Romance is Dead

It’s tough to put into words how your mind works. I live with the constant belief that no two minds work the same way, which is apparent from the plethora of personalities we can perceive in our surroundings. Think of music, for example. A group of people defines their identity on the type of music they enjoy, they organize meetings and get together to discuss the bands they like, their lyrics and what it makes them feel. This is true for all music genres. For instance, Metal lovers are a varied group of people who dress alike and have long discussions about which band plays the best music, whereas I’ve never been able to tell two metal groups apart. Why, then, do they like that kind of music? When you try to describe it, the bottom line almost always amounts to the feelings that music awakens within you, but why does it do that? What inner workings of the brain take place when you listen to certain genre of music?

The same thing happens with imagination. Imagination, as every episode of Barney tells us, is a very strong weapon against the overwhelming feeling of boredom. It shapes us. It defines us. Imagination makes us dream.  When you dream, what do you dream about? Of course I’m talking about day-dreaming because normal dreaming is ruled by our chain-less subconscious. We can’t control dreams(according to some, we can, but the context is always defined by your subconscious), but we can control day-dreams. When day-dreaming, we allow our minds to create complicated scenarios about what we are thinking about right at that second. Scientists day-dream of science. Painters day-dream of colors.

Frequent readers may know that my usual focus when writing can be reduced to two things: death and love. That is why the title of this post is so fitting. My thesis, at least right now, is that romance is usually limited to a day-dream. Allow mo to explain. Sitting in a restaurant with your family, you observe a beautiful girl sitting two tables to your right. She is also sitting with her family and is not looking at you at all. You start day-dreaming about getting up from your chair and talking to her or asking her name, or silently arranging a meeting outside. You exchange e-mails, you relate in a bunch of ways and start a romantic relationship. Then your eyes notice her style of clothing or the way she moves her mouth when speaking and come to the conclusion that she may be a bit snobbish. So you imagine getting into fights over the fact that she wants to go dancing with her friends and you’ve never really been the dancing type. Then you analyze her family and conclude that his dad is probably a politician. You imagine you and her may get into arguments because of your political views and finally, what started as a romantic meeting outside of a restaurant against impossible odds, becomes a train wreck of a relationship.

Fear of rejection and social rules keeps you from getting up from that chair and asking her name. The fear of her family eyeing you keeps you from getting near. Her complete lack of interest reduces romance to a mere day-dream and finally you end up in exactly the same place you were before: sitting with your family eating a now cold piece of filet mignon. This is my main entree: fear kills romance. Society kills romance. Generational gaps kill romance. Romance, then, is dead.

Romance requires two people in sync about what they want. It requires sacrifice, luck and bravery. It is something everyone seems to get, but me. I can’t understand it. I can’t savor it. I’ve come to the conclusion that romance is an extremely unlikely event. I’m talking about the true romance movies usually talk about. It drives me to think that true romance can only be found in arranged scenarios, which immediately creates a wall for all of us who believe in random encounters and fate.

When I usually tel my friends that I like someone, their response is usually “You should tell her”. “Easy for you to say” is my usual answer. Fear, once again, keeps me from realizing the day-dream i hold of someday having someone to watch “Lost in Translation” and not feel as a complete loser. It is just as Mr. Snicket says. Expressing my feelings has become my root beer float, and there has been a bunch of thumbtacks in my root beer floats lately. I used to let my mind run wild with imagination, mapping every possible outcome of a romantic encounter. Now i have the very sane habit of not letting my mind go wander anywhere from the thought of my food.

I still miss relating to people. I miss long conversations extending to early hours of the morning. I miss being so interested in someone that I couldn’t think of anything else. Fear keeps me from getting interested. Fear drives me into keeping my distance, which is sad. I would much rather be afraid of death than of rejection. I would much rather desire loneliness than romance, but my mind does not work that way. The inner workings of my brain force me to long for something that I may, sadly, never get to experience to the fullest. My mind drives me away from achieving that which i like to call “True Romance”.

Romance, therefore, is dead.

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