rout (part 2)

When I was 21, a boy – or should I say man? – I wasn’t particularly fond of told me he liked me and because beggars can’t be choosers, I decided to give it a shot. When my mother got wind of this or maybe I just told her, she discouraged it, saying he was not suitable for me. She had a point.

We were seated in the veranda when we had this conversation. It was past 7pm and too dark for us to see each other’s faces. A blessing, really, because I already felt so exposed.

I remember saying, “I deserve to be happy.”

A few days later, I told this boy I didn’t really like him and we ended things and he went on to find happiness elsewhere.

Prior to this, I had only had one other person show any interest in me and he too, found happiness elsewhere.

Since then, I’ve mostly remained by myself, convincing myself and those around me that I didn’t need a relationship or love.

But I kept searching for happiness, because by then, the unhappiness I had felt since my teens had become a companion who never left my side. A few years ago, I was asked how long I have been sad for. I don’t know what I said, but sadness now feels like an invisible conjoined twin who left my mother’s womb with me.

The thing about this unhappiness is that is not necessarily caused by anything. Despite not working at the same place for more than three years, for the most part, I’ve loved all job opportunities that have come my way. The degree I took an additional two years to complete gave me with a sense of purpose. Friends I made along the way have filled my life with love.

But somehow, whatever happiness I felt never stayed around for long.

Somewhere last year, when I, like many others, were going on our fifth or sixth week of strict curfew, I looked myself in the mirror and realised that this unhappiness was here to stay. Perhaps it was linked to my bad luck with romance. Perhaps my sense of self-worth was linked to how much I was desired by another.

I remember telling myself over and over again that I was giving up this search. That I was accepting defeat.

A few weeks ago, the loneliness of yet another lockdown made me rethink this decision. Perhaps I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Maybe I had just a little bit more fight left in me.

Perhaps refusing to accept defeat was the only way I could get through what seemed like a never-ending lockdown.

All this sounds ridiculous because I am yet to complete three decades of being alive and everyone keeps telling me that your life doesn’t really end when you hit 30. It can begin at that point, who knows.

But something my mother told me comes to mind.

In your late-teens and early-twenties, you have all these things you look for in someone. They must look a certain way, have XYZ interests, read the same authors you do. You have this image of The Perfect Person in mind and compare those you meet with this image. Of course, this leads to disappointment but at that age, you can afford to do this.

As you near your 30s, your requirements boil down to availability and interest. Who is interested in you just enough to give it a go and who is available? This can feel quite disheartening, especially if you spent most of your adult life thinking you had time later on to pursue romantic relationships. This is what I did. I thought I could see what the fuss was about when I finally decided I wanted to.

Perhaps I could have if the pandemic hasn’t taken two years off our lives. Perhaps things would be different.

 

So what does any of this have to do with rout? Rout is the dictionary.com Word of the Day and I have been doodling or writing about these words since the beginning of the month as a way of challenging myself to get at least one thing done during the day.


Rout means ‘a defeat attended with disorderly flight; dispersal of a defeated force in complete disorder’. It also means any overwhelming defeat. This is the definition I’m looking at.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror recently. I saw someone who was badly in need of a haircut. Her belly is fatter than she would like it to be. Her face looks tired. Defeated.

Maybe I have reached that point of life where I just don’t have the energy anymore, where I need to accept defeat and get to know that conjoined twin known as Sadness a bit better.

Or maybe I just need this lockdown to lift so that I can busy myself with friends and outings and some version of the life I once had.

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