last virgin standing.

on turning 22, invisible finish lines, and feeling like everyone else got the memo.

dear diary,

well, it's official.

i am the last virgin standing.

and no, i'm not being dramatic. okay, maybe a little. but seriously. my best friend, hannah, recently lost her virginity, which means that i am now officially the last virgin in our friend group.

the last one. the final survivor. the sole remaining member of a club that nobody even knew we were in.

and before anyone gets the wrong idea, i am genuinely so happy for her. obviously, when she told me, my first concern was making sure she was okay, that she felt comfortable, and that everything went well. because that's my best friend, and her happiness and well-being will always come before anything else.

but after the initial excitement wore off, i was left with this weird feeling.

not jealousy, exactly. because i'm not jealous of her. i'm not upset that she had this experience before me. i'm happy that she did.

i think i'm just sad that i haven't.

and i hate admitting that.

i turned 22 last week. twenty-freaking-two. and for some reason, being a virgin at 22 feels so much different than being a virgin at 21. which makes absolutely no sense, considering that i was literally 21 a few days ago. it's not like some magical switch flipped at midnight on my birthday.

but suddenly, i feel like i'm running out of time.

time for what? i couldn't tell you.

it's not like there's a deadline. it's not like the virginity police are going to knock on my door on december 31st and arrest me for failing to complete some imaginary rite of passage.

and yet, there's this tiny voice in the back of my head telling me that i need to lose my virginity before the year is over.

why?

literally, WHY?

i've spent years telling myself that i wanted to wait until i had a boyfriend. not necessarily until marriage, not necessarily until i found the love of my life, but until i was with someone who genuinely cared about me. someone who made me feel safe, wanted, and comfortable. someone i could trust with something that, to me, felt pretty intimate.

and i never really questioned that decision.

until now.

because here's the thing: none of my friends waited for a boyfriend. and they're fine. they had their experiences, made their decisions, and moved on with their lives. losing their virginity wasn't this monumental, life-altering event that permanently changed who they were.

so why have i been treating mine like it has to be?

why does my first time have to mean something?

and, more importantly, does it actually have to mean something to me, or have i just spent so long telling myself that it should?

now, here's where things get a little more interesting.

i recently started seeing someone new. for the sake of this blog, we're going to call him Boxer Guy, or BG for short.

because, well, he's a boxer. very creative, i know.

anyways, BG and i have chemistry. like, actual chemistry. the kind where you genuinely enjoy talking to someone, flirting comes naturally, and kissing them doesn't feel like an awkward performance.

and yes, he knows i'm a virgin.

he didn't make it weird, which i appreciated. in fact, at one point, he offered to be my first.

and i told him i'd think about it.

except, here's the funny part.

i wasn't actually thinking about it.

at least, not seriously.

i liked him, i was attracted to him, and i definitely wanted to see him again. but losing my virginity to him wasn't something i was actively planning. i was perfectly content with letting things happen naturally, whatever that meant.

and then hannah told me her news.

and suddenly, BG's offer started sounding a lot more tempting.

which is exactly what concerns me.

because did i suddenly become more comfortable with the idea of having sex with him? or did i just become more uncomfortable with the idea of being a virgin?

those are two very different things.

and i think that's the question i need to answer before i do anything.

i don't want to have sex just so i can say i've had sex. i don't want my first time to be motivated by some imaginary competition that nobody else even knows we're participating in.

but i'd also be lying if i said that part of me doesn't want to get it over with.

and even typing that feels strange.

get it over with.

as if it's some tedious assignment i've been procrastinating on. as if my virginity is a problem that needs to be solved. as if there's something inherently embarrassing about being 22 and inexperienced.

i know, logically, that there isn't.

i know that being a virgin doesn't make me childish, immature, undesirable, or less of an adult. i know that sex isn't some magical gateway into womanhood. i know that nobody becomes a completely different person just because they've slept with someone.

but knowing something logically and actually believing it emotionally are two entirely different things.

and emotionally?

i feel behind.

it's such a stupid way to describe it, because behind what?

behind my friends? behind society? behind some invisible timeline that says i'm supposed to have experienced certain things by a certain age?

i'm not even sure.

i just know that sometimes it feels like everybody around me has been living this whole other life that i haven't gotten to experience yet.

and i'm still standing at the starting line.

the irony is that i've never really been someone who was desperate to lose her virginity. i've had opportunities. i've met guys who would've been more than willing. it's not like i've been sitting around waiting for someone to finally find me attractive.

i've just always wanted it to feel right.

but now i'm questioning what right even means.

does it mean being in love? being in a relationship? trusting someone? being physically attracted to them? feeling comfortable enough to be vulnerable?

could it just mean wanting to?

and if that's enough for other people, why wouldn't it be enough for me?

i think part of growing up is realizing that the rules you made for yourself at sixteen don't necessarily have to apply at twenty-two.

but i also think there's a difference between genuinely changing your mind and abandoning your own boundaries because you feel pressured.

and right now, i'm having a hard time figuring out which one i'm doing.

because if hannah hadn't told me she'd lost her virginity, would i still be seriously considering BG's offer?

probably not.

and that tells me something.

maybe this isn't really about sex at all.

maybe it's about turning 22 and feeling like i'm supposed to be further along in life than i actually am. maybe it's about watching my friends collect experiences and milestones while i'm still trying to figure out where i fit into everything.

maybe it's about wanting to feel grown up.

which is funny, considering how much of my life lately has been spent feeling like a teenager trapped in an adult's body.

and perhaps being the last virgin in the friend group is just another reminder of that feeling.

another thing that makes me wonder why everyone else seems to be moving forward while i'm still standing in the same place.

but i don't want my first time to be something i do out of insecurity.

i don't want to look back on it and realize that the deciding factor wasn't the person, the chemistry, or even my own desire.

it was the fear of being last.

and maybe i don't need a boyfriend. maybe i don't need some grand romantic declaration or a candlelit bedroom straight out of a romance novel. maybe my first time doesn't need to be this perfectly scripted, life-changing experience.

but i do think i deserve to make that decision because i want to, not because i feel like i have to catch up.

there's a difference between being ready for sex and being tired of being a virgin.

and i think i'm only just starting to understand that.

so, will i lose my virginity before the end of 2026?

honestly, who knows.

maybe i will. maybe i won't. maybe it'll be with BG. maybe it'll be with someone i haven't even met yet. maybe i'll end up waiting for a boyfriend after all.

but i hope that whenever it happens, it's because i genuinely want that experience with that person.

not because another year is ending.

not because all my friends have already done it.

and definitely not because i feel like i'm losing some invisible race.

because maybe being the last virgin standing isn't actually a bad thing.

maybe it just means that my story is moving at a different pace.

and even though the impatient, insecure, newly twenty-two-year-old part of me absolutely hates that answer...

i think i need to learn to be okay with it.

after all, there's no trophy for finishing first.

and there shouldn't be any shame in finishing last.

xoxo,

keke ♡

twenty-two going on sixteen.

some thoughts on birthday blues, growing older without feeling older, missing the magic of childhood, and being twenty-two while still feeling sixteen.

dear diary,

first things first, i want to say thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday yesterday. whether you sent me a text, called me, posted me, or celebrated with me, i appreciate you more than you know. i received so much love from so many people, and i don't want what i'm about to write to take away from that. i'm so grateful for the people who took time out of their day to make me feel special.

with that being said, i have a little confession to make.

i cried today.

the day after my birthday.

and i'm honestly a little embarrassed to admit that.

yesterday, i turned twenty-two. twenty-two on the twenty-second, to be exact. my golden birthday. something i've known was coming since i was a little girl, and something i always imagined would feel so much more special than it actually did.

don't get me wrong, i had fun yesterday. i got dressed up, did my makeup, went out with my friends, took pictures, and celebrated another trip around the sun. from the outside looking in, i probably looked like a girl having the time of her life on her twenty-second birthday.

and for parts of the night, i really was.

but there was this underlying sadness that i couldn't quite shake. and now that all the excitement has died down, i think i'm finally allowing myself to feel it.

i don't know when birthdays lost their magic for me.

i've been thinking about that a lot lately.

when i was younger, there was this very specific feeling that came with birthdays. i don't even know how to describe it. it was like waking up on christmas morning, except the entire day was dedicated to you. everything felt brighter, prettier, and more exciting. even the air felt different.

i used to go to bed the night before my birthday practically vibrating with excitement. i'd wake up the next morning and immediately feel it. that little flutter in my stomach that told me today was special.

i miss that feeling.

and every year, i find myself searching for it.

i think that's the saddest part. i still get excited for my birthday. i still plan my outfits, think about my makeup, imagine the pictures i'm going to take, and count down the days. but when the actual day arrives, something always feels a little...off.

it's like i'm trying to recreate a feeling that only exists in my childhood memories.

and this year, i think that realization hit me harder than usual.

because not only did my birthday feel different, but my entire life feels different.

or maybe, in some ways, it feels exactly the same.

which brings me to something i've been thinking about since yesterday.

i'm twenty-two years old, but i still feel sixteen.

and i don't mean that in the cute, youthful, forever-young kind of way.

i mean that sometimes i genuinely feel like i'm a teenager trapped in a twenty-two-year-old's body.

remember that disney channel movie Sixteen Wishes with Debby Ryan?

there's a scene where her character wishes to be treated like an adult. and technically, her wish comes true. except, instead of simply being given the freedom and respect she wanted, she ends up becoming twenty-two years old. suddenly, she's expected to have an adult life, adult responsibilities, and everything that comes with being twenty-two.

but mentally? she's still sixteen.

she's still the exact same teenage girl she was before making that wish.

and i don't think i've ever related to a disney channel movie more than i do right now.

because that's exactly how i feel.

i'm twenty-two. i'm supposed to be figuring out my career, finishing school, becoming financially independent, making decisions about my future, and somehow knowing what i'm doing with my life.

but deep down, i still feel like that sixteen-year-old girl who was just trying to figure herself out.

except now, the stakes are higher.

at sixteen, i could make mistakes and remind myself that i was still a kid. at twenty-two, every mistake feels like it comes with consequences that could change the trajectory of my entire life.

and the funny thing is, despite being six years older, i don't necessarily feel like i have six more years of freedom or life experience.

sometimes, i actually feel like i have less.

at sixteen, i had to ask for permission to go out. i had to explain where i was going, who i was going with, and what time i'd be home. my life revolved around school, studying, and trying to meet my parents' expectations.

and now?

well, let's just say that things haven't changed nearly as much as i thought they would.

i'm still living under restrictions. i'm still having to justify wanting to spend time with my friends. i'm still feeling guilty for wanting to go out and enjoy myself. i'm still constantly trying to prove that i'm responsible enough to be trusted.

the only difference is that now i'm twenty-two, and the expectations placed on me are significantly higher.

somehow, i've inherited all the responsibilities of adulthood without feeling like i've been given the freedom that supposedly comes with it.

and it's exhausting.

i think that's part of why my birthday meant so much to me this year.

i wanted one day.

one day where i could just be a girl in her twenties. where i could dress up, go out, laugh with my friends, and not feel like i was doing something wrong by enjoying my life.

one day where i didn't have to think about grades, school, my future, family drama, or whether someone was going to be disappointed in me.

just one day that was mine.

but even that felt complicated.

for the past few years, my birthday has followed a pretty consistent routine. my dad would put balloons in my room in the morning, and later that day, we'd have dinner as a family. my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, and me.

nothing particularly extravagant. just a tradition that i'd grown to love.

but this year, things were different.

my family dynamic has changed so much over the past few months that the idea of sitting down for our usual birthday dinner felt almost impossible.

there are relationships in my family that have become strained, conversations that have become awkward, and tensions that nobody seems to know how to resolve.

and then there's me.

somehow, i'm on relatively okay terms with everyone, but that doesn't mean i'm unaffected by everything happening around me.

i think people forget that sometimes.

just because i'm not directly involved in every argument doesn't mean i don't feel the aftermath.

anyway, i knew our usual family dinner wasn't going to happen. or at least, not in the way i would've wanted it to.

so i made plans with my friends instead.

and i'm so glad i did.

but i would be lying if i said i wasn't disappointed by how things went with my family.

my dad still put balloons in my room and left me a card, which i appreciated. i really did.

but beyond that, there wasn't much.

no cake. no cupcake. no presents. nothing particularly special.

and i know how that sounds.

i know presents aren't the most important thing in the world. i know i'm twenty-two and shouldn't necessarily be expecting the same birthday treatment i received when i was a child.

but i don't think that's what bothers me.

it's the principle.

i don't need someone to spend hundreds of dollars on me. i don't need extravagant gifts or some grand surprise.

i just want to feel like someone thought about me.

like someone went out of their way to make the day special because they knew it mattered to me.

even something as simple as a cupcake would've meant something.

and maybe that's childish of me. maybe twenty-two is too old to be upset about not having a birthday cake.

but i'm upset anyway.

i think what hurt the most was realizing that the day wasn't going to be made special for me unless i made it special myself.

and i guess that's another part of growing up that nobody really warns you about.

eventually, you become responsible for creating your own magic.

but sometimes, i don't want to be responsible for everything.

sometimes, i want someone else to take care of the little things.

sometimes, i want to feel like somebody's little girl again.

and maybe that's what i was really crying about today.

not the lack of presents. not the absence of a cake. not even the fact that my birthday didn't go exactly how i imagined.

i think i was crying because i miss how things used to be.

i miss my family before everything became so complicated.

i miss the excitement of being younger.

i miss being able to make mistakes without feeling like the entire world was falling apart.

i miss having things to look forward to without immediately worrying about what could go wrong.

and most of all, i miss feeling like i was growing up toward something, rather than constantly trying to catch up to where everyone thinks i should already be.

it's such a strange feeling.

because when i was sixteen, all i wanted was to be older.

i wanted to be twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. i wanted the freedom to go wherever i wanted, see whoever i wanted, date whoever i wanted, and live my life without constantly asking for permission.

i thought adulthood would mean independence.

i thought i'd finally get to be the person i spent my teenage years dreaming about becoming.

and yet, here i am.

twenty-two years old, still feeling sixteen.

still waiting for that freedom.

still trying to prove myself.

still feeling like i have to earn the right to live my own life.

except now, there's this added pressure of knowing that i'm not getting any younger.

and i hate that.

i hate feeling like my twenties are slipping through my fingers while i'm busy trying to make up for mistakes i made in the past.

i hate seeing other people my age experience things that feel so normal to them but so out of reach for me.

and i hate that sometimes, something as simple as wanting to go out with my friends can make me feel like i'm doing something wrong.

yesterday was supposed to be a celebration of growing older, but i think it made me realize how much of myself still feels stuck in the past.

and honestly, that's a pretty heartbreaking realization to have on your birthday.

another thing that upset me was a comment someone close to me made about how it didn't seem like i was taking this semester seriously.

i know it might sound insignificant, but it really got to me.

because i've been trying so hard.

i know i haven't made the best decisions academically. trust me, nobody is more aware of my mistakes than i am. i've spent months dealing with the consequences of them.

but i've also spent months trying to do better.

i've sacrificed so much of my social life. i've spent countless hours studying. i've been trying to rebuild my future while also dealing with everything happening at home.

and somehow, wanting to enjoy my birthday makes it seem like i'm not taking my responsibilities seriously?

i don't understand why those two things can't coexist.

why can't i care about my future and still want to enjoy being twenty-two?

why does making a mistake mean that every aspect of my life has to become a punishment?

i think that's what frustrates me the most.

i'm old enough to be held accountable for my decisions, but sometimes i don't feel old enough to be trusted to make them.

and it brings me right back to that movie.

i feel like i made the exact same wish Debby Ryan's character did.

i wanted to be an adult.

and now i am one.

just not in the way i imagined.

i got the responsibilities, the expectations, the pressure, and the consequences.

but the independence? the freedom? the feeling of actually being a grown-up?

i'm still waiting on those.

and i know that makes me sound a little dramatic, but this is my diary, so i'm allowed to be dramatic.

i guess i'm just having a hard time accepting that growing older doesn't necessarily mean feeling older.

sometimes, it just means being the same person with more things to worry about.

and maybe that's why birthdays don't feel magical anymore.

because when you're a kid, birthdays are about everything you're gaining. another candle on the cake, another year closer to being a teenager, another year closer to adulthood, another year closer to freedom.

but when you're an adult, birthdays can become reminders of everything you thought you'd have figured out by now.

and i think i put a lot of pressure on twenty-two.

i wanted my golden birthday to feel like the beginning of something new. a fresh chapter. a different version of myself.

i wanted to wake up and feel twenty-two.

instead, i woke up feeling like the exact same girl i was the day before.

and the day before that.

and, in a lot of ways, the same girl i was six years ago.

but maybe that's not necessarily a bad thing.

maybe that sixteen-year-old version of me isn't someone i need to leave behind.

maybe she's still here because there are parts of her that never got to experience the things she was so excited about.

maybe she's still waiting for the freedom she dreamed about.

maybe she's still hoping that one day, birthdays will feel magical again.

and maybe i owe it to her to make sure that happens.

i don't want to spend the rest of my twenties feeling like i'm waiting for my life to begin.

i don't want to look back at twenty-two when i'm thirty and realize that i spent the entire year wishing i were somewhere else.

i want to make memories. i want to experience things. i want to make mistakes and learn from them without feeling like they define who i am forever.

i want to fall in love, go on spontaneous adventures, stay out late with my friends, travel, and do all the things that younger me imagined adulthood would look like.

and yes, i want to finish school, build a career, and become someone i'm proud of too.

i don't think those dreams have to compete with each other.

i want a future that i'm excited about, but i also want a present that i'm actually living in.

so, i guess that's my birthday wish this year.

not for presents, not for a relationship, not even for everything in my life to magically fall into place.

i just want to feel like i'm twenty-two.

i want to experience the freedom, excitement, and possibility that i spent so many years associating with this age.

and i want to find that birthday magic again.

because deep down, i'm still that little girl who got excited about balloons and birthday cake. i'm still that sixteen-year-old who couldn't wait to grow up.

and now that i'm finally the age she dreamed of being, i don't want to disappoint her.

so here's to twenty-two.

to the birthday that was simultaneously lovely and a little heartbreaking. to the people who made me feel loved. to the traditions i miss, the things i can't change, and the life i'm still trying to create for myself.

and to sixteen-year-old me:

i'm sorry adulthood hasn't turned out quite the way we imagined.

i'm sorry we don't have everything figured out yet.

and i'm sorry that sometimes, it still feels like we're living the same life we were desperately trying to grow out of.

but i promise, i'm trying.

maybe we didn't get the freedom we thought we'd have by twenty-two.

maybe we still have some growing up to do.

but i hope that one day, we get to experience everything we used to dream about.

and when that day comes, i hope it feels just as magical as we imagined.

until then, happy belated birthday to me.

twenty-two going on sixteen.

xoxo, Keke♡

me @ my bday dinner!

Dear Diary, I'm 22. ♡

22 on the 22nd. My golden birthday, my not-so-golden year, and everything in between.

Dear Diary,

Twenty-two. On the twenty-second.

I've been waiting for this birthday for what feels like FOREVER. My golden birthday. The one birthday where the age I'm turning matches the date I was born. It's giving main character. It's giving once-in-a-lifetime. It's giving Taylor Swift, except I actually have a reason to make 22 my entire personality.

And yet, if you had asked me a year ago what I thought my life would look like today, I don't think I would've gotten a single thing right.

Not. One. Thing.

At 21, I thought I'd have a lot more figured out by now. I thought I'd be further along in school, more independent, maybe even in a relationship. I thought certain people would still be in my life, certain relationships would look the same, and certain things would have worked themselves out.

Spoiler alert: they did not.

But I guess that's the funny thing about growing up. You spend your teenage years imagining your twenties as this magical era where everything finally falls into place, only to actually get here and realize that nobody has a clue what they're doing.

Including me. Especially me.

Twenty-one was...a lot.

I genuinely don't know how else to describe this past year.

There were moments where I felt like I was finally becoming the person I'd always wanted to be. I went out, made memories, met new people, traveled, kissed boys (some of whom probably should've stayed unkissed), and experienced things that younger me would've absolutely lost her mind over.

But there were also moments where everything felt like it was falling apart.

I watched plans I'd spent years making unravel in front of me. I questioned my future, my relationships, my decisions, and sometimes even myself.

I experienced the weird feeling of growing up while simultaneously feeling like I was being pushed backward.

And, perhaps most unexpectedly, I learned that the people and places that once made you feel the safest can sometimes become the most complicated parts of your life.

For someone who loves nostalgia as much as I do, accepting that things are changing has been...difficult, to say the least.

I've always been the kind of girl who wants to freeze the good moments. I want everything to stay exactly as it was when everyone was happy, when relationships were uncomplicated, and when I knew what to expect.

But life doesn't really care about what I want, does it?

Rude.

The birthday I imagined vs. the birthday I'm having

For as long as I can remember, my birthdays have followed a pretty predictable routine.

I'd wake up to balloons from my dad, go about my day, and eventually end up at dinner with my family.

It wasn't anything extravagant, but it was ours.

And for years, I genuinely loved it.

This year looks different.

There have been so many changes in my family lately, and some of them are still things I'm trying to process. Relationships have shifted. People have grown apart. Things that used to feel so natural suddenly feel complicated.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, there's me.

The girl who's somehow on okay terms with everybody, even when everybody isn't necessarily on okay terms with each other.

For a while, I wanted to convince myself that we could still have our usual birthday dinner. That maybe, for one night, we could pretend everything was normal again.

But I eventually realized something.

I don't want to spend my birthday wishing things were the way they used to be.

I want to enjoy the way things are now, even if they're different.

So this year, I'm celebrating with my friends. The people who've laughed with me, listened to my endless rants, entertained my delusions, and somehow still willingly answer my phone calls.

And honestly? I'm excited.

It's not the birthday I would've pictured a year ago, but maybe that's okay.

Maybe different doesn't always have to mean worse.

Things I wish I could tell 21-year-old me

First of all, GIRL.

We need to talk.

I would tell her to stop trying to plan every single detail of her future because, spoiler alert, life is going to laugh in her face.

I would tell her that not every person who enters her life is supposed to stay, and that sometimes the lack of closure is the closure.

I'd tell her that attention and affection are not the same thing. That just because someone makes her feel wanted doesn't necessarily mean they're capable of making her feel loved.

I'd remind her that she doesn't need to act unbothered all the time. That being sensitive isn't embarrassing, and that pretending not to care doesn't magically make her feelings disappear.

I'd tell her that making mistakes doesn't mean she's ruined her future.

That one bad semester, one failed plan, or one disappointing relationship doesn't get to define her entire life.

And most importantly?

I'd tell her to stop measuring her life against the imaginary timeline she made when she was sixteen.

Because sixteen-year-old me had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

She thought she'd have her entire life figured out by twenty-two.

That's actually hilarious.

So, what do I want from 22?

For once in my life, I don't have some elaborate five-year plan.

Okay, that's a lie. I probably have at least three floating around in my head right now.

But I'm trying to be a little less obsessed with where I'm supposed to end up and a little more appreciative of where I actually am.

I want independence. Real independence. The kind where I get to make decisions for myself without constantly worrying about how they'll be received.

I want to fall in love, obviously. I'm still a hopeless romantic, and I fear that's a terminal condition.

But I also want to stop confusing the excitement of being pursued with the comfort of being genuinely cared for.

I want to make more memories. Take more pictures. Go on spontaneous adventures. Laugh until my stomach hurts. Wear the cute outfit instead of saving it for some hypothetical special occasion.

I want to continue writing, even when the things I'm writing about aren't particularly flattering.

I want to become someone younger me would look up to, but I also want to become someone present-day me actually likes being.

And maybe, just maybe, I want a little peace.

Not the kind where nothing ever goes wrong, because let's be serious, this is my life we're talking about.

But the kind where I can trust myself to handle whatever happens next.

A little birthday wish ♡

I think the strangest part about turning twenty-two is realizing that I'm simultaneously so young and so much older than I used to be.

There are versions of me that no longer exist. The little girl who couldn't wait to grow up. The teenager who thought she knew everything about love. The twenty-one-year-old who was so convinced she knew exactly where her life was headed.

I miss those girls sometimes.

But I also think they'd be proud of me in ways I don't always recognize.

Because even after everything, I'm still here.

Still dreaming. Still romanticizing the smallest things. Still getting excited over birthdays, pretty outfits, late-night conversations, and the possibility that something wonderful could happen tomorrow.

Maybe that's what I love most about myself.

No matter how many times life disappoints me, some part of me always believes there's something good waiting around the corner.

And I really hope I never lose that.

So here's to twenty-two.

To new beginnings, unexpected plot twists, better decisions (hopefully), questionable decisions (realistically), more love, more laughter, and becoming the kind of woman I've always wanted to be.

I don't know exactly what this next chapter has in store for me.

But for the first time in a while, I'm trying to be okay with that.

Happy golden birthday to me. ♡

With love,
Keke 💋

P.S. If 22 could be a little less emotionally exhausting than 21, that would be FABULOUS. Thanks in advance.

Casual, Until It Wasn't

Or: How do you get dumped by someone you weren't even dating?

Dear Diary,

    Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears that I have once again found myself in a romantic predicament. Shocking, I know. At this point, I should probably start charging admission to witness the circus that is my dating life.

    Today's episode features a familiar character: Arthur.

    For some context, Arthur and I met on Hinge. From the very beginning, we were both pretty clear about what we wanted, or rather, what we didn't want. Neither of us was looking for a relationship. No boyfriend-girlfriend expectations, no commitments, no promises of a future together. Just two people getting to know each other and enjoying one another's company.

    Simple enough, right?

    Except, as I've recently discovered, human emotions have a funny way of complicating even the simplest arrangements.

The Boy Who Called Every Night

    If you've read my previous entries, you might remember me questioning whether I actually liked Arthur or simply liked the attention he gave me.

    After all, I was coming out of a situation with LG, where consistent communication felt like a luxury rather than a given. Suddenly, here was a guy who texted me back quickly, responded to my TikToks, FaceTimed me every night, and actually seemed excited to talk to me.

    And I ate. It. Up.

    Initially, I attributed my growing fondness for him to the attention. I mean, wouldn't anyone enjoy having someone who genuinely wanted to talk to them?

    But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

    I started looking forward to our nightly calls. I'd get little bursts of dopamine whenever his name appeared on my screen. I found myself wanting to tell him about the most mundane parts of my day. And when he told me he was too tired to call one night, I actually felt disappointed.

    Me? Disappointed over a boy?

    Someone alert the authorities.

    In retrospect, I think I liked him more than I was willing to admit. Not necessarily in an I want to marry this man and have his children kind of way, but in an I really enjoy having you in my life, and I'd like to keep it that way kind of way.

    Which brings us to the problem.

Apparently, We Broke Up?

    Without getting into every single detail, a comment I made somehow turned into a much bigger issue than I ever anticipated.

    And suddenly, Arthur decided to end things.

    Just like that.

    No real opportunity to talk it through. No chance to clarify what I meant or where I was coming from. One conversation, and something that had become part of my everyday routine was abruptly over.

    Now, here's the part that frustrates me the most.

I never asked him to be my boyfriend.

    I wasn't demanding a relationship. I wasn't asking him to commit to me. In fact, I was the one who established the casual nature of our situation in the first place!

    So imagine my confusion when everything ended over what felt like a misunderstanding of my intentions.

    It's almost comical. How does one get dumped from a relationship she wasn't even in?

    I understand that people have the right to walk away from situations that no longer serve them. Arthur was under no obligation to keep talking to me. But I also think there's a difference between not owing someone a relationship and not owing them basic communication.

    Especially when you've spent so much time making them feel like their presence matters to you.

Casual Doesn't Mean Emotionless

    I've been thinking a lot about what it actually means to keep things casual.

    For some reason, there's this unspoken rule that if you agree to something casual, you're not allowed to have feelings about how it ends.

    You can't be sad. You can't be disappointed. You can't expect anything.

    Because, well, you knew what you signed up for.

    And I'll admit, I've been holding myself to that exact standard.

    Part of me feels ridiculous for being upset. After all, I was the one who said I didn't want a relationship. Who am I to complain when someone decides to leave?

    But then I started thinking: Since when did casual become synonymous with disposable?

    Not wanting a relationship doesn't mean I don't value someone's company. It doesn't mean I can't become attached to our conversations, our inside jokes, or the little routines we develop together.

    And it certainly doesn't mean I'm incapable of being hurt.

    Arthur told me he missed me. He told me he wanted to see me. We talked about future plans, including my birthday, which, if you know me, you know is practically a national holiday.

    So yes, maybe we were casual.

    But was everything about us casual?

    I don't know.

    And I think that's what makes this whole situation so confusing.

I'm Not Mourning a Future. I'm Mourning an Abrupt Ending.

    Here's something I've realized about myself over the past 12 hours.

    I'm not particularly devastated about the imaginary future Arthur and I could've had.

    I wasn't picturing our wedding. I wasn't mentally naming our children. I wasn't even imagining him becoming my boyfriend.

    In fact, the furthest I'd really thought ahead was his birthday in January. I assumed we'd still be talking by then.

    That's it. That was my grand romantic fantasy.

    Three more months of FaceTime calls and occasional flirting. Somebody call Nicholas Sparks.

    What actually bothers me is how unexpectedly everything ended.

    One minute, I had someone I spoke to every day. Someone who had become a familiar, comforting part of my routine.

    And the next minute, I didn't.

    I think the word that best describes how I feel is blindsided.

    Not heartbroken, necessarily. Not devastated. Just incredibly taken off guard.

    And annoyed. Very, very annoyed.

    Because I genuinely believe this could've been a conversation instead of a goodbye.

The Psychology of Getting Attached

    Naturally, because I am me, I couldn't just experience an emotion without psychoanalyzing it.

    I've been thinking about how attachment doesn't necessarily require commitment. Sometimes, all it takes is consistency.

    When someone texts you every morning, calls you every night, and gradually becomes part of your daily routine, your brain starts expecting their presence.

    You become accustomed to them.

    And when that consistency suddenly disappears, you feel the absence, regardless of what label you gave the connection.

    I also wonder whether my experience with LG made me particularly receptive to Arthur's attention.

    After spending months feeling uncertain about where I stood with someone, Arthur's consistency was refreshing. I didn't have to wonder whether he'd respond or whether he wanted to talk to me.

    He just did.

    But I don't want to reduce my feelings for Arthur to some psychological reaction to another man.

    Because while the attention might've initially drawn me in, I genuinely enjoyed him.

    His personality. Our conversations. The familiarity.

    And maybe that's something I wasn't ready to admit until he was gone.

So, What Now?

    Well, my birthday is in less than a week.

    And I'm not going to lie, a tiny, petty part of me is going to be irritated if Arthur doesn't wish me a happy birthday.

    Not because I need his validation to enjoy my day, but because we spent so much time talking about it. He knows how excited I am. He knows how much it means to me.

    Will I survive if he doesn't text me?

    Obviously.

    Will I roll my eyes dramatically?

    Without a doubt.

    But regardless of what happens, I think this entire experience has taught me something about myself.

    I can want something casual and still care deeply about the person involved.

    I can be uninterested in a relationship and still feel disappointed when a connection ends.

    And most importantly, I don't have to pretend something meant nothing to me just because it was never officially something.

    Maybe Arthur and I wanted different things. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. Maybe this would've ended eventually, regardless of what happened.

    I'll probably never know.

    What I do know is that I liked talking to him. I liked having him around. And I wish we'd had the opportunity to talk things through before deciding that walking away was the only option.

    I don't regret keeping things casual.

    I just wish the ending hadn't felt so careless.

    Anyway, dear diary, another day, another man, another psychological case study.

    At least I'm never running out of blog material.

xoxo, Keke ♡

The Fear of Being Too Much and Not Enough at the Same Time

on overthinking, self-worth, and the exhausting art of trying to be lovable.

Dear Diary,

    I've come to the conclusion that being a girl is an incredibly confusing experience.

    More specifically, being a girl who thinks a little too much, feels a little too deeply, and somehow manages to convince herself that both of those things are character flaws.

    I've noticed that I have this weird, contradictory fear of being both too much and not enough at the exact same time.

    Too emotional. Too sensitive. Too attached. Too talkative. Too needy. Too dramatic.

    But also?

    Not pretty enough. Not interesting enough. Not successful enough. Not fun enough. Not good enough.

    And somehow, I'm expected to find a happy medium between the two. Preferably while looking cute and pretending I have my life together.

    It's exhausting.

The Art of Making Yourself Smaller

    I think a lot of us have mastered the art of editing ourselves depending on who's around.

    You know what I'm talking about.

    You want to send another text, but you don't want to seem clingy. You want to tell someone that something they said hurt your feelings, but you don't want to seem overly sensitive. You want reassurance, but you don't want to be the girl who constantly needs it.

    So you don't say anything.

    You pretend you're unbothered. You convince yourself that you're being dramatic. You type out an entire paragraph explaining how you feel, stare at it for five minutes, and then delete the whole thing in favor of an "lol it's okay."

    (Spoiler alert: it was not okay.)

    And the strangest part is that sometimes nobody even asks us to make ourselves smaller. We just do it preemptively, because we've convinced ourselves that being easy to love means being easy to deal with.

    But when did having feelings become an inconvenience?

The Constant Fear of Falling Short

    Here's where things get particularly annoying.

    While I'm busy worrying about being too much, there's another little voice in my head telling me I'm not enough.

    And this one is arguably worse.

    Because how exactly do you measure whether you're enough for someone?

    Is it about being prettier? Funnier? Smarter? More interesting? Less emotional? More mysterious?

    There's always going to be someone who seems to have something you don't.

    Someone who's effortlessly beautiful. Someone who's naturally confident. Someone who never seems to overthink a single interaction. Someone who can walk into a room and immediately become everyone's favorite person.

    And even when I genuinely admire those girls, I sometimes catch myself wondering what they have that I don't.

    Which is ridiculous, because their existence doesn't somehow diminish mine.

    I know that.

    Intellectually, at least.

    Emotionally? We're still working on it.

The Impossible Balancing Act

    I think the most frustrating part of this whole thing is how contradictory it is.

    I want to be loved for exactly who I am, but I'm also terrified that who I am might be the reason someone leaves.

    I want to be vulnerable, but I don't want anyone to have enough power over me to hurt me.

    I want to be someone's first choice, but I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard to be chosen.

    I want to be understood without having to explain myself, but I also spend an absurd amount of time making sure nobody knows just how much I'm feeling.

    Make it make sense.

    And I think this contradiction extends beyond dating, too.

    Sometimes I worry that I'm not doing enough with my life. That I'm falling behind, that I should be accomplishing more, experiencing more, becoming more.

    But then, when I try to do everything, I get overwhelmed and feel like I'm failing at all of it.

    It's like there's this imaginary version of myself that I'm constantly competing with. She's prettier, more disciplined, more confident, emotionally secure, and somehow manages to get eight hours of sleep every night.

    Personally, I find her a little irritating.

Maybe I'm Not the Problem

    I've been thinking about why I care so much about being perceived a certain way.

    And I think a lot of it comes down to wanting to be accepted without having to earn that acceptance.

    Because when you're constantly worried about being too much or not enough, you start treating your personality like something you need to optimize.

    You adjust how much affection you show. You monitor how often you text. You replay conversations to make sure you didn't say something embarrassing. You try to become whatever version of yourself you think someone else will like best.

    And somewhere along the way, you forget to ask yourself whether you even like the person you're becoming.

    I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to improve yourself. Growth is important, and being self-aware is a good thing.

    But there's a difference between growing because you want to become a better person and changing because you're afraid the person you already are isn't worth loving.

    I'm starting to think I've confused the two more often than I'd like to admit.

A Little Reminder to Myself

    I wish I could end this entry by saying I've completely overcome these insecurities and now walk around with an unshakable sense of self-worth.

    Unfortunately, this is a personal blog, not a work of fiction.

    I still overthink. I still compare myself to other people. I still occasionally convince myself that one slightly different texting pattern means somebody has lost interest in me.

    But I'm trying to remind myself that I don't have to spend my entire life walking the tightrope between being too much and not enough.

    Maybe I'm allowed to be sensitive without being weak.

    Maybe I'm allowed to want reassurance without being needy.

    Maybe I'm allowed to be ambitious without having everything figured out.

    And maybe, just maybe, I'm allowed to take up space without constantly worrying about whether I've earned the right to be there.

    I don't need to be everybody's favorite person.

    I don't need to be the easiest person to love.

    I don't need to be the prettiest, funniest, smartest, most interesting girl in every room.

    I just need to be someone I can live with. Someone I actually like.

    And if I'm being completely realistic, that's probably going to take a little more time.

    But hey, I'm only 21.

    I've got time.

 xoxo, Keke♡

My Red Flags, According to Me 🚩

 because apparently, being self-aware doesn't make me any less of a problem.

Dear Diary,

    I've come to the realization that I've spent an absurd amount of time on this blog psychoanalyzing myself. My attachment style, my insecurities, my questionable taste in men, you name it. At this point, I feel like I should have some sort of psychology degree. Which is funny, considering I'm a Stats major.

    Anyways, I figured I'd give myself (and you guys) a break from all the deep, introspective stuff I've been posting lately. Because as much as I love dissecting every little thing about myself, sometimes a girl just wants to be silly.

    So, today, instead of trying to understand why I am the way that I am, we're just going to acknowledge that I am, in fact, a little ridiculous.

    Consider this a list of my red flags. Written by me, about me, with absolutely no intention of defending myself.

    Okay, maybe a little.

🚩 1. I Overthink Literally Everything.

    And when I say everything, I mean everything.

    You could text me "ok" instead of "okay" and suddenly I'm sitting there wondering what I did wrong. Are you mad at me? Did I say something? Are you losing interest? Do you secretly hate me?

    Meanwhile, you're probably just busy.

    The worst part is that I'm fully aware I'm doing it. I'll literally tell myself, "Girl, it's not that deep," and then proceed to make it that deep.

    It's actually a talent at this point.

🚩 2. I Love Attention.

    I'm not even going to pretend otherwise.

    I love compliments. I love when someone remembers a tiny detail about me. I love good morning texts. I love when someone wants to talk to me all the time.

    And yes, sometimes I enjoy the attention someone gives me more than I actually like the person giving it.

    Is that bad? Probably.

    But also, is it really so wrong to enjoy being adored?

    Exactly. Moving on.

🚩 3. I Am Delusional.

    Now, I wouldn't say I'm completely delusional. I think I'm pretty realistic about most things.

    Except when it comes to romance.

    A man could do the absolute bare minimum and suddenly I'm imagining scenarios that have quite literally never happened.

    And the scenarios are SO specific too. I'm talking entire conversations, outfits, locations, background music. The whole production.

    Then I get disappointed when reality doesn't match the version I made up in my head.

    Which is honestly so unfair of reality.

🚩 4. I Have an Unhealthy Relationship With Sweet Treats.

    I genuinely don't understand how some people go through their day without needing a little treat.

    Had a stressful day? I deserve a treat.

    Had a productive day? I deserve a treat.

    Went to class? Treat.

    Survived a minor inconvenience? Treat.

    And it's not even like I'm rewarding myself for anything impressive half the time. Sometimes my biggest accomplishment is simply existing.

    But I did exist, didn't I?

🚩 5. I Am a Little Dramatic.

    Okay, maybe more than a little.

    I have this tendency to treat everything that happens to me like it's some major event in the plot of my life.

    A minor inconvenience? Character development.

    A failed talking stage? Devastating heartbreak.

    A good outfit and a cute song playing in my headphones? Suddenly I'm the main character of a 2000s rom-com.

    I think part of the problem is that I genuinely enjoy romanticizing my life. Even when absolutely nothing interesting is happening.

    Like, why am I staring dramatically out of the car window as if I'm in a music video?

    I'm literally on my way to Target.

🚩 6. I Give Advice That I Do Not Follow.

    This one is actually embarrassing.

    I could give my friends the most incredible relationship advice you've ever heard. Seriously. I will sit there and explain exactly why they deserve better, why they shouldn't text him back, and why they need to stand up.

    And then I'll turn around and do the exact opposite in my own life.

    It's ridiculous because I KNOW better. That's what makes it worse.

    But I guess it's easier to be logical when you're not the one emotionally involved.

    Or maybe I'm just a hypocrite.

    Both can be true.

🚩 7. I Am Extremely Nostalgic.

    For someone who claims to be excited about the future, I spend an awful lot of time thinking about the past.

    And the funniest part is that I romanticize things I didn't even enjoy when they were happening.

    I'll catch myself missing high school as if I wasn't literally counting down the days until graduation.

    Or I'll randomly remember a person I haven't spoken to in years and start thinking about how nice things used to be.

    Notice how I said used to be, because my brain conveniently likes to leave out all the reasons things ended in the first place.

    Very considerate of her.

🚩 8. I Think Self-Awareness Makes Me Better.

    This is probably the biggest red flag of them all.

    I have this weird belief that because I can recognize my own flaws, they somehow become less concerning.

    Like, yes, I know I overthink. Yes, I know I get attached too quickly. Yes, I know I have a tendency to romanticize people and situations.

    But at least I know, right?

    RIGHT?

    Unfortunately, I'm starting to realize that knowing you have a problem and actually doing something about it are two very different things.

    But that's a conversation for another day. I promised myself I wouldn't turn this into another psychology essay.

♡ Anyways...

    I feel like I've exposed myself enough for one day.

    In my defense, I don't think any of these things make me a terrible person. Just a slightly dramatic, occasionally delusional, chronically overthinking girl who happens to love attention and sweet treats.

    And honestly? There are worse things to be.

    Besides, I like to think that for every red flag I have, there's an equally wonderful green flag to balance it out.

    I mean, I'm funny. I'm thoughtful. I'm a great listener. I have excellent taste in music. And I'm really cute.

    So, really, who's the victim here?

    Anyways, if you've made it this far, congratulations! You now know exactly what you're getting yourself into by keeping up with Keke.

    Consider this your official warning.

xoxo, Keke♡

Do I Like Him, or Do I Like Being Liked?

on external validation, romantic attention, and the uncomfortable relationship between my ego and my heart.

Dear Diary,

    I've been thinking about a question lately, and quite frankly, I don't think I like what the answer might say about me.

Do I actually like the men I entertain, or do I just like knowing that they like me?

    It's an uncomfortable question to ask myself, mostly because I'd like to believe that I'm a lot more emotionally mature than that. I like to think that when I'm interested in someone, it's because I genuinely enjoy their company, find them attractive, or see the potential for something more. Not because I need another person to reassure me that I'm desirable.

    But the more I reflect on my dating experiences, the more I've started to realize that attraction and validation aren't always as separate as I'd like them to be.

    And sometimes, I'm not entirely sure which one I'm chasing.

the appeal of being wanted ♡

    There's something undeniably satisfying about knowing someone wants you.

    The compliments, the flirting, the little notifications that pop up on your phone. The knowledge that someone is actively thinking about you, finding you attractive, and making an effort to get your attention.

    I mean, who wouldn't enjoy that?

    But I think there's a difference between enjoying romantic attention and depending on it to feel good about yourself.

    And I'm starting to wonder how often I've crossed that line without realizing it.

    I've noticed that sometimes, the attention itself becomes more exciting than the person giving it to me. I like the anticipation of a message, the playful flirting, and the reassurance that somebody finds me interesting enough to pursue.

    But when I actually stop and ask myself what I like about him, specifically, the answer isn't always as obvious.

    Do I like his personality? His sense of humor? The way he thinks? The conversations we have?

    Or do I just like how he makes me feel about myself?

    Because those are two very different things.

    One is attraction to another person. The other is attraction to the version of yourself that exists through their eyes.

    And I think I've occasionally confused the two.

rejection, or a bruised ego?

    Here's where things get a little embarrassing.

    I've realized that I can feel disappointed when someone loses interest in me, even when I wasn't particularly interested in them to begin with.

    Which makes absolutely no sense.

    If I didn't want a relationship with him, why should it matter if he doesn't want one with me?

    Logically, it shouldn't.

    But emotionally? Apparently, my ego didn't get the memo.

    There's a strange discomfort that comes with realizing someone no longer sees you the way they once did. Not necessarily because you wanted them, but because you've lost the reassurance that they wanted you.

    And I think that's an important distinction.

    Sometimes, I wonder whether I've mistaken a bruised ego for a broken heart.

    Psychologically, rejection can feel like a threat to our sense of self-worth. It isn't always about losing a meaningful connection. Sometimes, it's about what we interpret that rejection to mean about ourselves.

    Am I not attractive enough? Was I not interesting enough? Did I do something wrong?

    Suddenly, someone else's changing feelings become evidence in a case I seem determined to build against myself.

    And the ridiculous part is that I might not have even wanted the guy.

    I just didn't particularly enjoy the feeling of no longer being wanted by him.

    It's not a flattering realization, but I think there's value in admitting it.

the boy who gives me everything I thought I wanted ♡

    I think the reason I've been questioning all of this lately is because of someone I've recently gotten closer to.

    For the sake of anonymity, we'll call him Arthur.

    Arthur and I started seeing each other with the mutual understanding that I wasn't looking for a relationship. It was supposed to be casual, uncomplicated, and fun. And initially, that's exactly what it was.

    Physically, he's cute. He's just not necessarily my usual type. I wasn't immediately infatuated with him, nor did I feel the kind of overwhelming attraction that I've experienced with other guys.

    But lately, something has started to change.

    We've gotten closer. He FaceTimes me almost every night. He responds to my texts almost immediately. He watches and responds to the TikToks I send him, no matter how stupid they are. And I genuinely believe that if I asked him to come see me in the middle of the night, he'd find a way to make it happen.

    It's the kind of attention I've spent months wishing I could get from someone else.

    And the irony isn't lost on me.

    Because not too long ago, I was practically begging for the bare minimum from someone I genuinely wanted.

    I've written about Lawyer Guy before. And while I'm not particularly interested in revisiting every detail of that situation, I do think it's important to acknowledge how much it has influenced the way I'm experiencing this one.

    With LG, I never had to question whether I was attracted to him. I knew I liked him. I liked his personality, his intelligence, his sense of humor, and the way I felt when we were together.

    What I did question, constantly, was whether he liked me nearly as much.

    I spent so much time overanalyzing response times, making excuses for inconsistent communication, and convincing myself that I was perfectly fine with receiving significantly less attention than I actually wanted.

    And when things ultimately fell apart, I was left with a lot of feelings that I didn't quite know what to do with.

    Now, here's someone who gives me the attention I wanted without being asked.

    I don't have to wonder whether Arthur wants to talk to me. I don't have to question whether I'm bothering him by texting first. I don't have to spend hours trying to figure out what a change in his tone means.

    If I want to talk to him, I can.

    And there's something incredibly comforting about that.

    But there's also something about it that makes me question myself.

    Because lately, I've found myself looking forward to our conversations. I enjoy talking to him. I like hearing about his day, telling him about mine, and knowing that, at some point in the evening, my phone will probably light up with his name.

    And I can't tell whether that's the beginning of a crush or simply the relief of finally receiving the attention I've been craving.

the psychology of emotional compensation

    I've been thinking about the concept of emotional compensation lately.

    Not necessarily in a clinical sense, but in the way we sometimes seek out experiences that make up for something we previously felt deprived of.

    If someone made us feel ignored, we might become especially drawn to someone who makes us feel noticed.

    If someone made us feel unimportant, we might become attached to someone who consistently makes time for us.

    And if someone made us question whether we were desirable, we might find ourselves particularly receptive to attention that reassures us otherwise.

    I wonder if that's part of what's happening with Arthur.

    Because after spending so much time feeling like an afterthought, there's something almost intoxicating about being someone's priority.

    Arthur doesn't necessarily have to do anything extraordinary to impress me. Sometimes, all it takes is answering my text, calling when he says he will, or showing genuine enthusiasm about seeing me.

    Things that should probably feel normal.

    But after getting used to their absence, they feel extraordinary.

    And perhaps that's the problem.

    I'm not necessarily comparing Arthur to some objective standard of what I want in a romantic partner.

    I'm comparing him to what I was missing before.

    And when you've spent months feeling emotionally unsatisfied, even ordinary acts of attention can feel disproportionately meaningful.

    Which raises an uncomfortable question.

Would I be developing the same feelings for Arthur if LG had never happened?

    If I hadn't spent months questioning another man's interest in me, would Arthur's consistency have the same emotional effect?

    Would I still look forward to his calls? Would I still find myself smiling at his messages? Would I still be wondering whether this was developing into something more?

    Or is part of my attachment rooted in the contrast between the two experiences?

    I genuinely don't know.

    And I think that uncertainty is worth examining.

attraction, attachment, and the need for validation

    I think another interesting aspect of my situation with Arthur is that I'm aware his attraction to me is largely physical.

    He makes it very clear that he likes my appearance, my body, and the physical chemistry between us.

    And don't get me wrong, I enjoy that.

    I'm not going to sit here and pretend that being told I'm attractive doesn't make me feel good.

    It does.

    But sometimes I wonder whether the foundation of our dynamic is less romantic than it appears.

    He likes the way I look.

    I like the way he makes me feel.

    And while we genuinely enjoy each other's company, I'm starting to wonder whether we're both receiving different forms of validation from the same connection.

    There's something psychologically interesting about that.

    Because I think people often assume that romantic attraction is a straightforward feeling. You either like someone or you don't.

    But I'm beginning to think it's considerably more complicated.

    Attraction can be physical, emotional, intellectual, or even situational. We can become attached to someone because of their personality, but we can also become attached to the comfort, familiarity, and reassurance their presence provides.

    And sometimes those things overlap.

    Maybe I like Arthur because he's funny, attentive, and genuinely enjoyable to talk to.

    Maybe I like him because he's giving me the consistency I've been craving.

    Maybe it's both.

    But I think what worries me is the possibility that I'm allowing the second reason to convince me of the first.

    I don't want to mistake consistency for compatibility.

    I don't want to develop feelings for someone simply because he's giving me something another person wouldn't.

    And I especially don't want to pursue something romantic because I enjoy being wanted more than I actually want the person doing the wanting.

    That wouldn't be fair to him, or to me.

    At the same time, I don't want to dismiss the possibility that my feelings are genuine just because they developed differently than I'm used to.

    Maybe attraction doesn't always begin with butterflies, nervousness, or an overwhelming desire to impress someone.

    Maybe sometimes it develops quietly, through late-night conversations, inside jokes, and the comfort of knowing someone is going to pick up the phone.

    Maybe what I'm experiencing isn't a false sense of attraction.

    Maybe I'm just unfamiliar with the feeling of being consistently wanted.

when attention becomes a distraction

    I think another uncomfortable part of this realization is recognizing how easy it can be to use romantic attention as an emotional distraction.

    When I'm feeling rejected, lonely, insecure, or disappointed, there's something tempting about turning toward someone new.

    A new conversation. A new flirtation. A new person who doesn't know anything about my previous disappointments.

    It's almost like getting a fresh start without having to actually process what happened before.

    And for a little while, it works.

    I feel attractive again. Interesting again. Wanted again.

    But the thing about external validation is that it's temporary.

    A compliment can make me feel beautiful for a moment, but it doesn't necessarily change the way I see myself when I'm alone.

    And another person's interest can't magically resolve the insecurities that existed before they entered my life.

    I've started questioning whether some of my recent dating decisions have been motivated by genuine curiosity or by my desire to prove something to myself.

    That I'm still desirable.

    That I have options.

    That one person's rejection doesn't mean I'm somehow less worthy of affection.

    And while there's nothing inherently wrong with meeting new people or enjoying casual experiences, I think the motivation behind those choices matters.

    At least, it matters to me.

    Because I don't want to use other people as temporary solutions to feelings I'm unwilling to confront.

    And I certainly don't want my self-esteem to depend on whether someone happens to find me attractive that week.

the difference between wanting someone and wanting to be chosen

    I've written before about my anxious attachment and my tendency to overthink romantic relationships.

    But lately, I've started considering whether there's another layer to those patterns.

    Maybe part of my anxiety isn't just about losing someone I care about.

    Maybe it's also about what losing them seems to say about me.

    I think I've sometimes treated romantic interest like a measurement of my worth.

    If someone is pursuing me, I must be attractive, interesting, and worthy of affection.

    If they stop, something must have changed.

    And rather than accepting that attraction is subjective and people's feelings are complicated, I start searching for something I could've done differently.

    As though being wanted is an accomplishment, and being rejected is a personal failure.

    But the more I think about it, the more absurd that sounds.

    Someone's attraction to me doesn't make me inherently more valuable.

    And their lack of attraction doesn't make me less valuable, either.

    I know that intellectually.

    The harder part is actually believing it when I'm the one experiencing rejection.

    Because there's a difference between understanding a concept and emotionally internalizing it.

    And apparently, I still have some work to do in that department.

    I also think there's an important distinction between wanting someone and wanting to be chosen by them.

    Wanting someone means appreciating who they are, independently of how they feel about you.

    Wanting to be chosen is different.

    It's wanting the reassurance that you're good enough, attractive enough, interesting enough, or special enough for someone to want you.

    And I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with wanting that reassurance.

    But I do think it becomes a problem when the desire to be chosen starts outweighing the question of whether you actually want the person choosing you.

    Because being pursued isn't the same thing as being compatible.

    Being wanted isn't the same thing as being understood.

    And being chosen isn't necessarily the same thing as being loved.

learning to want, instead of just wanting to be wanted ♡

    I don't think the solution is to stop enjoying attention.

    I like flirting. I like compliments. I like romance. I like knowing someone finds me attractive.

    I'm not going to pretend otherwise.

    And I don't think there's anything shameful about wanting to feel desired.

    It's human.

    But I do want to become more intentional about the people I entertain and the reasons I entertain them.

    I want to be able to distinguish genuine interest from the temporary excitement of being pursued.

    I want to stop interpreting someone's rejection as a reflection of my value.

    And, perhaps most importantly, I want to stop confusing someone choosing me with that person actually being right for me.

    Which brings me back to Arthur.

    I don't know exactly what I'm feeling toward him yet.

    I know that I enjoy talking to him. I know that I look forward to his calls. I know that I appreciate how much effort he puts into staying connected with me.

    And I know that his attention has made the aftermath of my experience with LG a little easier to navigate.

    But whether that comfort is developing into genuine romantic attraction is something I haven't quite figured out.

    And maybe I don't need to have the answer immediately.

    Maybe I can enjoy getting to know someone without trying to assign a label to every feeling that develops along the way.

    Maybe I can appreciate being wanted without interpreting that desire as an obligation to reciprocate it.

    And maybe I can acknowledge that part of me is still healing from one experience while remaining open to the possibility of something different.

    I think the important thing is being honest with myself about what I'm feeling, rather than convincing myself of something simply because it's emotionally convenient.

    Because for so long, I've been asking myself why the men I like don't seem to want me the way I want them.

    Now, someone seems to want me in a way I've spent months wishing to be wanted.

    And I'm confronted with an entirely different problem.

    I don't know if I want him.

    Or if I just love that, for once, I don't have to wonder whether he wants me.

    Until next time,

xoxo, Keke♡