Category: growth

gwyn’s guide to hyperoptimised dating, #5.5 (on players)

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in this series: #1 (#1.5) | #2 | #3 (#3.5) | #4 | #5 (#5.5) | #6 | #7 (#7.5)

love is not a game — and we will strike down anyone who acts as if it is

babygirl affirmations (author: me)

Supplement to guide #5, as promised. Today, we delve into the psychology of players — those pesky distractions in your Love Quest that steer you away from your path, promising great rewards only to leave you stranded with nothing.

Or so I’d say, if only things were that simple.

My observations tell me that people are tempted to reduce players to one-dimensional creatures — selfishly motivated barbarians with limited capacity for self-reflection and sophisticated emotion.

I argue that this is not true. Selfish, yes, but everything else, no. In this piece, we will strip them, layer by layer (haha), to establish my argument.

You might be thinking: OK, sis, pretty prose and all, but why extend grace to these clowns when they are out only to hurt you and waste your time?

The primary reason is that understanding them helps you to grow.

When you dissect and decipher a player’s psyche, you will see what they really are: a timid child desperate to be loved not knowing how to go about it, who inadvertently hurts others in the process.

They’re just like you, and they’re just like me.

When you come to terms with this image of them, you will sympathise with — and maybe even forgive — them for why and how they hurt you. After all, would you blame a child for causing you pain, if you knew they didn’t know better?

And only then can you let go for real — to become the person you were destined to be without them.

The secondary reason is that you can put them in their place when you understand them. I think of it as my contribution to the world. 😛

The Ivory Guards, or Two (Exceptionally Intimate) Case Studies

guards? guards!

Prior to meeting my future husband, two men in particular were formative to my personal growth. I think of them as the guardians of the gates to Paradise, forged in ivory, iridescent and brittle. Together, they helped me discover the maxims of players (supposedly) that I will cover.

I deconstruct their psyches using their behavioural patterns I observed during our entanglements. So, yes, this is an exercise in psychological analysis. Even if psychologists can’t read your mind, I sure can try.

I am oversharing insofar as I believe there are lessons for my readers to take away, but you make of it what you will. Also, it’s a form of closure for me. I doubt I’ll ever write about them again following this post because I’ve taken everything I could from them. It’s time for me to move on, too.

A forewarning because the possibility of them reading this is never zero (I adore you, my orbiters): you will not like what’s coming. You may disagree with my interpretations, and that’s okay — either way, you ultimately have no say because you relinquished your privilege the moment you disrespected me as a fellow human being. Typically, I would offer my loverboys the possibility of taking it down if they were uncomfortable, but no such option will be offered this time.

Why? Because you shouldn’t be here.

leave while you can!!!

What you can take away from the following, though, is that this is an attempt to implode whatever relationship we had or might still have. I don’t write without anticipating the consequences.

I wish you the best, nonetheless.

Ivory Guard A

  • Context/identifier: We had a prior friendship. He reached out to me to restart, and I reciprocated. We both acknowledged that we were not in good emotional places then.
  • Bond: We had an intense connection, so I believed then, which he later admitted. I understood and could read him.
  • Green flags:
    • He respected my boundaries (for the most part), which is why I gave him so many chances. Yes, the bar was low.
  • Orange flags:
    • He would never directly admit his feelings for me. I started noticing it in the small things like him refusing to acknowledge I was hot or skirting the topic when I teased if he was obsessed with me, even though all signs were flashing in that direction. I did not like that, because why do I have to slave away like a dog for your approval when I could get it elsewhere easily? But I persisted, trusting that he would eventually trust me enough to overcome his insecurities.
    • He carelessly made promises he did not keep. Don’t make promises if you cannot follow through.
  • How he messed up: He ghosted me out of nowhere a month into our budding relationship, which involved a substantial amount of flirting (i.e., me saying whatever I wanted) and whatever tension.
    • By the way, people do not accidentally mess up stuff like this. Severing a relationship is always deliberate; hence, no justification will ever be enough.
  • My response: I was first confused, then upset and hurt. I double-texted him twice, gave up, and took a month to move on.
  • Whiplash era (when the power dynamics inverted):
    • He kept watching my stories even as he maintained his refusal to reply me. I was further aggravated when I noticed — accurately — that he would like the stories that he believed were referring to him. That was top-of-the-line manipulative behaviour, and it disgusted me.
    • It didn’t have the effect he intended, though, because our king did not realise that babygirl here had options and already had someone else (of course). LOL. So all his behaviour only resulted in my amusement to no end.
    • I engaged in retaliatory offense by kindly informing him (through public means since I knew he was watching) that I was not, in fact, talking about him.
    • He proceeded to
      • Call me in the middle of the night, possibly drunk (I did not notice because I was wilding out with my friends), before deleting the evidence the next morning
      • Text me to apologise, which I accepted
      • Ask me to go back to him, to which I said no
      • Ask me to go back to him again, to which I said no again
  • Psychological breakdown:
    • I found closure once I figured his behaviour stemmed from him being a coward (at that time, OK; he’s grown since). He did not know what he wanted and needed time to figure it out. I wouldn’t have minded, really, but what disappointed me the most was that he did not respect me enough to inform me that he needed that time and space alone.
    • In essence I was treated as an option he thought he could return to whenever he wanted. He thought I would wait for him. But my universe doesn’t revolve around you, you know. I doubt he realised this initially, but the moment he distanced himself, he could never again return to me. Above all, that was the dealbreaker, along with him thinking he could toy with my feelings with his orbiting behaviour. I told you I would win if you dared play games with me, and you still did.
    • My readers might think I’m delusional, so let me note that all of my observations above were validated when he apologised and asked me to return to him. Our only difference in interpretation was that I thought we were never together.
  • Cumulative emotional impact: I never cried over him.
  • I dedicate Santorini to him.

Ivory Guard B

  • Context/identifier: We met at a party. I forgot about him following the party, but he caught my attention when he initiated contact later. We agreed to meet before he ghosted me for a good month. (What’s with players and months?) But he pulled the sympathy card and said he could explain himself, so I listened, maybe because I wanted to see the good in him, or because I was naïve. Turns out he had recently broken up with his longtime girlfriend, whom he loved deeply (I could tell) but had a volatile relationship with. They had a dead bedroom, which is notable for two reasons: 1) it is a death knell in a romantic relationship, and 2) see psychological breakdown below.
  • Bond: In retrospect, we had nothing real. Most of what I felt towards him was rooted in my projections of what he could be, perhaps because he looked like an angel. But a pretty face is just that (since we’re already at this level of disclosure, I might as well say the men I met on Hinge subsequently put him and me to shame). I’ll never know what’s inside his shell; maybe I wouldn’t have liked it, and I suspect now that I probably wouldn’t.
  • Green flags: none (!)
  • Orange flags:
    • From the very beginning, he only seemed interested in my body. But see psychological breakdown below.
    • He also carelessly made promises he did not keep. By then, I was wise enough to know that the moment he broke our promise — we even did the pinky seal! — I was nothing to him.
  • How he messed up: He insinuated that we could be something more. Then I slept with him, and then he proceeded to withdraw rapidly in the days that followed.
    • I had not realised this yet, but looking back, I would still have slept with him even if he had been honest that he had no clue what he wanted. I knew from the moment I saw him again. Indeed, he was the one who taught me to compartmentalise sex and love. I realised that if I didn’t do so, I was setting myself up for a world of pain.
    • And in case you guys think I am a damn homewrecker: I have principles, OK. I ascertained that they were separated before I slept with him, and I would not have done so otherwise. Their relationship is doomed either way: even if he returns to her in the future, they will not be happy together.
  • My response: I did not pursue the relationship and let the conversation peter out, as he intended. If he didn’t want me enough, I would respect his decision. Later, in my Hinge era, I would decisively inform men that they didn’t like me enough and end our liaison, but I didn’t do so with him. It doesn’t matter because the outcome would’ve been the same.
    • Interestingly, my predominant emotion was disappointment more than sadness, unlike with Guard A. It was more like, oh, he’s just like the others. Haha, oh well.
  • Whiplash era (when the power dynamics inverted):
    • He continued watching my stories even when it was clear we were nothing (ugh, why do they all do this), which annoyed me. What do you want from me? It was affecting me, so I blocked him. I realised I had moved on when I was zoning out one fine afternoon and couldn’t recall his name.
    • So I unblocked him since he didn’t matter anymore. And guess who came back that night? Let me note here that he is an aggressive orbiter. When you block and unblock someone, they automatically unfollow you. He was not following me anymore, which meant he was actively searching for my profile and watching my stories. If that’s not preoccupation, what is?
    • At some point, more than anything, I felt sorry for him. I don’t know why he was still hanging around. (Maybe I was too hot to let go?) But I wasn’t going to help him by blocking him. I did write to my orbiters to him as a final grace — it was written for my orbiters in general, but he leads the pack. You can be the alpha male in this case if you like being one so much, baby.
      • I believe he read it because he stopped watching my stories after that. I might be overthinking, but the timing was too coincidental.
  • Psychological breakdown:
    • Though not necessarily with me, I suspect he was looking for love (surprise!!!). To be brutally specific, I think he was seeking love via sex because he did not know how else he could receive love. It was all he had known. He was aware, consciously or not, that his ex-girlfriend did not love him as much as he loved her, and it was staring him in the face every time she denied him sex. Despite knowing this, he could not move on from her. So his compensatory strategy to reaffirm himself as someone worthy of love was to find a replacement — oh look, that’s me!
    • I also suspect he has not reached out because I have established in no uncertain terms that I do not want him in my life, not after he betrayed my trust like that. That, or he’s not as optimistic as Guard A. We will never know for sure. But his feelings towards me are irrelevant — the only thing that matters, and has ever mattered, is that he did not act on his feelings at the time.
  • Cumulative emotional impact: I never cried over him.
  • I dedicate Evergreen to him — the parts that hurt. The lovely parts, I dedicate to my husband.

Players, Deconstructed

I defined players as the following in guide #5:

Players. Typically men. Players are not interested in seeking love with you — they only want sex.

What distinguishes this category of daters is their strategy: they masquerade as the genuinely seeking type, but this is only a ploy to get you in bed.

In other words, they prey on the (female) weakness in conflating love and sex to obtain the latter.

I realise that the definition applies only to Guard B (because I did not sleep with Guard A), and hence it is insufficient. I expand on the definition below, which provides a fuller picture and allows for the inclusion of women — namely, insecure people who date recklessly but fail to commit fully.

Notice how the definition is worded. It assumes that players do not seek love with you. It does NOT mean they do not want love. Put another way, even players desire to be loved. Whether they deserve it from you is an entirely separate matter. The point — and this perspective frames my entire argument — is that almost all of their behaviours can be explained by the fact that they are seeking love.

No player operates outside of the rules. Rather, they have mastered the rules and are exploiting them to their advantage at the expense of others. That is why when we speak of players’ behaviours, it is oftentimes layered with contempt, because we all recognise that they actively hurt others. And don’t think for a moment that they’re unaware of how they’re perceived — anyone with sufficient self-awareness, which is essential to play the game well, knows what other people think of them. Nonetheless, they persist in their maladaptive behaviour because they see no other way forward. This is, in turn, because they have demons they are unwilling to confront.

Players are fundamentally insecure. They want love, but instead of being honest with themselves and others, they inadvertently hurt everyone involved because they cannot bring themselves to do so. Whether the insurmountable barrier is their ego or emotional immaturity, they believe that the risk of honesty outweighs its benefits. Hence, they lie to get what they want, or they engage in escape behaviours when push comes to shove.

Nobody, not even players, can entirely separate sex and love. I have described players as professionals at discriminating between the two, but even they are not invincible. When you sleep with someone, no matter what, you are giving a part of yourself to them forever. This fate is inescapable as long as you are a being with the capacity for an emotional bond. The only exception to this would be if you’re hollow inside — I mean, you can’t give anything when you have nothing. But everyone has something, even if they refuse to admit it. I did, and so did Guard B. That is why he lingered longer than he should have.

For the twentieth time, I could be wrong. But as I have demonstrated repeatedly, I try to see the good in everyone, even men who have hurt me. Love is a boundless resource; it can be given over and over, and it will eventually be returned to you.

When you genuinely love someone, you can ironically break them with it.

Maybe break is the wrong word; rather, if you are willing, you can help them grow with you.

The karmic fate that awaits a player is that because they are paying attention to the wrong things, they are bound to realise, only belatedly, that they let the thing they were looking for all along — unconditional love — slip by unnoticed.

Love is what they need — but won’t ever have — until they come to terms with themselves.

in this series: #1 (#1.5) | #2 | #3 (#3.5) | #4 | #5 (#5.5) | #6 | #7 (#7.5)

excerpts, #10 (serenity)

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i used to think love needed to be exhilarating and all that. like a joyride. i’d go wild for the ups and downs and i thought that defined an ideal relationship. i’d play games with insecure men, men who had no idea what they wanted and were wasting our time, in an attempt to best them. i believe i always came out on top, but did i really? i didn’t realise then that my actions were, in fact, a reflection of my unmet needs that (even) breaking multiple men’s egos could not address.

don’t get me wrong — i loved breaking them, i regret nothing: i did not know better. i don’t think that belligerent part of me will ever go away; it is a kind of pleasure that cannot be captured in words.

but love isn’t about breaking; it’s about building. it was not real love (whatever that means) that i had with them; it only seemed that way because i loved the thrill — i loved the hunt, because i am a hunter.

instead, what i needed was really serenity — and that’s what i feel with him. we could just sit in silence together, listening to absurd current affairs on the radio. or he could roll down the windows on a morning drive, and i’d just quietly feel the wind brush my face and his hand against mine; he brings the back of my hand to his cheek, and just reminiscing about it makes me sob. i’m perfectly content just being by his side. he’s not something to be hunted or broken; he’s someone to be loved.

even hunters have families to return to.

like the rain washes away all sins, he swept in like a storm and blew the competition out of the water.

the thing about love (in hindsight) is that you don’t know until you know. i had to keep searching in the dark alone, armed only with hope, until i found it. and it comes suddenly, but you’ll know when it’s there. it just is. it’s running home into the warmth of someone’s arms, knowing that they’ve been waiting for you all along, knowing that you belong there.

i found my friends when i least expected it; i found him when i least expected it. and even if he doesn’t stay, even if they don’t stay, they’ll always be branded into my heart.

and so i’m going now, my hands in theirs, their hands in mine.

to my orbiters

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I have a complicated relationship with my orbiters. Their distinguishing feature is that they are men with whom I have been emotionally entangled, who watch my stories but who do not otherwise have any contact with me by their choice. They could DM or text me — I don’t block men I don’t care for — but they do not. I do not consider them friends. Maybe fans, or a little less, because placing them in the same category as my darling fans would be insulting to the latter. Either way, they are a special class of men because I pay much attention to them.

I maintain a level of detachment from them for the sake of my well-being but, nonetheless, am drawn to them like a moth to fire. I am endlessly fascinated by their behaviour as an object of study; I stay transfixed because they are like a puzzle whose pieces are constantly transmogrifying.

As we have clearly established, I love to read too much into human behaviour — it’s an occupational hazard. And I think orbiting behaviour is particularly revealing of desire due to its nature.

Orbiting in the form of story-watching behaviour is a two-way street, at least with insane girls like me. Again, men (and women) are deliberate in their actions. My friends say “maybe he’s just watching your stories because you pop up on his feed (because you post insane shit all the time)”, but are people really that simple? An orbiter does not accidentally watch your stories. They are orbiters because there are fixed patterns to their behaviour; they are there again and again like permanent fixtures. And given how confrontational I am, I know they know that I know they’re watching my stories. It’s like standing with your back to another person in a room of mirrors. You look up at yourself, and then at them, realising that they’re watching you too, even though both of you do not ever move.

This creates a relationship that is simultaneously parasocial and symbiotic. As much as I enjoy their presence, I think they, too, get a high from following my social media — because I feed them in return.

So let me feed you with this post.

Here’s the tall tale I spin in my head because I’m a crazy girl and I can think whatever I want (and I own it 100%!). You’re still here because you realise you messed up your only chance with me. Maybe it’s because you were in a bad place or not emotionally ready; you had not yet found yourself. That’s okay; it doesn’t matter anymore. Either way, you regret that you didn’t seize the chance when you had it.

And you don’t know what to do now, so you linger.

I am not sure what to say in response. You wanted something from me, and you took it, didn’t you? I gave you what you wanted, because I loved you, because I wanted you to be happy, even if the time we had together was so infinitesimal. But no matter what I did, I wasn’t enough for you then, and you made your decision then, split-second or not, calculated or not.

Isn’t this what you wanted?

I could block you but I won’t. Why? Because that would be giving you the easy way out. I’ll be frank: I don’t think you deserve that from me. And I love watching you suffer. Every single time you turn around for a second, third, fourth, fifth look, every single time you come back to me unprompted. The more you hurt me in the past, the more I’ll enjoy it.

Well, or so I thought. Huh? Like I said, I used to love playing games with silly cute boys. But in retrospect, I notice that there would inevitably come a tipping point where my objective ceased to be communicating my feelings for them in the hopes that they would reciprocate. All I wanted was to crush them.

I don’t know who or what to or why I was trying to prove myself, but here’s the thing — I always won, and crush them I did. One of the boys I was intent on breaking (because I felt that he had wronged me) eventually conceded through an apology. But when I saw his text, contrary to my glorious expectations, I didn’t feel a sense of victory. It was more like… ah, we’ve been through so much, haven’t we?

But… what was all of this for?

There was a brief period when I actively attempted to ignore my darling orbiters because I felt they were a waste of my time and emotional bandwidth. (Damn energy vampires.) However, I have since realised (perhaps in a post-hoc justification kind of way) that they were pivotal to my emotional growth.

Take Mr Temasek, for example (if you’re here, hi!!! Did it work out with your ex? Hahahahahaha). One encounter with him stands out; I think it will be all I remember of him in time.

We were seated, facing each other; he asked me what my biggest insecurity was (at that point).

And I was honest with him because I trusted him then: I told him, point blank, that I feared men only saw me for my (hot N sexy) body, even though I was so willing to love them.

For at least a second, I thought I recognized empathy in his pretty eyes — a moment of vulnerability I believed was worth revealing myself for.

And then he proceeded to precisely exploit that insecurity against me, haha.

Well (shrugs). We live and we learn. I was out of commission for a good two months or so thanks to his selfishness (and my weaknesses then; it takes two hands to clap). But he taught me an important emotional lesson, which later helped me find the one. Everything happens for a reason.

This is all much ado about nothing. Like OK sis, what is your point?

So here it is in the spirit of full disclosure. I like to pretend that I’m some harbinger of feminine rage, but surprise — despite everything, insanely, I want you to be happy. In the end, we’re all interconnected. Even if our paths will never cross again (I sure hope they don’t), they did at one point. I did love you.

I can be as delulu as I want, but in the end, I will never know why you’re still here. And I don’t intend to find out; that’s what keeps you endlessly fascinating. We always want the things we cannot have.

I liked to credit the men like the two examples above for being my muses. But I’ve been giving credit to the wrong people. I am like this today, and I could write all of this now, because I opted to learn from my mistakes instead of letting them break my spirit. I grew despite you, but also because of you. I would not be where I am today without you — for better or for worse.

And somehow, I choose better — without you.

You’ve served your purpose in my life. I hope I’ve served mine. So let’s part ways now, for your sake.

Listen to this — it’s the sound of how much I would’ve loved you.

And then let go.

But hey, if you do choose to stay, then watch, watch, watch me.

Because I’m going to dance.

gwyn’s guide to hyperoptimised dating, #7 (epilogue / on beginnings)

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in this series: #1 (#1.5) | #2 | #3 (#3.5) | #4 | #5 (#5.5) | #6 | #7 (#7.5)

Did you think it was over? There’s one more, and this is it —

Wait, where’s #5 and #6? I’m writing them as you read this. But we have deadlines to meet, as you will understand.

And… sometimes, you need to know the ending to appreciate the process.

So, in the final post of this series, we tackle the ultimate question:

What happens when you find the one?

— Wait. How would I know?

…

Yeah, guys. You won’t believe, but I met him. Haha!

???????????????

I wrote before that love is a little like falling asleep. To quote John Green: I fell in love like you would fall asleep: slowly and then all at once. Maybe somewhat faster for me because, after all, I am a hyperoptimiser: I knew he was the one by the end of our first date.

I mean, I did say I wouldn’t settle for anything less.

Silly Disclosures and a Few Lessons, Maybe

Why did I meet him? He likes jazz too. He’s the only one who genuinely wanted to go to a jazz show with me, not for me (observe how we came full circle). I made time for him because I sincerely wanted to connect with someone with the same interest. Wouldn’t it be fun, even if we didn’t work out? And I was right. He did not need to be anything he was not, nor did I.

Why did he “win”? There are a few things, but one turning point was when he held my hand. Huh, that’s it? Yeah. Because hand-holding is an emotionally loaded gesture. Before him, I had never held hands with any of the others outside of a sexual context. Men will tongue-wrestle you, hook their arm around your hips as you walk, or put their hand on your thigh (thinking they’re slick), blagh, but they will not hold your hand unless they’re ready. That’s love in its most intimate form, or so I believe. When he interlaced his fingers with mine, he was opening his heart to me: he was giving himself to me.

And so I did the same because I wanted to, for him.

Another one for kicks: some of my prior dates ended with the men saying I was enigmatic (??) or they were unsure about me (or gave me a hard no, which was superior, to be honest). They always had this distant look in the end… as if they were struggling to imagine how I fit into their future.

With him, though? At one point, I said, “if you’re so good to me, what if I beg you to see me again?”

He replied, without hesitation: “please do just that; I’d love it if you did.”

How did I know? When I fell asleep in his arms, the ocean was quiet: I did not dream. And yes, he felt like home. (The morning after, I wrote geometry.)

So yeah, nappeun yeoja, but this is it, LOL.

Babygirl’s retiring from the game; she’s had her run and received her prize.

yeah this was meant to be a semi-serious post until i got on pinterest

My Report Card, for Evaluation’s Sake

  • Dating period, where my first date with him marks the end: 1 to 18/7/24; 2 weeks, 4 days (Jazz in July isn’t even over, and we’re going again!)
  • Total # men encountered on Hinge: Lost count. LOL. Not important. I did review at least 200 men on Hinge; the night I cleared a backlog of 100+, I downed 18 shots and crawled on the road at some point I can’t recall. (On the bright side, I converted him the same night. And he took care of my bruises after. They’re almost gone!)
  • Total # men matched: 54
  • Total # converted to Telegram: 17 (i.e. 30% of matched)
  • Total # dates (“full conversions”) including with him: 7 — 4 met once, 1 met twice, and then him (i.e. 30% fully converted from Tele). Lucky seven, as he jokes. Lucky me. Can’t wait for the seventh time I see him. (Notice the # of this post in this series? And subtract 18 from today’s date. I love patterns.)
  • Kill rate (% of conversions I wanted to sleep with vs actually slept with): 100%, haha. A slut to the close-minded, an undefeated hunter to the players, a divine babygirl to him.
  • Total # of men (still) orbiting me: One too many. For their sake, I hope it eventually becomes 0 — either they upgrade to friends or move on with their lives.
  • Confidence that he’s the one for me: 99.7% (for now — time will tell).

Epilogue / On Beginnings

We might not work out in the end — life has no guarantees — but I’m committed to making it work. (I mean, if it doesn’t, I’ll just rinse and repeat the cycle. I’ve established quite clearly that it’s effective for me.)

Even if it doesn’t, I know we’ll both grow. I just hope we can make it together.

That’s my promise to him.

(And no, don’t ask me about him. I will not share. I have overshared enough. He’s mine, as I affirmed even before we met. Haha!)

I was looking for love. In the process, I found it in myself. When that happened, he manifested into being for me, as if from a dream.

There might be “better” out there. But what does that mean anyway? To “hyperoptimise”, as was my goal from the beginning, is to find the best solution available given a fixed set of parameters.

We are not looking for perfection; it is unattainable. He isn’t perfect, and neither am I.

But he’s good enough for me as he is, and I’m good enough for him as I am.

And isn’t that what matters in the end?

me listening to him yap. (more like the other way around)

Finally, to all my dear readers: thank you for being here with me throughout. It really has been magical.

Meeting new people was the best thing that happened to me this year. There’s so much out there, so much to learn, so much to do. There are so many others like myself with their own stories, waiting to be uncovered — waiting to be loved.

Again and again — I hope you find the love you deserve. Be brave! Life will work out for you — it’s only a matter of time.

in this series: #1 (#1.5) | #2 | #3 (#3.5) | #4 | #5 (#5.5) | #6 | #7 (#7.5)

becoming, #2 (suspiria)

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suspiria (2018) – official trailer

i watched Suspiria earlier on a whim. to be as spoiler-free as possible (the movie was a LOT), it is essentially about a witch coming into being — in the sense that she became who she was meant to be.

it was a masterpiece. in its post-credits scene, she looks beyond the screen and subtly smiles as if she recognises something monumental has happened; she is at peace with it; something greater is coming, and she is ready.

hyperbole perhaps, but something about this film fundamentally altered my brain chemistry. the witch is… powerful, devastatingly so when attuned to her purpose, but merciful and forgiving at the same time. she is a mother; she is everything a woman would want to be.

it hit me hard because i’ve only begun to realise that there is, in fact, something powerful within me. but now that i’ve discovered it — the only thing left to do is be who i really am, as i am. but if you are to be truly yourself you have to let go of everything that you thought you loved and wanted to love.

but it’s such a herculean process — it hurts so much, my god, does it hurt — and the suffering doesn’t even abate with time. you have to do it over and over, discarding things that don’t serve you, armed only with the belief that your suffering now will eventually serve a grander purpose. not that they’re not beautiful and precious — they just were not made for you.

do you understand? — i always ask the ones i love.

but does it matter?

as much as i want to be connected with everyone else, this life was for me.

life was a lot easier when i was not aware. i was walking blind and letting others lead my way. but now that i know exactly what i want — i have to chart the path on my own.

someone once told me that life is like swimming across the sea; the English Channel is an example, if you will. you must swim across or drown trying. and you’ll have people along the way with you; if you’re lucky, you’ll find a partner to support you. but if both of you are to make it across, you have to know how to swim without the other.

and if you have to rely on your partner to make it across, you will not only drown: you will kill them too.

i used to think — only three weeks ago, actually — that i needed someone to complete me. but i understand now, as our protagonist did:

i am whole on my own, as i am.

on volatility

gwynethtytLeave a comment

one final, final thought before i go (i promise): i get feedback from many prospective men that i am emotionally volatile.

but what the hell does that mean?

yes, i do feel everything intensely, and i love like hell. that’s just in my nature. what is (immeasurable) joy without (immeasurable) sorrow? if i was not like this, i would not be able to love you the way i do. and yes, it makes me special — i would never give it up for anything, not even the one for me.

but have i ever been unkind to those i love? have i ever taken it out on them? i’ve been nothing but kind and open, even to men who didn’t want me, hell, even to men who have wronged me times over. so why do they act like it’s a potential burden — like my intensity is baggage they’re not ready to carry? don’t get me wrong, i’m not angry — i’m just genuinely baffled.

yet i still understand in a doublethink way that i can be a lot for the people around me. so if it’s ever too much for you, just mute me and only return when you’re ready. i will always be in turmoil; it is what defines me. and you can choose to be here or not; i won’t fault you regardless.

and i think that’s the solution to me as an enigma, a social construct that others have pigeonholed me against my will — the man who carefully dismantles the puzzle, only to realise that it was a glass onion all along, is the one i will marry.

becoming

gwynethtytLeave a comment

i haven’t considered this in a long time, but i just caught myself wondering — am i not good enough? nobody i’ve met tells me so; they tell me i’m exceptional, in fact — but i feel like i’m constantly on the verge of tears. all of this is a lot — as I read in a poem, how could anyone hold all of it and not melt?

but i forgive myself for all my weaknesses — i will not linger; i will learn, i will become.