It takes a stuffy nose and a stomach full of a sodium and carb-rich meal (buldak ramen with beef brisket and egg, no vegetables of course) to get me to sit here and ponder what it feels like to turn 23 this week. On my way to church this morning, I saw a little girl with her bright yellow backpack holding her father’s hand. She exuded the excitement of a child, but a gentle character that stems from her innocence, the absence of seeing the world (for how unjust, and ugly it is) and reached out to hold her mother’s hand. She wanted to hold both of her parents’ hands. The whole scene slowed down like in the movies, to the same rhythm as the song ‘love’ plays through my headphones. It left me teared up and wondering if I would ever have the privilege of carrying such a beautiful soul into the world. If I would be any good at it. A good wife, a good mother. 

Yet, as I looked ahead to my bus stop, I realized the Lord would never withhold anything good from me. Ever. The right job, the right man. Yet the world of modern dating often leaves me bewildered and dejected. You swipe left or tap on the Xs on people, real people who are now essentially less than 5 seconds of your day. You chat and often are left with empty conversations of ‘So how do you like to spend your spare time?’. There is nothing wrong with these introductory prompts. But when you’ve had three of the same conversation in a matter of a few days, you realise, this isn’t it for you. You’ve tried the apps on and off for a year, only because you cling to the feeling of comfort of just talking to someone, even if there was barely any interest from your end. The fear of being alone drives one to seek companionship, which is normal. But it doesn’t mean it is sustainable.

Before my 23^rd birthday, I talked to this man whom we can call Matthew. We talked for 4 hours straight. He sat there and listened to me talk about Taylor Swift for an hour straight, another hour on the trashy romcoms I watch because I don’t enjoy resorting to films that require full attention, especially if I want to switch off. I apologized for talking too much and he said ‘If you hadn’t noticed, I quite enjoy listening to you.’ He planned an elaborate date, sending me reels of different parks in London to see the cherry blossoms because he knew I liked nature (and stuff). He got so incredibly paranoid about the restaurant choices because he didn’t want me to dislike the food. As we were talking, he even wrote down things I said and joked ‘furiously writing all of this down so I don’t mess up on the date.’ And when I said, ‘you don’t have to put that much effort in it’, he responded ‘You call this effort? This is the bare minimum.’ That hit me like a tonne of bricks. Were my standards below the bare minimum? I retrospectively pondered (for 10 seconds amidst the conversation) and remembered I was always the one initiating or playing the more active role. I never really experienced anyone taking charge of plans for me, and that made me feel worse. Worse because even though this man sitting (virtually) in front of me had nothing fundamentally wrong with him, I knew it wasn’t it. Just because someone treats you very well for the first time and holds the same beliefs as you, does not mean they are your partner. It does not mean you should be hearing wedding bells shortly, or the announcement of the sex of your third child together.

What struck me from the conversation, however, is that though he calls me pretty and cute (as you do when you like someone), he said ‘I like how you speak. Sometimes you say a unique word and I think to myself ‘That’s a good word’. Love and affection speak in different forms, and that made me realise I want that kind of love, the love that speaks about your mind and finds the smallest of details in the most mundane moments.