I want to be your manic pixie dream girl. I want to be the bread to your butter, the peanut butter to your jelly, the Krispy to your Kreme. I want the cheesy stuff, and I want the mysterious dark-haired-darting-around-corners stuff, because that’s the point, isn’t it?

Okay, so I don’t literally mean you. But you (literally, this time) know what I mean.

Here is something about me: I want it all. I want and I want and I want, because there are too many molds into which I want to fit. Every time I turn around, there’s a new ideal that looks cool, so of course I think “ooh, shiny,” and start wondering how I can make myself fit whatever new version of perfect has caught my eye.

I could totally go on and on about how love is about people accepting each other for who they are, and blah blah blah. But the truth is, I want to be liked. And if who I really am isn’t cutting it, then maybe I’ll change a little; maybe I’ll wear a little more makeup or find a tighter pair of jeans, read more books or listen to different music. I get that feminism is a thing that has stated many times over that women are strong and independent. That doesn’t change the fact that I want people to like me.

Back in kindergarten (and, if I’m going to be honest, far past kindergarten), I would not talk to people. Being the quiet kid was natural and easy, and I didn’t see too much of a reason to change who I was. Play-Doh didn’t ever require me to talk; later, I would replace the Play-Doh with books. There were ways to be happy that didn’t have to involve people, and I was comfortable with that because people were scary and awkward and unpredictable. Books, unlike real life, could be walked away from.

Ironically, though, pretty much everything I think I know about love comes from those books. Manic pixie dream girls come from books; princesses and tomboys and girls-next-door come from books. I grew up wanting to be Hermione or Belle or Alaska, but what I didn’t realize is that what tied all of those wants together was love. I mean, sure, all three of those characters were smart and independent and attractive, but all three of them loved and were loved, and to middle school me, that was a big deal.

So okay, maybe I still want love. And maybe I don’t need to change for it, but I don’t really want to wait for love to come and find me–I want to do everything I can so that love and I are in the right place at the right time. I don’t want to wait, you see. The only problem is that I can’t be everything to everybody, no matter how hard I try. I will never be your manic pixie dream girl if I’m someone else’s Hermione, and I’m not sure which one I should be. The cliched answer is that I should just be me, I know, but sometimes I’m not too sure who that is anymore.


One thought on “I DON’T OWE SAMI COFFEE (yet).

  1. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve changed, even if just slightly, so that people would like me. In a way, that’s such a Freudian thing: the only reason we have any kind of conscious and don’t go around killing people or having terrible manners is that we crave acceptance and the only way we can get it is by adapting our selfish, animalistic selves to the expectations of society. Maybe change isn’t such a bad thing…

    Sorry, that got kind of weird. But I guess what I’m saying is that I agree so much, and that it’s not such a bad thing to change ourselves into someone who is loved. There’s something to be said for self-acceptance, but so much of the time, we can only accept ourselves as much as others accept us and vice versa. Internal and external acceptance are not mutually exclusive, so if you ask me, striving for external acceptance is never a bad thing. I know that I absolutely love some of the ways I’ve changed because of someone else.

    But anyway, my point is this: I feel you.

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