I wish I was someone dazzling, someone people marvelled over.
Stunningly beautiful, sharp-witted, elegant, gorgeous in any dress, with smooth, tanned skin and shapely legs, with a handsome man by my side who has the ability to make my knees weak with a kiss.
I wish I was the popular girl, dark-haired and beautiful, strutting down the aisles of the school like I owned the place, grabbing boys by their ties and kissing them behind lockers.
I wish I was brave, fearless, wild, someone so lovely and fierce only a hunter would fall in love with me, and a handsome one at that.
I wish I was a princess out of a fairytale, who sees her prince from afar, while seated in the bevelled window of her tower.
I wish I was a gorgeous lady, going out clubbing every single night, tossing back drinks like candy, and getting men to eat out of the palm of her hand.
I wish I was a flapper’s girl, with flirtatious red lips, ready to enchant any man that comes my way. I wish I was anybody, but me.
No, that’s not true. I love being me, and it has taken me a long time to reach this point. I love myself. I just wish for something more exciting, and sensual, to enter my life; it’s something every young woman with a mind full of daydreams wishes for, secretly yearns for, even if on a subconscious level. Why do I love being me? I love how deeply I think about things. I love my own insight. I love my own beauty, I love my face, with its relatively big eyes, rather large nose and big lips. I love my body, even where the fat rolls up around my waist. Heck, I even liked the cheese-flavoured popcorn and prawn chips I ate today, as unromantic and ordinary that might be.
The day will come when all my romantic fantasies come true. Actually, I don’t know if they ever will, but I hope they do, and I have a feeling they will come true, so, for the purpose of this piece of writing, yes, it will all happen to me. Until then, I have to find a way to live with myself. Lately, I’ve been working on being a kinder and less vain, self-absorbed person. Writing a blog post about yourself might not be the best way to do this, you might think, but, in actual fact, while being understood is one of the reasons I write this blog, I also want to make others feel less alone and comforted through my words. If I can do that, I honestly think I can die happy. If there is someone out there who religiously checks up on my blog, and hangs on my every word, and is brought to tears because they resonate so strongly with my words—then, I think I have achieved what I wanted to achieve here.
Let’s see. What should it be like? The perfect romantic moment. Indulge with me for a moment. Perhaps it will be with a handsome man, underneath the boughs of a tree. No. It doesn’t have any sparkle to it. Maybe he should crawl in through the window of my bedroom, like Edward the vampire, and surprise me with sweet-smelling kisses! I’m joking; that would be terrifying. No. Let’s think about this properly. On a boat, on a lake. We’re getting closer. I just paused for a long moment to think. In the rain.
In the rain.