I was born honest. That’s the truth; I can’t lie. I have the worst poker face in the world to anybody that knows me. I can’t even withhold the truth, in the hope that the silence will be taken as a good enough answer; you can see my lack of admission on my face. I have always been taught that coming clean and being upfront is the best policy you can have. You might lose friends; you might even make a couple of enemies, but at least it will be done in a clean white light. There will be no duplicity there. Everyone will know where they stand.
As such, this piece of writing will be an exercise in honesty. This is a longer piece of writing about what it is like to be a twenty-something millennial/generation-z crossover trying to navigate her teenage years and early twenties. Mostly it will be about romance, love, emotions, lust… and all the things that go with it. It will be raw. I’m not going to sugar coat it. As I said earlier… I can’t lie, and I don’t intend to start now. This is an examination of what it’s like to be a young woman in the developed world in the twenty first century. This is a cross over between a true story, a memoir, a teenage diary, an exaggeration, a self-help manual, and a philosophical treatise. Where appropriate I have changed people’s names. Nobody in this tale holds their real name, or perhaps even the job/function they held in reality. I am nervous writing this. Perhaps every writer is nervous when they are being utterly honest. I don’t know.
Sometimes it is difficult to peel back the layers of one’s reality, to imagine where it all began. To try and think back to when I started to feel this way, and how I came to be where I am today. If I’m being honest with myself (as I promised I would be), it is probably those six times that I fell in love. And I’m talking (generally) romantic love; not the love one holds for a parent, or for a best friend. That sounds like a lot, even as I scrawl it across the page and admit it to you. Six times? By your twenty-something year? Maybe I shouldn’t be so free with my love. Maybe I should hold part of it back, drip-feeding it out only when I am absolutely sure. Perhaps then I wouldn’t get hurt so easily. But then again, that’s me, a raw and bleeding heart for the whole damn world to see. I don’t do “casual”. It just doesn’t really work. I wonder sometimes if people pity me. If they look at me and see the holes where trust used to reside; but where over the years I have thrown so much of myself out when I have been hit by love, that now there are just these places where it used to be.
So what about these six great loves of mine? Is that it? Have I used up my quota of love? Is there to be no more for me? Perhaps my cup has runneth over with the amount of love I have felt and I have to wait my turn in order to be allowed some more. Perhaps I am at the back of a very long queue, and it will be almost an eternity until I receive another share. It sure can feel like it sometimes. I stand here, or run on the spot more likely, and yet still I wait. If this were a Jane Austen novel I would most definitely be a rose that was losing its bloom. The one that people would pity and if an eligible bachelor looked my way, they would describe as ‘lucky’.
Or maybe I’m not waiting for someone else at all; perhaps I have to allow myself to love once more. Having done it six times before, I know how to do it; I know how it goes. Maybe I have to just give myself that gift again.
As mentioned above, I’m pretty nervous about putting this out into the world, but this blog is meant to be – among other things – a catharsis. A place for me to examine myself, my thoughts, my ideas, my prejudices (we all have them – sadly), my opinions, my beliefs… and everything else (perhaps to a narcissistic level) and to write about the things I find.
This will be a multi-part series and I don’t know how often I will post the different bits. I have about 5,000 words of it written so far, but I want to make sure that it is good, right, and honest before I let it go. Sometimes it will be funny, sometimes it will be sad, sometimes it will be angry, or romantic, or sexy, or mean… but above all, it will be real.