Down by the Sea of Hopeless Dreams

I was swimming in a barren sea with nothing but rocks underneath. I kept moving forward until I found the first sign of life. When I came up for air, I noticed that I’ve reached the other end of the ocean. It was much more bountiful than the side from which I came. Near the shore, surrounded by girls whose faces I can’t remember, was a figure of someone I know so well—you. For a second, our eyes met. You looked at me with blank eyes and a lopsided grin, and I found myself inching a little closer. I tried to stay, but something inside me pulled me back to the desolate waters, and back to the shore that’s almost void of life.

Back on my side of the sea, I was being called home. Standing near the shore, I decided to stay out a little longer, hoping that you’d come for me. I never thought you would, but still I hoped. As I was about to walk away, someone grabbed a hold of my hand and stopped me. The touch was familiar, and I knew then whose hands held mine. You tried to look me in the eye, but my gaze was downcast. I wasn’t even looking at you, but I could feel your lips slowly part. And just when you were about to say something, just when I could almost hear your breath turn into words, I woke up.

The Best Kind

Watching a pixie-haired Dakota Fanning slowly die of leukemia in Now Is Good, I realized how I'm inclined to like books and movies that feature hopeless romances, dysfunctional lovers, and death. For some weird reason, I find beauty in pain and lacrimation. I've watched Celine and Jesse spend a perfect day together, knowing they will have to part in the end. I've read about A and Rhiannon's painfully unconventional love story that does not end as planned. And to be perfectly honest, the only books by John Green that I've truly enjoyed are the ones where one of the protagonists die. I don't know what to make of this realization, but I bet there's more to it than just my sick obsession for emotional turmoil.

After giving it some thought, I've come to conclude that my affinity for their unfortunate circumstance might be due to the fact that they feel more "real" than others. As Augustus Waters would put it, life is not a wish-granting factory. In real life, nobody has it easy, and everyone ends up dead. This explains why even as much as I love fairy tales, I find some books and movies with happy endings to be off-putting. When the pretty white girl conveniently gets her way and lives happily ever after with the unbelievably hot guy, I find myself rolling my eyes. I prefer watching a perfect match not end up with each other, or a clever young girl fall for an emotionally disturbed fella. Something about their hopelessness is just so beautiful. I don't know what that says about me, but I do think that the best stories are the ones that hurt. The ones that cause you pain because you know there was something so beautiful that didn't last—not because they didn't want to, but because it just wasn't meant to.

“My dear," Rose said, "you might be surprised at how much happiness you can find in the pages of the shortest love stories."

- Before Ever After, Samantha Sotto