When I was a little girl, my Grandad would stroll me home in the winter, when the sunshine disappeared at 4 p. m. and snow would cover the ground, and every time, he would tell me the same tale of how he used to walk an hour from the neighbouring town to spend an evening with my Grandma. No matter the weather, he had to see her, every day. I always hoped for a love like that. A high-school-sweetheart kind of love. Something reliable and faultless. But at 26, I realize that what we have now is world’s away from battling through the snow just for an evening in someone else’s company.
What we have now is modern dating. And it effing sucks.
Because modern dating takes away everything beautiful about find person and falling in love. It gives people a constant river of better policy options and a million ways to hide it. It enables men to make you feel as if you are the only girl in the world whilst they’re messaging 10 others behind your back.
It is drowning in loop-the-loop pits, all giving men both the opportunity and the ability to see, kiss and fucking another daughter all while telling you you’re heading somewhere serious. It’s a hot-spot for all those men who want to have their cake and eat it too. Who revel in having a gorgeous female ask about their day and build them fresh coffee but who also require that thrill of tit pics and 3 a.m. hookups. Who, for some unknown reason, will never be satisfied with just one girl.
It allows men to lie about this river of other girls, to make excuses about why they haven’t texted back in a few days or why they’re always busy when you build schemes. It somehow dedicates them an imagined right to treat girls as if they’re replaceable, disposable and never good enough. It destroys all of those old-fashioned hearts which still crave serendipity; those moments you only get to see on a big screen, where the guy bumps into the girl at a coffee shop or strolling their dogs in the park, who have an instant trigger which develops into something wild and chaotic and beautiful.
It shatters this notion that when you’re first dating person, they are interested in you. It takes away the idea that movies and volumes have fed us, that courting is a phase which A. Exists and B. Happens mutually between two people .
It attains our stomaches do a little anxiety somersault whenever the guy’s phone vibrates or he receives a bellow or the room illuminates up at night because his cell is forever running off. It sets us in a constant country of limbo but refusing to believe that’s where we are.
It tapes our mouth shut when we want to ask “Where is this heading? ” or “What do I mean to you? ” Because we know we will merely get the same vague reaction about running slow or casualness or somewhere serious, which at this point seems like a fictional destination.
It turns us into people we never used to be- confounded and needy and pointlessly hopeful.
It is denying that little girl who still lives inside all of us, the right to a beautiful story. It takes away that exhilaration which was born through romantic movies and the books we used to fall asleep holding against our chests, of the handsome guy who looked at us if insuring for the first time, who would hold us as if “peoples lives” depended on it and would stop flights and develops and run through a cyclone just to confess their love to us. It has replaced the sound of their voice with emoticons and a single word answers. With sometimes , no reply at all, just three little dots which stop and start again. Which disappear all together, just like him .
And the worst part is, we still know we deserve more. We still know what is possible. We can still listen to the narratives our grandparents tell us. But what will we tell our grandchildren? What kind of magical will we give them to dream about? What will they hope for?
It has to be more than this.
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