmm, maybe something modern – and less whimsy?
Like a road trip or a gap year – any journey to self-understanding. A bar, even. You both meet – bada-bing-bada-boo! – sparks were flying everywhere. At first, that person would relentlessly annoy you, turn your life upside-down and make you question everything around you. But then, slowly, that person would make you smile and laugh to the corniest of jokes because being with them was like welcoming the sun to your dark gray world. That person plays along to your quirks and suddenly you find yourself falling until such time that person leaves you and you realize it was only you who assumed everything.
So many stories to choose from and so many lives to see and be heard.
If I tell you my story, would you dare read it?
And if so, how would you feel – and what would you think?
Let’s find out, shall we?
First and foremost, this is not a love story. It never was.
No. In fact, it’s much, much more sinister than that. It is the vilest and scariest of all things to have existed.
This is a story… about love.
HAHA got you there!
For a minute, I may have sounded like 500 Days of Summer. Which isn’t foregone at all, though this story is not about a girl named Summer.
Nope. I’m gonna be serious now.
This is a story about a girl named Avalon. Ave for short. Who – wouldn’t you know it? – just happens to be me.
How did that happen?
Weiird.(Cue in, rolling of eyes.)
And this is the story of my life – more specifically my last year in high school.
Okay, before you roll your eyes and say, ‘not again, not another high school drama’ or ‘child, not everything is about high school’. Well, too bad. Like any teenager my age, life as I knew it begins in high school. After all, it’s like a rite of passage where you meet and greet with the younger versions of assholes and bullies before they dominate the real world as adults.
And again, this isn’t a love story. And by that I mean, a romantic love story. (There are different kinds of love so I might as well be specific).
No.
Scratch that off the list.
Life is more than just romance. It has friendship, family, humor, drama, action, mysteries, betrayal, secrets, adventure, youth, uncertainties, mistakes, life lessons, climate change, existentiality issues and – oh, what the heck! You’ve got me – Romance.
But really, just because the main character says, “I love you” doesn’t make this a romantic love story. Most times they’re just words.
But before all of this, let me share a story. It goes into the classic line of …
Once upon a time…
There was a young princess who grew up believing that someday a dashing prince would arrive on a white horse and sweep her off her feet and away from her sad lonely life. She would fantasize everyday on how they would race on a path of rose petals and towards the sunset view. One day, a prince arrives in a form of a handsome young man. All it took was one glance and she knew, right there and then, that he was her prince. She tried everything she could think of to gain his favor. She wore the prettiest of gowns, dons on the finest shows, sprits on the most fragrant of perfumes. She even wore rouges and other maquillage to enhance her lovely features. However, it seemed that the prince showed no inclination that he fancied her – much less noticed her. Still, this did not discourage her though. Instead, she took it as a challenge to try even harder. She tried to learn his story, listen to his every tales, know his likes and dislikes in hopes that she can mold herself to be the perfect one for him. Weeks passed and they grew closer together. When the time arrived for the prince to leave, he called the attention of everyone and announced that he has fallen in love. Imagine to her surprise and horror, when he takes not her hand, but her cousin’s hand. Devastated, she wanted to run away at that moment but duty forced her to stay and wallow in heartbreak. She congratulated the two while all in the inside she wanted to scream at the world for the injustice for her scorned love. She wanted to hate her cousin for stealing him from her. She wanted to hate herself for falling and feeling betrayed. But then again, she never really had his heart to begin with for it had already belonged to another. It was her fault for assuming that every tiny bit of attention he gave her meant something more.
She then knew, then and there, she wasn’t the princess.
She never was one.
Sad, isn’t it?
And no, that girl wasn’t me.
That girl is nothing more but a work of fiction meant to manifest the crushed hopes and dreams of every little girl inside every woman out there who thought of themselves as fairy tale princesses to begin with.
Of course, come to think of it, I was never much for Prince Charmings. I’m more of a warrior. A fighter. A girl who can fight her own battles because nobody else would.
Little girls are all led to believe that their lives are fairytales in a big giant storybook with the eventual clichéd happily-ever-afters accompanied by an orchestra of violins and a piano playing at the background while they race the sunset and the screen goes blank.
And then here’s where I come in.
Let me tell you, first and foremost, waking up sweaty and tangled with a one-night stand who has the body heat of a furnace was never my cup of tea. Plus, the fact that you’re sporting a hangover, near-sighted ’coz your contacts are missing and without a clue of anything that happened the night before (whether you enjoyed it or not, if it was just a series of grunting or actually the best orgasm of your life being the highlight) is what I would call a complete FUCKING mess. And that says a lot considering my life is already a mess of things.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have any qualms against one-night stands. Hell, it’s better than going over a date with a guy who may or may never call you back. Mostly never in my case. At least, with one-night stands you get the ‘deal’. No questions asked. No strings attached. No, nothing. Wham-bam! Thank you, man! Nice meeting you – let’s not make it a repeat. Good luck with your future endeavors. Wink-wink. Horse-shoe emoji.
Of course, there’s the precaution of being safe (but that’s already in the realm of common sense so we’ll skip that.)
Then there is the walk of shame. I can tell you, that within the first five minutes of waking up, I have devised different scenarios in my mind on how to get over that awkward morning after-call.
I’m not a slut or anything. I don’t even exactly do this type of thing. But hey, what’s done is done. Isn’t that what they all say? No, just a few? Not even one? Okay, just me then.
Now you might be wondering ‘Oh no, what the fuck is this? Where’s the formal narrative storytelling for this shit?’ Two-five minutes tops of reading just to get to this scene right here with this crazy girl who’s out of her mind talking to no one in particular.
Well, let me tell you – again, the second time around. I am crazy. Period-period. And in this story, I am the fucking heroine!
All those musings about love at first sight, those rom-com chick flick tropes and fairytale endings aforementioned have a point. And that point is…dramatic ‘Shape of Water’ meets ‘Before Sunset’ and ‘When Harry Met Sally’ opening.
Just kidding.
So, where was I? Oh, right. Current naked situation.
In case that’s not already obvious, I’m not really expecting much from this ‘thing’ right here – except getting the fuck out here.
Nope.
Nada.
No thank-you note or breakfast in bed. No morning kisses, forehead, Eskimo kisses, or whatever-kisses there are. No expectations of waking up and facing this stranger next to me straight in the eyes and be suddenly overcome with this urge to profess my love or seeing him again at the corner of a street where we continue where we left off and be assaulted with all this sexual tension until we decide to make it official.
Now that I think about it that is stupid. Even if I want to – and I don’t – I can’t see him again. I don’t have my glasses or my contacts. And – I’m crazier than I already think I am!
To be honest, I’m the least believer of romance in real life – especially romantic clichés. And why should I? I don’t see the point of seeing life through rose-colored glasses or living it out like a Hallmark Movie Channel.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve closed all doors on romance. And no, I’m not eating my words from earlier!
I do enjoy reading romance novels and watching romantic chick flicks. Again, reading and watching.
Basically, anything with a semblance of romance in them is good for me. What can I say? The idea was too addictive not to entertain. Still, I have my limits. Romance was fine but I prefer to leave it next to unicorns, leprechauns, faeries and any thought that was far, far away from reality and closer to the paranormal section at the local high school library.
I mean, come on. Let’s be real.
A guy won’t be that shameless, stupid or plainly serious to sweep a girl off her feet. Nope. They’re too lazy for that (they’d rather lift dumbbells with their head) and too arrogant to even sacrifice or offer a blow to their ego just because they can’t handle the risk of being rejected. And yup, I’m talking about the fucking mind games.
The game.
The Playing-It-Cool Game. The Will-He-Won’t-He Call-Me Game.
And ooh, my favorite! The Ghosting Game.
Honestly, I think it’s a bother. And a complete waste of time.
That’s why I came up with this rule.
DITCH.
Yup, you heard me. I’m not kidding. It’s really the name
DITCH as in Ditch him, he’s not worth it.
Look at it this way, you like a guy or a girl – or both, I won’t judge – and let’s just say they aren’t that interested.
Then let me ask you this, why waste your time chasing after someone, hoping just maybe one day – one fucking day that may or may never happen – that person may like you back just the same?
Why chase someone who never wanted to be chased in the first place?
Why be the fool who have to change herself or himself just to suit that person, settle as their second best and always the one to grovel on the ground trying to catch the tiny drops of that person’s affection?
Why delude yourself to the possibility that the two of you could end up together, and when it didn’t, you wallow yourself in perpetual sadness and pain?
How many times must you hurt yourself for you to see that enough is enough? That you are not a desperate person, rather you are a rational, wise and a dignified human being?
Why be the one who gets left behind when you can be the one who got away?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not as ugly or hideous that typically causes guys to blow me off just because they’re shallow dicks who are much more concerned of what society views as pretty.
In fact, I’m passably pretty though I don’t really play the field that well. To be honest, I suck at it. Probably because I suck at observing and recognizing social dating cues.
Plus, I’m intimidating as fuck – you may write that down as being a bitch. (Go ahead, I support you – insert Ru Paul in drag).
And so, people aside from my small group of friends tend to steer clear of me. Although, secretly deep down, I’m just a socially awkward person who prefers to be surrounded by her own group of friends – but I’d rather die and kill everyone than admit to that.
I’m not a good girl who takes shit from anyone either.
I used to but then I realized life’s already full of shit so I might as well give as good as I get.
I’m not a helpless damsel in distress who needs saving or a nerd that gets constantly bullied by the stereo-typical popular kids just like in the books and movies.
To be clear, I’m the opposite.
I’m what people may call in this small town as a rebel.
A deviant.
A ne’er-do-well person who will never amount to anything in this society.
If there was any person who has the words ‘NOT TO BE FUCKED WITH’ caps-locked in a signage with glowing neon letters in front of them, that would be me. I am prone to break rules, wreak chaos and naturally disregard any forms of authority.
Frankly, I just never gave a shit.
But really, if you’re basing a person more on who they actually are, like my very few darling friends, overlook my hard rebel shell and you’ll see that I’m just like any normal teenage girl you’re gonna get.
I get bad hair days, wardrobe mishaps, subscribe to Rebel Circus quotes, bitchfights and being a disappointment to my family (oops!). Of course, not many normal teenage girls have suffered from ADHD (also known as Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder), lacking feminine grace or the most basic social skills.
Like anyone else, I have my baggage – demons – that I would just love to drown. And yet here I am.
But back to my oh-so-golden rule.
DITCH.
Don’t wait for flies to hang around in your mouth. When the signs are telling you he’s just not that interested, jump ship! In other words, to dumb it down, MOVE ON WHILE YOU STILL CAN!
And trust me, from a girl who never had to have her heart broken, it might just be the solution you need.
If that doesn’t convince you, then I guess there’s no better way but to go all the way back to the start.
Once more – before I finally finish untangling myself from this Man of Steel’s death grip and go have a trip down to memory lane – just because the main character says, “I love you” doesn’t equate for a love story. Most times they’re just words.
This is not (just) a love story. (I don’t think I would ever know if it was.) It never was.
Copyright © 2019 by Andrea Cassandra Lei Meñosa
All Rights Reserved.
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