“So if you love me, love me in the spaces in between perfection.”

When it rains, it (friggin’) pours.

One morning you wake up to a wedding invite; the next thing you know you’re waking up to two new ones. One day you find yourself discussing honestly and openly about the possibility of romantic entanglements and the plentiful, different conceptualizations of love; the next thing you know topics on weddings and relationships are peppered into every damn conversation of recent times.

I wish I can tell you that I am a cooler person; the kind who can nonchalantly wave these off with a smug smile and lots of bravado. “No big deal, pffft.” I wish I can tell you that I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve and honesty as my badge of honor. I wish I can tell you that I’m able to hide my vulnerabilities without flinching, smoothly deflecting the topic or coolly playing it down. “No big deal, pffft.” I wish I could write myself differently, but then I’d be lying. I wish I can be all the above, but my facial expression would give everything away anyway. That, or my words. Fuck, likely both.

I have never been so painfully conscious and acutely self-aware of my singlehood as I do right this moment. Right. Now.

So maybe we’re – I’m – on a rolling theme here. You’re probably going to get sick of me, for bringing this up over and over — “Stop circling around the same damn topics!” You’ll probably find yourself internally screaming this to me soon. And by the same damn topics, I mean: the idea of love; possibilities of romance and romantic entanglements; and of course, everyone’s mother’s favorite — (constraints of) marriage. My head as it is, is spinning at the thought of them all, and I genuinely wish that my friends would stop bringing these up whether in relation to myself or them. I’m blaming it on the age. It must be our damn age. Does it only go downhill from here?

I have never been so painfully conscious and acutely self-aware of my singlehood as I do right this moment. Right. Now.

I am not going to lie – it is as painful as it is fucking annoying.


Here is a collection of my faults: I am messy, sloppy, uncoordinated, unbalanced, clumsy, trips over her own feet, trips over her own words, loves too easily, loves too much, loves the wrong people, lets go too fast, too capable of leaving without looking back, runs away from feelings, runs away from responsibility. 

So if you love me, love me in the spaces in between perfection. Photographs are manipulated images of reality. I probably don’t look as good as you’re expecting me to be. A human is just a human, and I don’t want to be turned into an idea anymore. 

My poetry is what the world looks like from inside my head.  Here are my trees turned into metaphors. The sunlight looks like love and tonight, the sky is telling you: you are light, you are light, you are light. 

But out here, outside of this mind, I get tired and I feel small sometimes. I am tired of apologizing for being a mess. Sometimes I don’t feel brave, and I need you to tell me that that’s still okay. 

— Van Nguyen, 550 PM (On Being Romanticized/Idealized) | angryasianfeminist


5 thoughts on ““So if you love me, love me in the spaces in between perfection.”

  1. This topic I can relate with. More than anything, I am made aware of my single hood whenever I meet up with relatives, which is about three to five times a year.

    It helps that my friends/housemates are all single and unattached so this is really a non-issue the rest of the year, but come holidays (esp Xmas and Holy Week, when I go back to my hometown), the issue of marriage is raised right and left.

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