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.