im getting fed up with this pretend-love bullshit. romance, girly(note the gender) mushie ooshie stories, experiences are all simulated, lies, illusions. propaganda for men or women(and heterosexuality) which/who do(es) not exist, the notion of the soul mate merely an apparition, a false destination that is permanently out of reach. a smiling ghost that mocks at you every time you notice its lack of tangibility.

people/i find themselves "incomplete", lonely, sad when they/i are/am left on their/my own. suddenly the world seems to empty and dull, its essence slowly and torturously gouged out layer by layer using some heated icecream scoop to be served chilled for another's pleasure. the ruby from raspberry sherbet loses its colour, with a generous dash of desertion, desperation and neglect. not to mention what other emotions and irrational actions that would invoke.

why do we/i let these pretenses and lies get us/me down... or even up?
...

i remember the first time a boy made me cry. it was strange but the only reason why i did it was because it felt appropriate. i didnt want to cry, i was not as upset as he was, i couldnt care enough. i was fine. who cares? but after heaving a book into his skinny, adolescent chest, i learnt that hurting is one of the ways to show you actually care. but i couldnt physically smash his face in for making me feel like shit. so i cried.

i didnt believe in love then. sex, thankfully was not yet in the equation. boys were fun company. i liked their lack of restraint, their coarse yet innocent taking up of what was supposed to be masculine... until i did it better than them with a nice punch in the stomach. they were easy going, less complicated. and besides, i was obligated to like boys with penises. which of course, i do. but like i said, that was all i knew then. i was convinced love was a coverup for hurting one another, selfishness, possessiveness, financial obligations, monogamy, and fake family values. tears were silly, a sign of weakness (=emotionality), girlishness. oh how i hated girls back then. useless little long haired helpless brats with pink mary janes and tears. and then that one day i mentioned above, i felt that helplessness. i became weak. i became a girl. suddenly i needed that love coverup.

now, the act of crying is alot simpler. most of the thought process is gone. just like how those dogs salivate at the ringing of the bells, for me hurt = tears. and there is hardly anything i can do to stop it anymore. in the name of this thing called love.

then came sex. because love makes us weak, susceptible to any form of tenderness and heightened intimacy, not to mention the mysterious hype surrounding it. to be clear, sex here means anything physically personal most of the people reading this blog would already have had experience with. for me, there was no mystery. i had the mindset of just figuring out how things are supposed to work. emotional attachment..? none. it was like the first time i played pool, drank beer, took the bus on my own. I felt a little excited only because i was doing it, and finally getting to see what it does. for a few years it did nothing for me. Apparently sex was supposed be part of love. part of the beauty of being stupidly vulnerable and close to your lover. but how come there was no fulfillment, satisfaction or even that much fun? most of the times it was awkward, ticklish and strange. all i knew it made things even complicated. little did i know in exchange for the awkwardness and the lack of fun for emotional attachment and good stuff, it would get even more complicated with investments, emotional/physical stock markets and so on. Even with extreme methods of contraception thanks to modern technology, is sex ever safe?

Now I am in love! I ride on the waves of endorphins, I yearn for one person, one body. I let sorrys work their magic because I care so much I forget myself. I want him to be mine. MY raspberry sherbet. MY world. And I want to be HIS. Is this love? Or is it a coverup for hurting one another, selfishness, possessiveness, monogamy, loneliness and the socialized desire to find a soul mate, one who "completes" me?

During the downtimes, I revert to my cynicism, angry with myself for letting myself get so easily hurt. Disappointed. Hopeless. Weak. Silly. Wrong. Useless. Deserted. Even more lonely. Pathetic. I mean, arent parents made to feel like that all the time too?

I tell myself its my fault for believing the hype in the first place. And that I am just stupid to give in to such romanticized notions of living life and the relationships that form along the way. But im secretely hoping someone would tell me I am wrong.