As one of the life-changing benchmarks of my life is slowly approaching, and most importantly that I’ve gotten time off school and work completely for a while, I got to contemplate on the matter of relationships, my relationships to be precise.

I am no love expert to claim any generalization here. Neither is my articulate skill exceptional enough to attempt writing a moving chicken-soup-for-the-soul piece. Just the fact that I, once again, am about to willingly part ways with the man I love, kinda provokes romanticism in the rather dry right hemisphere of my brain.

The number of men that I have cooperated to carry out a human ritual called love with is rather humble, compared to people my age, and also to what is considered the norm in society nowadays. Every one of them was a different adventure, literally, I promise I’m not trying to be generic here. Now in retrospective, I’m not confident to boast myself that I’ve ever tasted the real flavor of love, due to such great fluctuation in emotional bonds experienced. When you never feel the same twice, it’s tricky to establish a notion of what is real and what is not. It’s easy to compare between more and less. Not between what was there and what is not, for there must be a clear reason for what “was” being phrased in the past tense. There was passion. There was romance. There was jealousy. There was butterfly in the stomach. There was also much tears and emotional distress involved. But never once was there trust. Till now.

Called me a hopeless romantic daydreamer, and I’ll blame it all on the alignment of Venus with something and something the moment my mom decided that enough is enough and that I needed to come out to life and learn how to deal with it. So, to put it straight, I am demandingly romantic. That is I want to be assured constantly about the emotions my partner is feeling toward me (not like people live just to love, but I still can’t force myself to believe otherwise anyway). Impulsive and movie-standard cheesy actions are also highly recommended.

With that being said, I didn’t expect (and allow myself) to fall into something completely out of my comfort zone (as well as belief system). What do I know? I am just an Asian girl trying to blah blah in her non-native, pretentiously sophisticated language to show off how capable she is. But I did. And it felt right.

For the first time I know that it is here to last. And it’s because I feel it so, rather that what I was fed to by smooth-talking two-timing selfish cheaters. And also for the first time I realize what it is all about. Relationship is a quest for self-love. Love shouldn’t be a hassle having to worry about what if. What if you are being fooled like a child? What if it won’t last? What if tomorrow changes? You should love someone because you can love yourself being with them, meaning being at peace with who you are and where you are in at the moment. What if is just another dumb question invented by ancient philosophers to make people unsure about their existence. Let’s just stick with Descartes, I think, therefore I am. I trust, therefore I love and am loved. Epicurus’ wisdom also taught, aim of life is to achieve happiness by pursuing pleasure and avoiding pain.

Now it might sound like a dose of over-self-indulgence. But that wise man also taught that some pleasures lead to pain, and therefore need to be avoided. Then the question left is that why endure disrespect, dishonesty, infidelity, double-standard and things of the sort just so you can feel the sense of belonging and pseudo-security? You need to learn to love yourself, before anyone can love you. And being able to see clearly and choose wisely in relationship are the means to achieve that end. Isn’t sticking around some jerks for some temporary satisfaction another kind of self-indulgence anyway?