Disconnect
I wonder how many people exist in relationships in which they reside in their own private fantasy, and all external happenings are somehow transformed and reinterpreted to fit their notion of what they would like the relationship to be. This is probably completely vague, but I can't give any specific instances.
The only example that remotely comes to mind is the women in Qiong Yao novels that are famous for stirring up drama with their love interests, only to find that the men remain with them despite their melodramatic episodes. Actually, Korean dramas are a perfect example of this as well. My mother tells me these books raised a whole generation of women who had these fantasies of throwing tantrums and creating drama and having their boyfriends take it all with patience and grace. Impetuously throwing themselves off bridges only to have their amorous beaus jump in after them. (Unfortunately, the men were having none of that, leaving a slew of women clutching tear-stained books in their wake.)
In the dark corners of my mind, I can begin to understand why this would be appealing. After all, what could be a greater testament to your love than going through a whole bunch of shit together? But these women, like those I'm speaking of, are missing something, it seems. It seems that they are missing the individual nature of the person with whom they are in a relationship. They're not in love with the other person; they're in love with the idea of this person, who, in their minds, will jump through hoops and dodge bullets for them.
I often find myself being attracted not to a person, but to the IDEA of this person. Perhaps that is why I am alone.
The only example that remotely comes to mind is the women in Qiong Yao novels that are famous for stirring up drama with their love interests, only to find that the men remain with them despite their melodramatic episodes. Actually, Korean dramas are a perfect example of this as well. My mother tells me these books raised a whole generation of women who had these fantasies of throwing tantrums and creating drama and having their boyfriends take it all with patience and grace. Impetuously throwing themselves off bridges only to have their amorous beaus jump in after them. (Unfortunately, the men were having none of that, leaving a slew of women clutching tear-stained books in their wake.)
In the dark corners of my mind, I can begin to understand why this would be appealing. After all, what could be a greater testament to your love than going through a whole bunch of shit together? But these women, like those I'm speaking of, are missing something, it seems. It seems that they are missing the individual nature of the person with whom they are in a relationship. They're not in love with the other person; they're in love with the idea of this person, who, in their minds, will jump through hoops and dodge bullets for them.
I often find myself being attracted not to a person, but to the IDEA of this person. Perhaps that is why I am alone.