This Is Why You Should Not Take Romantic Movies Seriously

I decided to write this story when I came across some of my old poetry. These poems brought back a myriad of embarrassing memories. I can’t just pick one cringy moment because I cringe at the entire process that led me to adulthood.

My adolescent years centered around a stereotypical fantasy that a lot of girls have when they watch too many romantic movies: Meeting my soulmate and falling in love in the most outrageous and hyper-emotional way. Getting attention from boys was my top priority, and the things I did to get that attention still leave me feeling quite embarrassed.

Let’s start from the beginning.

I first developed this “Happily Ever After” fantasy when I was about 10. But the problem was, I still found boys to be icky (for the most part). If ever I did I like a boy, I was TERRIBLE at hiding it. I would take every opportunity I could to STARE at him. It was comparable to those ominous black-and-white photos from the 19th century where it feels like their eyes are constantly following you. Because humans are biologically programmed to know when they’re being watched, I was caught every single time I stared. My classmates would tease me and say “Oooh! You like him!”. I’d then get very embarrassed and respond with “NO! HE’S AN IDIOT!”, or something like that. I would then start to behave like a little brat towards said boy (throwing paper balls, drawing in his workbook, etc.) to prove that I did not like him. I would even say, out of the blue, “I don’t like [his name]!” with no provocation whatsoever. As you can imagine, that did not help my case at all, and it certainly didn’t help with my goal of finding prince charming. Very few people liked to be around me because of my strange, silly behaviour. But at the time, I had zero sense of self-awareness and thought I was being rejected for no reason.

It wasn’t until my first day of 8th grade that I finally realized that my immature behaviour was not going to achieve anything. So instead, I just made myself look as pretty as possible (or so I thought). I straightened my hair and draped it over my cheeks, almost covering my eyes, so I could hide my chubby cheeks (hair in the face was also fashionable at the time). I also wore makeup to school for the first time, and by that, I just mean foundation that was too dark for my skin. I thought my arms were looking a bit chubby, so I decided to wear my school jacket even though it was the middle of summer in Australia. I entered the school thinking I looked amazing (LOL). People were indeed looking at me and I truly believed that they thought I was pretty… I thought I was like those nerdy girls in movies who take off their glasses, let down their hair, and strut down the hallway leaving everyone jaw-dropped. But nope, it was more like the scene from Max Keeble’s Big move where he walked into the assembly room covered in grime after falling into a dumpster. Unfortunately, I did not realize just how silly I looked (I preferred looking like I had rubbed dirt on my face than allow my natural flaws to be exposed) and I continued to dress like that until the teachers pulled me up for breaking the uniform code.

After months of no luck finding a boyfriend, my mother informed me that she had a friend from work who had a son about my age. His name was Jason, and he apparently wanted to meet me. It did not take long for me to start developing a crush on this guy. I thought I had become better at hiding it, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. The only difference was that my staring had changed from an ominous 19th-century photograph to a googly-eyed animé character. Jason and I went to different schools, but we would talk at the bus stop every morning – I specifically asked my parents to stop dropping me off at school because I wanted to catch the bus with a friend from school, but I really just wanted to meet up with Jason. Several of our classmates who took the bus asked us if we were dating, to which we would awkwardly respond “no…” and they sometimes teased us about how much we hung out. I think the combination of comments from peers and the (painfully obvious) signs that I had a crush on him, even though I never actually admitted it, was starting to irritate him because he made it a point to regularly let me know that he viewed me as a “friend” or “like a sister” (and I would lie that I felt the same way). Not once did I stop to think rationally about that (“he doesn’t have to like you and 13 is too young to be dating so just enjoy the friendship”). I honestly thought that the reason he didn’t like me “that way” was because I was too fat… I was not overweight; I was just not as petite as your typical 13-year-old girl. I thought that once I lost weight, he’d like me as more than a friend. I blamed EVERYTHING on my weight and not my pathetic behaviour. This led me to some very rude awakenings later down the track.

After months of hanging out, I wanted to be near Jason all the time. He and I had a discussion and agreed that it would be cool if we went to the same school. I then began to try and convince my parents to let me transfer to his school. I’m positive that they already knew I was only doing this to be near Jason. I tried the sweet-talking approach and even made them a large bowl of mashed banana with the words “Plz let me change schools” written in chocolate chips. When didn’t work, I tried convincing them that all the people at school were mean, but they still wouldn’t budge. I eventually resorted to childish tantrums. I was not fooling them one bit. But after weeks of this nonsense, they decided that I needed to learn the hard way that this was a stupid idea. So they finally gave in and let me switch.

On the first day at my new school, I wore my dark foundation again, put on my new school jacket, and covered my face with my hair as usual. A lot of people were very shocked to see me, especially those who knew me from primary school. I was also recognized by Jason’s classmates who saw us talking at the bus stop. The scoffs and intense looks of judgment that I got from these people were hard to miss. There was no fooling any of these people – they knew exactly what I was doing at their school – how I had pathetically followed a boy there. It felt pretty embarrassing, but I was still closer to the boy I liked so that was all that mattered. I constantly followed him around like a lost puppy. I made no effort to make new friends, I made no effort to apologize to the people to whom I was an annoying little brat in primary school, and I made no effort to concentrate on my studies. All I ever did was look for Jason and essentially pretend to be his shadow. Jason started to feel uncomfortable and he began to avoid me as much as possible. I, being totally oblivious to why, became very clingy. The clingier I got, the more he avoided me. Looking back, everyone around us could see what was going on. A couple of people even approached him and offered to tell me to get lost for him. Once again, it should have been obvious that all I had to do was give the poor boy some space, but nope, it went completely over my head and I felt like a victim. In the last month of school, I was receiving many looks of disapproval from other students. I tried to talk to several people, but they didn’t seem to want anything to do with me. I sat by myself in the back row of my classes and I tried to find spots where nobody could see me during breaks. Feeling defeated and sorry for myself, I decided to transfer back to my old school, which my parents were prepared for.

When I returned to my old school, the looks of disapproval didn’t stop. Many of my classmates knew why I had transferred back (“This girl followed the bus-stop-boy to his school then he rejected her”), so entering the building felt like a massive walk of shame. But luckily I still had a couple of old friends who were kind to me, and the gossip soon died down. I was still very angry with Jason for randomly cutting me off. I tried to talk to him at the bus stop again, but he just walked away. I tried sending him an e-mail asking why he wasn’t acting like my friend anymore and he responded with “It’s a complication” (I think he meant “It’s complicated”). I was so angry that I decided to write one of my first poems.

This poem was titled “You’ve Sickened My Joy”:

Awaken me not for your troubles are clear.

It's not what you see, but the grief which I fear.

So live with your soul, let me sleep here alone.

You've sickened my joy as I'm gray to the bone.

The years passing by sucking life out my face.

You love me here not hence my care ain't your place.

I was basically trying to say “Screw you for doing that, you don’t deserve my care!”

After I got that out of my system, I had a big wake-up call and learned my lesson.

Just kidding! I didn’t learn anything! And it was that inability to learn which led me to my first serious boyfriend, Alan. I met Alan when I was 15. He was an exceptionally good-looking boy who played the guitar and was in a band. A lot of girls wanted him, but for some reason, he had an interest in me. Our relationship started in an… unexpected way. We were at the shopping centre with our mutual friend, and he couldn’t find a spare moment to pull me aside. So even though he was right next to me, he texted me “wud u lyk 2 go out with me? I kno we hav only known each other for a short time but yea” to which I responded “I don’t see y not. Ur a nice guy.” And there began the headache of a lifetime.

Alan loved emo girls, especially Ruby, a girl who went to my school. He had previously pursued her, but she was not interested. Ruby was one of the most attractive girls in town. She also nailed the emo/scene look: Long, black, layered hair, immaculate eyeliner, and some of the most amazing outfits I’ve ever seen. Even when she was sticking to the uniform rules, she managed to give it an awesome emo flare. Nearly every high-school-aged person knew Ruby was (it was a small town), and they either wanted her or wanted to be her.

Even though Alan was dating me, he did not attempt to hide his attraction to Ruby. He repeatedly said things like “Ruby is a babe”, “If Ruby had asked me out before I decided to ask you, I would have been like HECK YES”, and he even once asked me “What would you do if we were making out and I called you Ruby?”. If I had a smidge of self-respect, I would have kicked him to the curb. But nope, instead, made it my mission to be just like Ruby. I bought myself some black hair dye, eyeliner, fishnets, skinny jeans, and T-shirts with names of bands I didn’t even know. Alan liked my new look, but other people were not very happy that I was copying Ruby. I thought to myself, “maybe they just think I’m a poser” (which I was), but I thought that could convince them otherwise by acting more dark and dreary.

That’s when I decided to “pledge my angst to the emo community” by writing this masterpiece titled “SCENE PEOPLE”:

What’s shining so bright, what a beautiful coal

So heavenly blackened reflecting thy soul

So every white light thou shall damn to an edge

Til’ all that stays clear flies high over thy hedge

Oh spiked up, his dreamer, how lovely a star

What happened to dignity? All had gone far

I was trying to say “Emo people may be dark and edgy like a lump of coal, but they are as beautiful as a shining light! One day you’ll realize that and then you’ll feel ashamed for judging us!”. I always focused on making sure the poem followed a certain rhythm and forgot to be sure that it actually made sense.

Despite a lot of disapproval from other emo kids, Alan was incredibly impressed by the new me. He even suggested that I switch over to the school which he would be attending in the next year (yes, you can see where this is going). So, I went through the same process as last time, trying to convince my parents to let me switch to yet another school. I sweet-talked them, tried to bargain with them, complained about my current school, and threw the same childish tantrums until they finally let me transfer. This was a public school, and I was no longer confined to a uniform. I went absolutely crazy with my clothing, hair, and makeup; I looked more outrageous than ever. I wore so much fake tan that I looked orange, and I dyed my hair a new colour every week until it was so damaged that I had to cut it short. I hated my short hair so much that I covered my head with poorly installed hair extensions (I clipped them over the top of my hair when you’re supposed to clip them underneath) that were the wrong shade compared to my natural hair. I also tried to imitate the “teased hair” look that was popular in the emo scene, but it just looked like I was wearing a mop on my head. I stopped using eyeliner and started using a permanent marker instead. I used so much of it that I started to look like a raccoon. I even used the marker to draw fake tattoos on my body and I dressed very provocatively. I thought I looked great, a lot of boys thought I looked great, too (though that was more because of my revealing clothes), and all was good for some time.

But that was all short-lived because my relationship with Alan quickly turned sour. We were both very jealous and insecure, you see. I believed he would eventually leave me for someone skinnier/prettier, and I often whined about that on Facebook (posts such as: “I’ll never be good enough”, “All I’ll ever be is second best” or “I might as well just disappear so he can be with his true love”.). But I would also sometimes switch I a really good moon and would write lengthy, lovey-dovey posts on his page so other girls would know that he was taken – he would do the same with me. I was also going through a bit of a Shakespeare phase: I realized that Shakespeare invented a myriad of new words which are now common in the English language (lonely, dauntless, unreal, uncomfortable, and at many more), so I decided to follow suit and invent some words of my own. I remember inventing a word that meant “stronger than love” – “enuvea”. I also invented a word that meant "stronger than perfect": “perlastumous”.

This brings me to one of the cringiest poems I’ve ever written:

Alan is my buddy, Alan is my friend.

Alan is my lover, Alan is my man.

He’s the most perlastumous guy I could ever meet.

In such enuvea with him, there is no one else for me.

The last thing I will say is that there is no such thing as never.

Because fantayo voré I will be with you forever.

Oh yeah, I forgot, I also invented “fantayo voré” which meant “larger than infinity”.

When these behaviours did not alleviate our insecurities, we both posted a cringy profile picture of our faces meshed together which I had personally photoshopped. NOBODY was impressed. But of course, I did not listen to any of the backlash I received. I just blamed everyone else for being mean to me and wallowed in my self-pity.

Throughout the year, things got much worse, Alan and I resented each other and argued quite regularly. As a result of the chaos, I wrote this poem, “Let Thy Light Be Dim”:

Let thy light be dim o mighty one

Raging up a gorge to fall a mile

Heard one much deserved this day so done

After feeling free for short awhile

Shine on me then kill this price to pay

Miracles and tragedies live close

Nothing stays predictable today

Every day thee take thy daily dose

I was really trying to sound like Shakespeare in that poem. I was trying to say “I viewed you as a light in my life, but now that is no longer the case. I thought I was on top of the world with you, but you hurt me so bad that I feel like I fell a mile. I guess I deserved that for trusting you. I should have known that good things don’t last, and now, every day I’m with you, I’ll continue to expect you to hurt me.”

I also wrote another poem around that time. I can’t remember what specifically drove this, but I was pretty much doing my usual “poor me, I’m so deep, feel sorry for me” shenanigans:

Inside every limit, lies joy and its pain.

A mind handles much, though too far be insane.

A body could never survive bare in space.

A timely existence survives in its place.

A bird cannot fly for the eagle will land.

So much in its way, as he falls to the sand.

Though just for a moment, the bird found its joy,

T'was then, he had won, no more time to annoy.

Inside every cage, there is safety and song.

On earth, flying high, death awaits you so long.

This time, and this body, this mind is a cage

Eternity’s waiting, til’ then, sing no rage.

Fast forward a few months; Alan and I finally broke up after about a year of this. Because his way of breaking things off was to stop talking to me and hope things fizzle out, I wrote this piece titled “I Laugh at a Horrid Coward”:

A man who was lazy and proud

Thought life was a nap in a cloud.

But one day he died.

The angels then cried,

"Such hell men like you ain't allowed!"

In hindsight, I was just as big of a coward as he was, but of course, it couldn’t be my fault in any way. It was always someone else to blame as far as I was concerned.

History repeated itself after the breakup and I transferred back to my old school yet again. But this time things did not blow over as quickly as they did last time. My classmates had seen all my Facebook posts and were absolutely tired of my nonsense. As usual, instead of taking a good hard look at myself, I just let my victim complex grow stronger and kept whining. I started wearing wigs to school because I was too lazy to put extensions in every day, and I continued to wear the horrible fake tan. I also became lazy and stopped showering every day. In fact, sometimes I would go the whole week without changing out of my uniform. I smelled absolutely disgusting, and I STILL wondered why people stayed away from me. All of this continued until graduation.

Now I’m going to fast forward to shortly after I turned 18. I went on a holiday with my mum to visit her siblings/my aunts and uncles in America. During this time, I went to my first college party with my cousin and her fiancé. I did the usual silly things that drunk people do; like dancing badly, talking gibberish, stumbling around, and throwing my guts up. But what really stood out was this:

A few people were impressed by the fact that I grew up in Australia, so, to make it even more impressive, I decided to put on a fake Aussie accent (despite having lived in Australia for many years, I still had an American accent because I was born there)… Unfortunately, Aussie accents are not easy to mimic, and I learned that the hard way. I sounded like a bad Crocodile Dundee impersonator. I took every opportunity I could to talk to use the accent and brag about how I’m Australian. I soon became far too much to handle, so my cousin and her fiancé decided to take me back to my Uncle’s house. As we were about to leave, her friend stopped us at the door and jokingly tried to convince us to stay. I got up in his face, my hair messed up and my breath smelling like vomit, saying “YOU CAN’T STOP ME FROM LEAVING!!!!! I’M AUSTRALIAN!!!!” in my terrible accent. After I did that, I cannot remember exactly what his response was was, but I think he yelled at me and told me to get out. I never really heard from my cousin again after that.

When we returned to Australia, I had lost some weight, and I believed that I was the hottest thing since sliced bread now that I was thin. I really took a liking to a man named Steve who was a decade older than me. I met Steve at an old friend’s birthday party. He was… Interesting… As was that entire group. I was pretty obsessed with vampires during that time, and Steve was just that – a vampire. He had dark hair, very pale skin, and a great sense of style; long cloaks, black button-up shirts, and gothic accessories. He also appeared to have a very classy, old-fashioned, hyper-logical demeanor. He often claimed to have a physical need for blood. He told everyone that he had the ability to suck people’s blood without breaking the skin. Another member of the group, Brad, claimed to have the same ability. One time when Steve claimed that he desperately needed blood, I insisted he drink my blood. Steve warned me that it would be a bad idea because he would not be able to stop and he might accidentally kill me (Twilight, anyone?). But I was so desperate for his attention that I kept insisting until he did. He sucked on my arm for about 30 seconds or so, and then Brad dramatically tackled him to the ground before he could “drain me completely”. When he finished, there was indeed blood on my arm which he claimed was my blood, but in reality, it was just blood from his mouth/gums. This group had quite a lot of fantastic stories and delusions, which I was very quick to join in on. We would often close our eyes and enter supposed alternate realities where we were dragons trying to prepare for an upcoming war.

I was totally smitten with Steve. I did not even try to be discrete about it this time because I thought I didn’t need to be “tactful” with my advances anymore. After all, now that I was “thin and beautiful” (not really, I was an idiot), there was no need for subtleness. I was very forward about my feelings towards him. I put on a ditzy-girl act, repeatedly threw myself at him in front of everybody (hugging him, sitting on his lap, begging him to bite me, even biting him sometimes, etc.), and making everyone facepalm. Steve told me that he was cool with it though and we started to have a friends-with-benefits type of relationship. It stayed that way for several months until he finally asked me to be his girlfriend. The next 3 years were filled with fantasies and delusions like the ones I mentioned before. Steve and Brad even claimed to be God-like beings who have been around since before the beginning of time. They believed that they had the capability to change the entirety of humanity (whether by providing them with supernatural knowledge or wiping them out completely). I asked them why they don’t go and use their powers if they’re so special, and their response was “the world isn’t ready for us yet”.

I was 22 when I finally got a few rude awakenings that I wish I had occurred many years prior. It was a typical night, sitting on the couch with my laptop and a bottle of vodka, browsing through Facebook, and feeling sorry for myself. I was getting ready to write yet another long status complaining about my life. As I browsed through the newsfeed, I kept thinking the same questions. Why are all my former school friends getting engaged and having kids while I’m in a miserable, toxic relationship with no proposal and certainly no children in sight? Why do these people get to have amazing friends while nobody even wants to want to talk to me, let alone be my friend? All these people on Facebook are getting their university degrees, beginning master’s programs, and starting amazing careers while I’ve only just started university and can’t even get a job interview. I hate my life, and I hate myself. I want to disappear… What did I do to deserve this? And then it hit me.

I looked up from my laptop and saw my reflection on the TV. I stared for about 5 minutes or so, and then it hit me. Yes. Why do people dislike me so much? Why am so unhappy? What did I do to deserve the life you currently live? Or better yet, what is one good reason why I don’t deserve this? I could not answer that last question. Every time I tried to recall something I did to make someone else’s life better, I came up with nothing. I’ve done absolutely nothing to make the world even just a little bit nicer. All I did was chase after a fantasy that didn’t exist. I was in fact a very selfish, entitled, cowardly, overall toxic person, and as I looked back at my life, I cringed so hard that I got a massive headache.

At that moment, a truly poetic thought came into my head:

Roses are red,

Violet’s are blue.

This is ridiculous.

Screw you!

I left Steve within a few days after that realization. I started to make some slow but sure changes to myself. I got a teaching degree, started holding myself accountable, sent out a bunch of lengthy, emotional apology letters to the kids I was rude to in Primary school (though a few of them didn’t even remember who I was, which was a bit embarrassing), and I did eventually find love. I realized that love is nothing like an over-the-top scene from a movie. Love is having a panic attack in a movie theatre, defecating your pants, and your partner still finds you attractive. Most importantly though, I decided to give up poetry.