Spoiler alert: it’s still barren.
I’ve been reading a lot of books recently. YA novels, to be more specific. I have to read one a week but I’ve sort of become obsessed with reading again so I’m already on book six. (Many reviews to come.)
You want to know what a lot of YA novels have in common, though?
Young love stories.
Stories of kids falling in love so easily and so quickly that adult authors write reviews that say things like, “a first-love story so well remembered and honest that it reminds you what falling in love feels like.”
TIME said that.
Well guess who hasn’t fallen in love.
Yeah, it’s me.
I don’t think back to high school and remember the feeling of being excited when that boy was waiting outside my classroom, ready to walk me to my first class. I can’t recall being asked out on a date or having butterflies when he picked me up. I never fooled around in a basement while his parents were upstairs and I never had anyone worth sneaking out of my house for.
I know I sound really bitter, but I just wish I had those experiences. I wish I had those memories.
You want to know the story of my first kiss?
It was the summer before freshman year of college (I know) and I was in the driver’s seat of my car (I know), dropping off the only guy who ever reciprocated feelings to the same extent as I did (I could get into this in more detail but I’m exhausted by just the thought of explaining this further). He abruptly turned, sort of jumped on me, went for the kiss and missed, pulled away, went for it once more, and missed again. Then, embarassed, muttered “let’s not tell anyone about this,” and quickly left.
I had to drive back to my house while peaking through the gaps between my fingers because I was covering my face with my hands. I cringed the whole way home. I was laughing and rolling my eyes, but I legitimately face-palmed for the fifteen-minute drive home.
We didn’t talk or see each other for a few weeks after that.
Cute little innocent embarrassing story? Maybe when you’re twelve or fourteen. When you’re going on eighteen (or eighteen and a half in his case), it can sort of stunt any romantic progress and prolong your awkward period when it comes to relationships.
So now I’m vicariously living through books.
And I’m reading these books like, how are these girls finding such great guys? And how am I so far different from these girls?
I know they’re characters and they’re fictional stories (except for the one I’m reading now), but it’s weird being in college without having passed these milestones that everyone else seems to have hit ages ago.
It’s similar to when recent grads are applying to jobs but won’t get hired because they don’t have any prior experience and they’re like, okay that makes sense except how am I going to get prior experience if no one will hire me??
That’s me in the dating world right now.