Rejection

Everything rests on this one moment. Not everything, of course. But if you think about it too much, it starts to seem that way. Your emotional security, your happiness, your future all seem to depend crucially on a 5 minute conversation.

You think too much about it. It seems so important, and you want to reduce the uncertainty. You want to improve your chances. You try to look for tiny clues, constructing information out of nothing. Every positive suggestion makes you giddy with hope, but then your emotions dive again as you admonish yourself for creating false hope. But every negative suggestion just reinforces your fear.

Do you wait longer so that she knows you better? Or do you ask as soon as you reasonably can? Do you wait for a very opportune moment, or do you aim to ask before too much time has passed? How do you recognize the opportune moment? How long is too long? How many unanswerable questions are too many?

What’s a romantic date and what’s just social? Can you ask her to do this or that without suggesting anything? Should you? Why are you asking questions again? This leads nowhere. Thinking more intensifies the anxiety, doesn’t reduce the uncertainty. Nothing solves the problem but asking, and asking is the thing you fear the most.

So many doubts. She seems so great, so why doesn’t she have a boyfriend already? Maybe she does and you just don’t know. Then it would be quite embarrassing to ask her! Won’t she realize that she could do so much better than you? Maybe she just doesn’t want a boyfriend at all. That wouldn’t be too embarrassing, but it would still be the undesired outcome.

But there’s still hope. Maybe you’re the only one who thinks she’s so pretty, because you have an unusual conception of beauty. Maybe she’s kind of strange and you’re the first guy open-minded enough to think of her as interesting, exciting, attractive, rather than weird. Maybe your belief that you’re completely unattractive and undesirable is actually wrong and you just haven’t managed to ask the right girl yet. And maybe this is her.

This hope is a wisp of smoke blown in a crisp breeze. You hardly catch a glimpse before it’s blown away. A bit more just rose up, but you’re not sure where it came from. You want to follow it, but it could have been nothing more than a shimmering mirage.

Can’t ask her. Must ask her. When? How? Fear. Hope. Everything and nothing.

How much suffering will I put myself through before the simple 5 minute conversation that means so much, yet so little? How much longer will this last? Or should I forget it? Is that hope nothing but a mirage? I shouldn’t concern her with my folly. The angel deserves not the burden of the sadness of a worthless man who saw her gliding by and grew enamored of her. Perhaps it is even a duty or a kindness that I should dismiss these thoughts and keep my feelings to myself.

Why can’t I be like the stereotypical Chinese martial arts hero? My profession, my duty above all else. Never distracted by women. But here I am, writing this, pining away for someone who surely doesn’t give me any thought when I’m not in her presence. One day we will be able to control these kinds of emotions chemically. And I’ll feel no remorse as I inject the love-suppressing drug into a vein. Then I’ll sit down at my desk and focus on my work. At peace with myself at last.