Words by: Angel Tully
Art by: Jess Heng

I always dreamed about the man who would sweep me off my feet. The one who would stand outside my window serenading me with a stereo above his head. Or the one who would gaze longingly over the edge of his dock at the green light in the distance yearning for my love. I wanted Ryan Gosling to twirl me around and ask me to dance in the middle of the street and I wanted Heath Ledger to sing Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes off You’ to me on the bleachers with the school marching band. I wanted that fireworks-and-butterflies kind of love.

As an avid reader of romance novels, I couldn’t help but fall victim to the desire to be the object of such profound affection. The bar for men was set very high by the likes of Jane Austen, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Shakespeare, and more recently Nicholas Sparks and Stephenie Meyer (guilty pleasure level soppy, I know!). The kind of great love that exists within the pages of these authors’ novels made men seem to me like they’d do anything to win my heart, and that the fairy-tale sce- narios I made up in my head would most certainly come true. I took solace in the fact that even when faced with challenges (the rising action and climax) in relationships, I – the protagonist – would always find my happily ever after (the denouement).

But alas… reality bites. Love isn’t quite like the way Miss Austen told me it would be. Or perhaps it’s just relationships that have changed since 1813. Thus, despite the art of courtship evolving over centuries, love, I’d like to think, is timeless. Mr Darcy puts aside both his pride and his prejudice to earn the love of Elizabeth Bennet, going to great lengths to protect her family just to show her that he cares. With actions that spoke louder than words, his determination to win her over revealed him to be a kind, loyal, authentic and driven individual, albeit initially coming off as quite stuck up.

“So how do I find a Mr Darcy in a sea of fuckboys?” you might ask. Well TBH I am not quite sure. Just as Mr Darcy is a romance icon, his arch nemesis Mr Wickham is a sleazebag and a gold digger. Thus, I don’t know if it’s fair to draw a line between the all-encompassing, old-time romance and the present day because fuckboys always have and always will exist. Unfortunately for us, we no longer have the etiquette of early 19th century society to stop men from ghosting us or making crude advances on the dance floor—be it ballrooms or nightclubs. However, I do believe that there are still some hidden gems out there practising the art of true romance.

We may not have fancy balls and promenades by the lake where gaps of awkward silence are filled with small talk about the weather, how one’s family is, and where we might ‘summer’ this year. But we do have far greater time and flexibility to truly fall in love with someone; to know who they really are inside and out, to be authentically ourselves with one another… before we get married, that is.

Traditional romance novels paint a picture of once-in-a-generation type of love where an initially hesitant woman is swept off her feet by a whole-heartedly deserving Prince Charming with one big romantic gesture. But what I have come to realise is that one big romantic gesture and being stripped of the ground beneath me is not love—it’s infatuation. Luckily for our favourite characters, it’s only a story and we can simply pretend that this is what love looks like. However, in real life, I know better.

To me, love is the person who makes me feel safe. They’re the person who messages me to make sure I get home ok, or that will always offer to help me with chores—even when they don’t want to do them either. Love is the person who listens to you blab on about your day and actually cares what you have to say. In fact, love is the person that you most want to tell about your mundane day in effervescent detail.

Love is the person who tells you they’re proud of you and makes you feel beautiful even on your worst days. I don’t need someone to sweep me off my feet, because if I weren’t down here on the ground, I’d miss all these little things that make love and relationships so special. I’m sure it was nice for Stella to have Stanley scream her name in longing through the empty night streets of New Orleans, but a thousand times over I’d pick the eternal flame than the candle that burns twice as bright for half as long. Love between the pages of books is grand, ethereal and swoon-worthy, but the beauty lies within a façade; I wouldn’t choose my love any other way than the present.

All of this aside, if Ryan Gosling did ask me to dance in the street with him one night, I would obviously oblige.