i wish you were more curious.

[a journal entry, part 2]

last night, i experienced deja vu.

i was curled up in the fetal position crying quietly, my mother sitting on the edge of my bed. in between short breaths, i said “i don’t think i am someone who can be wanted”. at least, that is how i feel.

my mother laughed, like she usually does, and pats my back. “you are. i see the ways guys look at you when we’re out, i just don’t tell you and you never see”.

“no, you don’t understand. i don’t care about that. i want someone to want to know me.”

“someone will, i know it” she replies calmly.

only this time, it’s a little more hesitant. she does not know i know this. i don’t know if i’m even correct in saying so.

-

when i was 15, this happened for the first time in a similar fashion. my chest physically hurt from the inaugural effect of breaking my own heart. i cried and cried and swore that my innocent teenage crush would never subside and per usual, my mom was right. it did, with time. and when it happened again at 18 after the canon event of discovering what it means to be ghosted, i cried harder and felt confused for even longer. only this time, my mom was 1,000 miles away and i had locked myself inside my college dorm room. on the other end of the phone, she said “this too will pass.” again at 21, and again at 23, and again at 24, and now again at 25; i keep reliving this same experience. and it leaves me to wonder why i am not worthy of being wanted in the way i want- by those who i want. no matter how much my brain has developed, and no matter how many more lessons i learn, i never find a solution to my qualms. i find it easier to accept it.

but, i don’t think i’m alone in this. we’ve lost the art that is curiosity.

-

i hope i am not too vain in saying that i am a reasonably attractive person. i try not to regard myself as such because i like a lot more about myself than just that. i am my happiest when i am talking, when i am explaining nonsense, when i am laughing about something that i also would’ve laughed at 10 years ago. i like for my happiness to outshine any physical feature that i have, and i’d like for that to reflect onto others.

and surely, initial attraction plays a part in everything. but it almost seems like there is a surface level aspect to relationships and friendships nowadays. a trade off of sorts. what can you do for me that i cannot do on my own?

cue that one line from fleabag, no one’s asked me a question in the last 30 minutes.

questions. i usually have so many of them. [what inspires you to create what you do, what brings you joy, what is your life story?] lately, i’ve been conditioned to keep quiet. i’d feel embarrassed to portray myself as curious when there is no curiosity on the other end of the line. the phone hasn’t even been picked up. i have so much to share, but not everyone wants to receive. is it out of fear? is it solely a narrative i’ve made up in my head? i’m not sure.

i am not exempt from this. i suppose i could take charge and let my heart speak over my mind, but the lack of reciprocation would wear down at me eventually. after all, there are only so many questions one person can ask. there are only so many answers you can say before revealing it all.

i want you to be more curious. it’s not a difficult ask. i want to know everything about you, and i want to be known in the same way, too. it’s all so conceptually simple.

unless of course, if i am not interesting, or too off-putting, or if i am not who you’d picture me to be or wanted me to be. i’ll assume you think that i am too boring or too much, or that my thoughts make no sense. my mind will envelop what i believe to be yours, and i won’t ask if i’m right or wrong. i know myself. i know that who i am is, and always will be, right.

i’ll find myself in the center of my bed, once again, crying until my cheeks are wet and my makeup meaninglessly smudged. but not for too long. never for too long.

-

a.r.