If Mother Nature thought that we wouldn’t be able to handle life on our own, we wouldn’t have been born alone. I would have had a twin, conjoint, preferably.
Maybe at some point in my life, I would feel alone. Maybe then, I’ll join speed-dating (it sounds so efficient), or go on blind dates (they sound exciting). But not just yet. I’ve been too happy being on my own. I can’t give up the kind of autonomy that independent and free-spirited women understand. Not just yet. Besides, I’m not ready to settle. I’m still hoping my Mr. Perfect (Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy / Aragorn / Sherlock Holmes / Hank Rearden / Jason Bourne / Roy Mustang / Himura Kenshin) is still finding his way to me.
As in most decisions I make, I’m slow to make up my mind because I want to get it right, or at least make sure I will not regret it.
If you think I’m lonely, you go right ahead and think it. But I’m just saying, I’m not the one taking pictures of myself, posting them on the internet, asking the world to like, heart, and retweet my existence. I’m not the one who goes out of my way to look pretty and hang out at bars hoping someone would notice me and be interested in spending time with me. I’m not the one regretting the choices I’ve made (and I do mean choices in relationships). I’m generalizing, stereotyping, oversimplifying, of course. Forgive me.
I’m the kind of woman who thinks that if there isn’t a man out there who can convince me that my life will be much happier with him in it, then I’d rather let other people think I’m lonely.
Weird and Wonderful 