Who am I without the Rush?

Nov 04, 2025

The most single I ever felt was when I was in a relationship.

I know. Tragic. Romantic comedies don’t prepare you for this plot twist.

It’s funny, when you’re single, you’re not empty. You’re just… you. You have routines, people, peace, playlists, late-night thoughts, morning sunlight that belongs entirely to you. You don’t wait. You don’t perform. You just exist.

But when you attach yourself to someone, even with the softest expectations, even when you are the opposite of delusional, even when all you want is… let’s say… 15 minutes of mutual humanness a day, you suddenly have something that can be taken away.

And nothing is lonelier than loving someone who speaks in highs and lows, where every high promises you the lows are temporary. Where consistency feels like luxury and silence feels like punishment. Where you’re not asking for effort, just presence, and the world still calls you needy.

It’s fascinating how the bar for love has sunk so low that stability is now considered demanding.

I once thought love was just love — sweet, warm, natural.

Turns out love is a team of things:

Respect
Safety
Trust
Consistency
Honesty

And that little thing called effort, but not the performative kind Instagram worships like a god made of roses and reels. I mean effort as in reality, the “I am here because I choose to be” kind.

The irony is we don’t realize how little we ask for until someone fails to give even that.

Eventuailty of the Society

I don’t know at what point we collectively decided that marriage is the graduation ceremony of life.

But here we are, treating love like a deadline instead of a destiny.

I’ve seen people say:

“I need to be married by 25.”

As if love is an exam you can train for and schedule.

I refuse.

Not because I’m cynical, God knows I am the most embarrassingly hopeful person alive, but because I want my life to grow like wildflowers, not be arranged like bouquets at a wedding where everyone smiles and suffocates at the same time.

Marriage, in theory, is beautiful.

In theory, so is capitalism and the education system and half the people who quote Rumi on Instagram.

But in practice?

It is a structure soaked in centuries of obedience disguised as duty, fear packaged as tradition, and control sold as culture.

And yes, I could “choose differently.”

But when you walk into a room built by others, the walls still remember their hands.

Love was supposed to be pure.

Then society got to it.

Filed it, framed it, forced it, franchised it.

And somehow, the most rebellious thing I can do at 18 is say:

“I refuse to chase a marriage timeline. If love happens, it will be organic. And if it doesn’t, I won’t collapse.”

We romanticize permanence so much we forget:

A life lived fully today is worth infinitely more than a legacy lived later.

My purpose is not to be remembered.

My purpose is to be humane while I’m here.

And if I leave anything behind, let it be kindness.

Not children forced into the world to carry my vanity or the society’s.

Immortality Is Overrated, Humanity Isn’t

Everyone wants to be unforgettable.

I don’t.

When I die, I hope the people I love heal quickly.

I don’t need to haunt their hearts to prove I mattered.

I don’t need monuments, I need tenderness.

If I ever have a child, she will not be born from expectation, she will be adopted from empathy.

Because love should be chosen, not manufactured.

People too.

Life isn’t supposed to be a checklist.

It is supposed to be a breath.

And if the world thinks a woman choosing a quiet, self-designed life is incomplete, maybe the world is just uncomfortable with women who don’t need permission to be whole.