I’ve been called a cynic once or twice in my life time. I put on my mask every morning, go into work with 75 men, and pretend to be just like them. I didn’t talk of love, of marriage, or the prospects of children one day. These men lived vicariously through me, regaining their freedom to date as they pleased. Most of my days, I still like to wear that mask, it’s comfortable. You can’t have your heart broken by love if you pretend you don’t love I’d repeat to myself every time I became to close to someone. I kept up this charade with everyone except Ken, a coworker who had lost the love of his life two years earlier.
“You are supposed to love. You don’t fall in love with someone, you walk into love with someone consciously and allow yourself to be loved. You make a commitment, and you’re supposed to keep it. They’re supposed to be there until the end. And then one day, they aren’t there and you have to keep on living without the person who made you feel alive.”
That day, as I left work, I cried. I cried for the pain Ken has felt for two years. I cried for the times I had been too stubborn to accept love. And I cried for the life cut too short. I don’t want to just catch feelings. I want to catch flights with someone I have feelings for. That day, I admitted what I had been denying for so long: that I had feelings for the person I’d be traveling the world with.