We have all watched Grease when we were little kids and even memorized ‘We Go Together’ to sing along during the movie. (Maybe that’s just me) Or if you’ve never seen a movie with an IMBD rating of 7.0, directed by Randal Kleiser and released on 1978, then you’ve probably watched the overrated, tear-jerker The Notebook or the classic, Titanic. We have to admit that by the time the closing credits goes up, we stay there with our bulging eyes and mascara lines running down our face, wanting to have exactly that kind of love story. Then we’d constantly tell ourselves to go and look for a ‘summer fling’ or just rot in your death-bed, miserably. Then here comes bedtime – where we lay on our sides, pillows between our knees, hoping for a movie-like romance that we know will never happen.
But girls and possibly, guys that was the hopeless romantic me before. The ‘me’ now is probably the only girl in the world who hates the trite idea and, for the lack of better term, mainstream summer romances. I just hate it.
As much as I’d want to lay on the beach with a book on one hand and someone’s palm in the other, play the classic tag game by the beach, naughty fights in the waters where I would go crazy and act as if I was really in a war causing injury to my ‘lover’ and watching the sun set by the beach like what they do in the movies, I do not like summer romances. Here’s why:
Summer romance means something like ‘a love that lasts for a season’. Just by that phrase alone, do you really think you like that? Don’t you prefer a love that lasts, if not a lifetime, forever? I know I do. You can daydream all you want how your summer love would grow and develop into the greatest love of your life, but frankly, it’s not likely to happen like you want it to.
Summer is that time of the year you get away with everything in your life. You go some place else and temporarily, live a life you know you’ll never have with everyone you know. Summer means being the total opposite of who you really are. Summer is about covering up all those scars, all those dents. If you’re truly a jackass, then you get away, lay by the beach, hit on the goody-goody chick whose death staring at you the whole time, fall deeply ‘in love’ and when summer ends, you say your farewells and leave easily like it was a penny you passed by on a busy street. And if you’re the quiet type who sits alone at a coffee shop (not to say that is something I don’t like to do) then you probably would go on a luxurious trip whether it’s a cruise or out-of-the country holiday. You’ll go all out because fuck it, no ones know who you are. You’ll get drunk for the very first time in your life, make out with all the guys you see, you’re going love everyone and everyone loves you because you’re dancing on top of a table like a freaking llama in a sequined tubed dress and false eyelashes. Then you wake up one day, with a massive hangover, take that smudged mascara off your face, put on your glasses, pack your bags and leave.
That’s summer for you, fellas. A mask. A disguise.
I don’t know if I’m making an exact point here, I hope I’m not just shooting bullets everywhere like its Iraq. Blame my fucked up circadian rhythm and too much caffeine. When I say too much caffeine, I actually mean it.
If you’re someone wanting to have a summer romance with me then ignore all the shit I said above and come at me, babe. *Pukes rainbows of whatnot