Life Without Romance is Dull.

I’ll always be a romantic at heart, and now that I know 

of its delights, I cannot stay without its light. 

to me, life without romance is dull. (2023) 

This is an attempt to rationalize feelings words cannot explain. This is an attempt to create a  conversation about the identity of what is romance. This is an open door free of authority. All leads to your own perspective.

As a person, romance guides my existence; I see its presence in everything from the meals cooked for loved ones, the offerings of the earth, the comfort in between silence, and the movies  I watch on rainy days. Emotionally, I am always in search for the sensation of being deeply into something or someone. There’s a strong desire to share the affection inside me that I have suppressed in the name of preservation. 

When I am under the influence of romance, I feel a sense of warmth, appreciation, and general connection to community as a whole. I tend to become sentimental in nature and overwhelmed by my affection for the people and pleasures around me. I like the person I become when I am finally allowed to be a hopeful romantic. I like the person I become when I'm under the influence  =of romance.

I learn a lot about myself and others through relationships in general. Being enraptured in something or someone has a special way of enhancing the elements of myself I felt I was missing; my zest for life contorts itself to the will of desire. My vitality and inspiration increase.  A part of me is always amplified when I'm in harmony with something.  

Recently, I met someone who reminded me I am a bit softer than I thought before; they assisted me in becoming comfortable with my emotions, and most importantly, the power of vulnerability. Ultimately, the pursuit didn’t work, but it was a learning experience. It was positive! After that experience, I felt a renewed sense of self. Healing was the gift I received. I  learned I care so much more than I think. I learned that if I allow myself to be open, I’ll learn to be less icy. 

I share this to provide context on the beneficial properties of romance. I say this to give insight  on why I feel the need to utilize my newfound understanding. My lessons have taught me I want to maintain the tenderness of my spirit. But what do I do when I prefer to be alone yet want the excitement of intimacy? 

Though this article is primarily an explanation through partnership, I also don’t want the desire for romance to be simplified to the presence of partnership. At its root, I have a love for being in love: romantically, spiritually, sexually, platonically etc. I want that catalyst that’ll propel me towards bliss. I want to take care, give love to something. I want that rush of appreciation for another that overcomes me. I want that mutual feeling of being aligned with something naturally.

Nonetheless, I seldomly get the opportunity to be in alignment with my natural affinity for passion. I am guarded and not easily swayed by the process or possibility of connection; I am slow in pace, analytical, intentional, and particular with my time. I believe this is the source of why I feel so isolated in my longing; I am cognizant that because I am particular with vibrations,  this craving is elusive. Pining is closer to reach than fulfillment.

Alone, my self-comfort is watered recurrently, perhaps sometimes excessively. Assuring personal enjoyment in life has never been lost upon me. I curate the atmospheres that ensure self sufficiency. Likewise, I have been blessed with a loving community. All is in alignment; yet, there is a dull vacancy. Quiet, yearning, billowing. Beneath contentment, I crave the sublime, the frequencies of being in love. Instead, a tinge of melancholy stands in its place. I am content yet not quite enough. I want to pour into something externally.  

Persistently, a thought sneaks up on me with a question of whether I want more. Is my enjoyment of seclusion enough? Am I truly comfortable with my hermit routine? At one point,  my preference for being alone was unwavering. Now, I am discovering that I want to share that silence with something. The more experiences I allow myself to have, the more I realize what exists outside my own company. That reliable isolation is beginning to increasingly become lonely. 

Lately, I have been watching films that analyze love and grief as a substitute for proximity. In two hours, a story can craft an immersive space that can reflect my fantasies, perspectives, and longings; I can unravel into a character, float on a wavelength of emotions. I can watch and connect to another’s experience as if it’s my own. For a few hours, somewhere I feel understood.

Yesterday, I rewatched Chungking Express and rewinded the days I felt the same. The demonstration of loneliness in this movie appears passively, but it builds like a melancholic wave; each story mirrors the process of adjusting to being alone again, none overcoming their circumstances. I try not to watch this one too much when I am down cause its impact is lasting.  There’s a confrontation with yourself it evokes that puts you face to face with any hollow you feel inside. Like the characters, I am not convinced I ever get closure immediately. Days later and I will still feel as if I’m walking through the city with a blur effect surrounding me. Today, I am in the process of reflecting. With this movie, I don’t exactly relate to these characters personally, but I relate to their emotions. I understand their responses to longing. It’s piercing. 

In its most melancholic presence, I find the sensation of Call Me by Your Name both visually and  contextually one of the closest manifestations to how I imagine the absence of romance. The  cinematography of Call Me by Your Name is the most gorgeous collection of imagery: fruit,  architecture, books, and scenery in Lombardy; they elicit the feeling of beauty and admiration.  Each color palette a soft press on the senses. Out of reach but still you can feel the blissful air,  atmosphere, subtle sensuality, tension, and wonder curated for the audience to see. The polaroid  tint only complimenting the elements we see. It’s strikingly gorgeous. 

From such lovely imagery to devastation, Luca Guadagnino shifts the movie into a raw demonstration of appreciation and loss. The last approximately 30 minutes of this movie is sorrow personified. Elio’s breakdown at the fireplace is one of the most crushing scenes I have ever watched in a romance movie. Every time I watch, the scene breaks me. I feel his longing. I  feel him reminiscing. I feel his staggered breaths stifling tears. For a moment, I am sharing his grief, attempting to cope with the lost comfort of my missing piece. Every memory of the ballad that began that romantic dance stripped from him in a moment. That feeling of love is a feeling that is unique: a dreamy ecstasy. Without it, there is the harshest removal of fantasy. 

Once the credits roll, I am always returned to where I was before. I have completed the story, but  I must continue my own. There’s no longer the dopamine of pleasure that transported me outside myself before.

So, when I’m in search for something so far beyond me, that emptiness tugs me, unamused by simplicity; it tells me- life without romance is dull. Some feelings are ones you always want to hold on to. Romance functions in that space for me. It’s a sensation that never appears monotonously; every stimulation and manifestation constructs itself differently yet still on the same spectrum of euphoria. Internally, those energies don’t seem capable of existing without being in an emotional community with something. For that reason, I find myself lonely.  Constantly repeating to myself in isolation- life without romance is dull. 

These October days are to me a little strained and surrounded with silence. What I mean by this last word I don't quite know, since I have never stopped "seeing" people... No, it's not physical silence; it's some inner loneliness. - Virginia Woolfe