When I was just beginning to know what love was, I experienced this sweet feeling. The sweet feeling of looking at my phone and smiling at it as I waited for my crush to call or text. Those moments when I slept and woke up feeling like I was the only queen on this planet.
Then when I was in my early 20s, love was even sweeter. I remember the days my boyfriend and I would text each other, planning how we would have two children and build a big house with a huge backyard. That backyard where we would spend the better part of all the weekends watching our children play. We would dream of running around our big house like three year olds, knocking everything down as we giggled (and only replaced them the next day).
I miss those moments when we would cook together (in our actual small house); I would be chopping tomatoes while he would be beside me chopping onions and singing all praises about me. Those days we would struggle to be the first to jump off the bed every morning because we had this rule that the last person to leave the bed would make it. You should have seen us competing to hop out of bed just to avoid making it. Those years when he would start a text with an endearment and finish it with ‘I love you’.
Look at how times have changed. Falling in love in my 30s is proving to be one hell of a journey! Instead of having happy dreams about a big house and backyard, someone’s son will comfortably sit beside me with a pen and paper and try to coerce me to help him calculate his retirement benefits. He will sit there and start musing about the types of iron sheets and their pros and cons. He will start telling me about how his great grandfather immigrated from South Sudan during World War II. Then he will go ahead and tell me about one of his uncles who became rich after going to a witchdoctor.
But why? Why would you subject the love of your life to such stories that turn off even the little ray of love that was peeping from her heart? If I fall in love with you, I am meant to pick up from where I found you.
Do not constantly drag your entire family history into our discussions. I am not a historian who is keen on drawing your family tree. I am not with you to help the government calculate your retirement benefits; someone else gets paid for that. And if you want to know more about iron sheets, I am the last person you should talk to.
See how these men in their 30s send texts! Their love messages are nothing to write home about. At what point did I stop being ‘Hun’ and became ‘Hey’? And you no longer sign off with ‘I love you.’
I don’t know if I am the one meeting boring people or is it that mid-thirties is no longer an age to fall in love. I know most of you will tell me that my expectations are too high, I really don’t care if they are. I just want to be sure that I am not going to be subjected to discussions about iron sheets when we should be running around laughing at trees because they are swaying in the wind. Love should make us look young for crying out loud!
Don’t tell me that my time to get ignited by love is long gone. If yours is gone, sit back and watch me carry mine to my old age. If my ideals about love are too crazy for you, my brother, make the first turn away from me before we cross paths.
Just don’t drag me into your boring love life trying to make me believe that you have done me a huge favour by falling in love with me in my thirties. Even in my 70s, I will still not talk about iron sheets with my man.
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