I don't really know where to begin untangling this muddled web of emotions, but I guess it's why I'm writing.
I'm 32. I'm not alone, but I'm lonely. I've never had a boyfriend, nor have I ever had a single romantic relationship that materialized, or wasn't a one-sided affair that had me pining for another person. Most of it may be due to a lack of opportunity, or maybe I'm just not stepping through doors that have been opened for me. The truth is that I don't know, but I do have a clue as to why.
Whenever I think about relationships, I'm torn in two by the wonderful fantasy that all the stories have fed me, and the stark reality that relationships require work. As much as I want to be loved, romanced, and swept off my feet, I'm afraid that the magic will wear out all too soon. I've more or less given up on the idea of "The One"; of the person who's right for me, the one guy who'll make me change my mind about married life and having kids. The one who would make me feel like I fit in. Maybe I'm too selfish, and maybe, whoever he is won't be too open to the fact that I need my secrets to be kept secret and I need to be alone for long stretches of time. That I won't be comfortable with the idea of being expected to cook, clean, and do most of the house chores just because I'm the woman. That I don't have a lot of patience with children, and I won't be a good mom, or that I'm simply not interested in being a mother. Maybe I'd be interested in giving myself to another, but most of the guys I know, especially the ones I live with-- my father and my brother, just discourage me to seek out men. I'm sure that not all of them are like that, and maybe there are a few that I'll get along with, even then, I honestly don't see any relationship with any guy going beyond friendship. Past almost-relationships have also rid me of the notion that I'll ever be anyone's girlfriend and have given me a clearer idea of what I simply couldn't be and the lengths I'm willing to go through just to be in a relationship.
I suppose part of it is also because I feel incomplete; that I'm not confident enough, and that I still need to prove something to myself. It could be living alone, managing my expenses, or just handling myself. I feel like I have a lot of secrets to keep, and the truth is that I'm not sure if anyone out there truly will accept me for who I am. I just don't believe it anymore, and I'm not sold on the idea of love being unconditional as far as romance is involved. It always seems selfish.
Truthfully, I wish I couldn't feel and didn't long for such things, but I do and it just leaves me feeling sort of empty inside. Not entirely hopeless, but sort of deflated, in a resigned sort of way, like sooner or later, I'll just have to carry on and figure out how to get by in my old age when I'm alone and have no family, or grandchildren to support and maybe take care of me. It reminds me of all these unpleasant things, like how I don't have money in the bank, and that I should have started saving for my retirement when I was in my 20s. I've been under my parents' wing for so long, that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I got sick.
I'll be going to Vietnam sometime this year to teach ESL. I've never stepped foot outside my own country, and I've never lived alone. I don't know if I'm trying to finally be an adult by moving out, or if I'm just running away. I know, deep down, that I need to cut the apron strings and learn to be an adult and to live by myself. It feels right, but it doesn't keep me from worrying about what would happen when I'm finally gone-- especially to my parents. I know it needs to happen, and I need to let go of the delusion that I somehow have control over what happens to them, but it isn't easy. I would probably have more than enough to worry about by the time I'm in another country, that I won't have enough time to worry about them, but I hope I don't ever make the mistake of forgetting them... Maybe I'm too attached. I'm looking at my room and I notice that I have a lot of clutter that needs getting rid of. I wonder if my mother would miss me, and what she'd do with my room when I'm gone. I'm hoping she won't give it to my brother, although it's what's likely to happen, but to be honest, I don't really feel all that fond of my brother.
I wish I knew how to give this problem a name, but I don't. Maybe it's just a quarter life crisis or "just a stirring in my soul?" (according to John Mayer) I wish I had more direction. I wish I had more focus, and I wish I knew where I want my life to go. I'm still searching for that one thing that I really want to do; that one thing that I would put my heart and soul into, but it seems to be too far out of reach, I don't even have a shadow of what it looks like. I wish I knew what I was doing.
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