My mother always told me not to haste life and love. I remember her say, “All in due time,” and you know what, I believe her. Everything does come in its proper time and all the reasons would be rationalized one way or another.
I was what she categorized as a “late bloomer”, and sometimes I still like to think of myself as childlike. (*Take note: not childish* : ) To see life through the eyes of a child has done me wonders, and I have never felt so peaceful until I recently mastered and appreciated this art. Not once have I prayed for life to speed up…hence, I think I am living my life to the fullest.
However, there did come a point in my life when I asked this question: Where was (romantic) love? Every good thing happened to me and there was nothing to ask for, but one night, emptiness overpowered my entire being. You see, I have tragically acquired a certain phobia, which I honestly have no idea where I got since I have always been inspired by romance novels in earlier years. Not until last year, I found out that this quote-unquote disease that struck me had a name!
Philophobia: fear of falling or being in love
I tried looking for consolation and denied the truth behind an individual’s need to love and be loved in return…my need to experience love…but as the universe conspired to make me all the more miserable, I finally accepted that love had to have a place inside me.
I think that my constant reading of romance novels and pocketbooks cultivated this pursuit for sentimentality, but along with that was the belief that only beautiful people came in contact with the emotion. Somewhat, I accepted my fate towards being just an inanimate object in the fairy tale. It’s not that love hasn’t knocked on my door yet. It has, but somehow I confess that I am blind when it comes to feeling the emotion, insensitive as other people may see it. For you see, I always felt that they deserved someone else, not me, someone who would be willing to risk everything and love them with all they’ve got. I do love with everything I have, but then…I try to escape. There would be no use investing emotions with me because sooner or later, I will --- vanish.
I am the epitome of a “runaway girlfriend”, the personification of a non-committal, love-is-suicide individual. When things are going perfectly well, I try to get a way out of the relationship. There’s actually a perfect word for it: PANIC. Yes, I panic. I lose my nerve and go to pieces. I’ve even invented something that’s entirely my own: the two-dates syndrome. I only last going on two dates with a guy, and then…I want my life back. Strange, isn’t it?
Though I have fallen in love… if the description of liking someone, and if thinking that this man is worth taking the risk for, is under that category…then, indeed I have fallen in love. Thrice, I think, including that from high school. I couldn’t really explain it because somehow, I just woke up with the feeling that I was up for a wild rollercoaster ride. You know, the oh-no-what-is-this kind of emotion you just suddenly get upon waking up one morning, followed by my I-don’t-like-this-feeling-at-all. Well, as expected, nothing resulted from those three. Either I ran away since the beginning or I did give in for quite some time but eventually turned my back.
Some may assume that I’m just afraid of getting hurt that’s why I don’t want to risk it, but I have gotten hurt many times before. I know how it feels when you find out your “partner” cheated on you, how being taken for granted can make one crazy, and how it feels when you realize it just isn’t working. No, I’m not afraid to get hurt. In fact, I will do everything I could to fight for love…well, that is, if I feel the sincerity and honesty. You know, I almost did fight for love…but I learned it was hopeless to win a battle on my own.
So I guess fate is still preparing the one meant for me…
Love will come in its own time…
Or maybe God has a different plan for me…
So be it.
