At the restaurant, I sat across from my sister. Beside my sister was her soon-to-be husband. She was here, on vacation, surrounded by people who love her. She was carefree. Confident. Goofy. Vivacious. I saw her, and I thought: that's what men admire. That's what I'm not. I'm not comfortable in my skin. I'm an awkward lump.
Men look at her, and they are entranced. They feel like, "Too bad she is already taken. Poor me, I don't have any chance to get a good one." They look at me, and they are like, "Not want I want. Too reserved. Too awkward."
Little do they know, if they didn't dismiss me, if they took the time to listen to me and cherish me, they would see my spirit emerge.
They sit there moping about their misfortune, that all the good ones have been taken. What they don't understand is that those men who have someone, they didn't sit there moping. They treat other people as persons of value.
I'm not envious of my sister for having someone. I enjoy both freedom and companionship. The only mistake I may have made is in cherishing people who did not cherish me. And yet, I don't really regret it. It's not wrong to cherish someone.
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