Hey guys, overly romantic tumblr boy here, for those of you who read my story—
After reading tons and tons of replies, and wondering about trends in responses and outlooks of others, I thought I’d throw out some words on it. It’s not much, and it may be obvious to many of you, and I might have no idea what I’m talking about, but, for one or two of you out there, it might help.
A lot of people understandably compared our story to a Bollywood film—for those who don’t know, it’s Indian cinema, often recklessly unimaginative, and adorably entertaining but grossly unhealthy (I grew up loving that stuff). In a sense, my story was, naturally, fetishized in a literary perspective.
I think that what Jasmeet and I have is amazing and it really does blow my mind with all the chance involved… but this is real life, not a movie; its complex and visceral. It doesn’t just “happen” after a wild dance number and a glance in a crowd, it grows, it has to be worked on. We didn’t spend time expecting and trying to force reality to fix itself inside of a tiny box called “fantasy.” We just pushed each other to be better people and think outside the box. For eleven months. Lots of work, lots of blood and sweat. And I was convinced plenty of times that we wouldn’t be able to make it work, and we weren’t prepared, at the beginning, we didn’t have it all put together.
But we fought to grow together over time. In the end, I’m glad, because what I have with her now is believably unbelievable. It’s everything I want. This stuff, it doesn’t just come to you, and it can’t be paid for with credit. It requires change and assertiveness.
And when it comes to preconceptions… Jasmeet and I weren’t in the market, because we weren’t shopping, because you can’t shop for human beings. I didn’t go in looking for her, and I didn’t go after her because of how she looked or what she sounded like or what race she was or what her favorite food was. I didn’t know those things, when I first started reading her writing. If you box people in by how they look or by little quirks, you’re going to miss out. When I learned she was Indian, and when I learned she lived in New Jersey, I didn’t box her in and assume things about her and count her out. I didn’t assume, I asked. She did the same for me. We eventually changed each other.
So, to everyone who is surprised that this could happen in real life: sometimes we actually block ourselves. Give up your preconceptions, give up your “type.” Be lenient with your preference for race or height or physical appearance. Maybe your idea of an ideal romance is a Russian boy from your hometown who doesn’t play sports and speaks four languages. But maybe your real ideal match, the person who will make you happiest in life, is a South African man living in Boston who studies economics, instead. Try talking to people with an open mind. Maybe you’ll be surprised. I was surprised for sure.
Anyway, here’s to success, everyone. Break yourself open. Be who they need and step away if you aren’t needed. Be consistent, be dependable, don’t hide ulterior motives. Be good to yourself. The only perfect love stories are the ones with imperfections and elbow grease.
And trust me, you’re not going to find a single movie that has an exact portrayal of eleven months of good, realistic elbow grease.
That movie would be eleven months long.
