i will never be someone's crush.

There was once a boy who was my best friend. I was 7 years old and all I did was hang out with him and my friends. He was a good friend. And that’s the end of it.

I was 8 years old when people tried to push us together to ‘be something.’

I found the idea stupid. Ridiculous, even. I wanted nothing to do with that. Plus, the whole thing felt…weird. And that’s the end of it.

I was 11 years old when someone told me that he ‘liked me.’

Nothing came out of it…only an awkward girl who didn’t have the guts to even look at his face anymore. But some part of me wanted to still talk. We acted like children, passing notes and being…kids?

We never spoke outside of school. Never met or talked in front of anyone. He was cute? I think. Back then that might’ve been the case.

Right now? Not a chance.

It happened so randomly. He told me that he’s ‘breaking up with me’ and that ‘I wasn’t ready.’

Mind you, 11 year old me was still very confused. I just said “okay” and moved on.

And that was the end of it.

I was 12 years old when I started reading Percy Jackson. That world sucked me in, concealing all exits. I was stuck. But not really. I loved being there…but it was lonely. No one liked it the way I did. No one got the obsession. So I remained lonely. But I remained loyal to the series that became a part of me as I grew up.

And that was the end of it.

I was 13 years old when I got Instagram. Sometimes I feel like that might’ve been a mistake. It probably was.

But that was fine.

I learned my lessons the hard way.

I got harassed. Started competing for likes with friends. Letting random people follow me because I wanted to be seen as ONE OF THEM. I would do anything for it.

I made mistakes. Too many to count. I started my Wattpad phase which was followed by Webtoon consuming my life soon after.

Wattpad taught me something. It taught me that I was a storyteller beneath the layers of people pleasing and trying to fit in where I wasn’t wanted. I wrote in secrecy. Didn’t tell a soul. I was too embarrassed. Because a girl who was shunned at the age of 13, who read books and became a total nerd for them, who would be quiet because she believed that nothing she said was worth it, now wrote too?

My ‘image’ would take a catastrophic blow.

And then I got harassed in person…while the people I called friends snickered from behind. I was too scared. I didn’t say a word, not for a while at least. Then the admin found out…and they did nothing. I kept my head down and went on with the rest of the year.

COVID hit and part of me was grateful for not having to go to school. I read comics and books like they were my lifeline. Wrote whatever I came up with, only to realise it was the worst idea I’ve ever had. I scratched almost every idea for the next 6 years, watching as the people I grew up with became confident…prettier…better…while I remained the same.

And that was the end of it.

I was 14 years old when I finally let go of my one-sided crush. I made a fool of myself for 3 years. Begging for attention. Crying for being hurt. Believing that talking to him made my day better. And then one day I stopped…not another message.

I became the happiest I had ever been.

And that was the end of it.

I graduated school with nothing. No friends. No group I could keep in touch with. Just my books to keep me company as I walked through the entrance of a new chapter. I was determined to speak up. I wanted to become a different person. To show that I am not someone who people get to speak bad about and get away with. I wanted to show that I too had come far. And I think that’s when I started using humour for everything.

I met my best friend and she stuck with me through thick and thin. She dealt with my attitude, my stubbornness of everything. She dealt with me causing problems, not being patient and being the angry one. Let’s just say…I wasn’t the easiest person to work with. I was insecure, jealous, and maybe even unsure of a lot of things. I saw people meeting with others they liked, and some part of me broke. I was happy, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t even want the guy.

I just hoped…

I graduated. Went to university at the age of 19, and the whole place was filled with couples.

Okay, I’m exaggerating. It wasn’t that bad. But it was apparent.

The 19 year old me didn’t care. She didn’t care that she didn’t have a guy by her side. She didn’t mind at all. It wasn’t her problem after all. All she did was crack jokes, have a good laugh and walk out. Let people come close, but not too close.

I made the mistake of letting someone close once, only to return to my 13 year old body. I cried like a child who lost their mother in the shopping mall. I wept for being lied to. Sobbed for being used. Wailed for being manipulated. And then got up because I didn’t care.

Or so I thought.

Everyday I saw them, and everyday I put another brick up my wall, making sure that only few had the key to it. I eventually forgave them but never forgot the things that had happened.

I joked around more. Pretending that I just didn’t mind anything and making sure everyone believed that I was someone who had no dreams…no goals…nothing to be serious about, because I could mess around.

Barely anyone saw through the mask.

All it took was one smile, one joke and everything would get brushed aside.

And that was the end of it.

I realised I found comfort in actions and thrillers, whether it be in movies or books. Romance? That became something to change up the pace. I didn’t enjoy it. I found it stupid. The same clichès, the same plot but in different fonts. I watched them for the heck of it. But then I daydreamed like everyone else, squealed at the scenes just like everyone else.

But that was…the end of it.

This whole thing probably felt like it had no reason to be here, but for me it did. It was that in a total of 22 years of living…part of stopped expecting and started taking things as a joke.

“It’s just easier this way,” I repeated.

Throughout my life…I had been the quiet one…the loud one…the stubborn one…the one who always made jokes and lightened the mood…even the one who would be there who would listen and help you.

But I was never the wanted one.

I was never the one who people would choose first. Who people would look at and say “I like her.” I showed different versions of myself but it felt like the problem lied within me.

People had to get to know me to like me…and I can’t tell if that is amazing or absolutely depressing.

I probably don’t hate romances…I may just think that they’re pointless.Because all they did was fill my head with delusions and dreams when I knew reality screamed the opposite. I wanted to be liked…to be loved…to feel chosen.

It’s not that I wanted to be someone’s girlfriend. I never did. But part of me just craved the idea that I was picked in a crowd by someone who looked at me and said: “I like her. I really like her. And I want to tell her.”

And that was the end of it.

I’M BACKKKK

I don’t know where I was going with this…but if you made it this far, I absolutely love you for that.

I haven’t written for Substack in a very long time but I will admit, this was both scary and fun at the same time. I don’t have anything scheduled anymore, so no fixed times or anything.

So…it’s just me and the random posts at random times. Hope you all stick around for it!