I Love You, Will This Pass?
I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, I think that’s a common pattern that you could see in all of my pieces.
Too hopeless, in fact. I pine; I long for a connection that I’ve yet to (and probably will never) have, and I romanticize the moments and possibility of meeting that particular individual… Causing my friends to jokingly (and probably correctly) call me an “incel” or a “delulu”.
Maybe it’s due to my inexperience in this field (I’ve never dated anyone in the 23 years that I’m alive), or maybe because I’m just naive like that.
What I know about relationships had always been based those that I watch on screens, or read in books; of Tom and Summer, of Joel and Clem, or Chidi and Eleanor.
I guess, there’s just something about watching the process of two individuals opening their hearts to each other that amazes me. Choosing someone to whom you could be vulnerable to, and rolling the dice to see if you both could grow—both as a person and as a partner. Knowing each other’s routines, the late-night talks, the show of comfort & adoration that one could give to the other, or even just the random spurts of ridiculous conversations where you’d both laugh non-stop.
All that, for days, weeks, years, or even decades — till the both of you finally breathe for the last time, your vows unbroken.
But, of course, this is only the most ideal form of what a relationship is, because most relationships do not really end like that, right? Even among the stories that I’ve linked above, only Chidi and Eleanor had their happy endings — and that’s after they’ve both reached the end of their afterlives.
So, in this piece, I think I’d try to answer a simple question:
Why is romanticizing love stories something that I’m still doing even until now? When I know that it’s unrealistic, that the sense of longing they project onto the screen isn’t real, that most people do not and would not experience relationship that way.
And to answer this, I’d like to take a view at Phoebe-Waller Bridge’s Fleabag in her search of intimacy. And how a romance, one that she knows is probably doomed from the start, helped shaped her by the end of the series.
Is Intimacy Scary?
Note: Disclaimer for mentions of suicide & grief, several mentions of intercourse, as well as spoiler warning for Fleabag (2016) from now on.
If you are yet to watch Fleabag yet, I think that the best way to describe her in the start of the show is that she is full of grief.
She had just recently lost her best friend to an accidental suicide attempt (one Fleabag indirectly caused), and so she is currently left running a failing coffee-shop alone.
This is in contrast to her sister, Claire, who is portrayed as the successful counterpart of Fleabag, the sister who understands how to navigate through life and thrive in this capitalistic world, despite the pressure and pain it also brought her behind the scenes.
Picking up shortly after the tragedy happened, Fleabag is shown by the show to still be picking up the pieces of what had transpired. She’s still mourning, stuck in sorrow, and is in full doubt with herself as she struggles to find joy and happiness in her mundane life, all the while comparing herself to other, more successful people she sees all around her.
In essence, I think the series tries to place Fleabag as a just another person living in this modern era, feeling lonely and miserable.
And this, I think, is when the concept of intimacy becomes relevant when we talk about the series. Because in an attempt to escape that state of depression, Fleabag would usually turn to sex as a way feel like she is wanted by someone or anyone. This is true with her and her sexual flings with her on-and-off boyfriend Harry, or even other men that would become her one-night stands, many not even named because it does not seem to even matter.
The sad thing is: Fleabag seems to understand this, she knows that she is not alright, and she realizes that the habits that she’s been doing is not healthy for her. She seems to notice that every single sexual relationship that she had experienced is not intimacy. Hell, she even admitted herself that many of her relations are not fulfilling, as she would break the Fourth Wall during the scenes to tell us.
Fleabag knows that all of these flings that she has are only a vehicle for her to gain any level of attention. You can even see this in her on-and-off relationship with Harry, it’s clear that they’re together because she knows that he’s head over heels for her, and she feels devastated after he finally moved on because she knows that she won’t have that constant stream of attention anymore.
In a way, I think that we (the audience) are also a variable in the series, that our viewing is a part of the attention that Fleabag also wants. She breaks the fourth wall occasionally, talking to us and giving us her opinions and her perspectives. We are probably the (silent) voice in her head, letting her express her emotions at any moment, even if she didn’t expect any reply from us.
She probably wouldn’t mind, as long as we are here, giving our time to listen to her.
Just like Fleabag, intimacy had always been something that I’ve been looking for too my entire life. Just as I wrote about connection before, I honestly think it’s something that we all look for.
Yet, I feel that intimacy has a (slightly) different nuance to connection. The romantic ones, at least.
Reaching intimacy probably requires a higher degree of effort. You have to put extra effort of getting to know the other person, you need to put in the work to create that spark, to reach that level of intimacy.
It also means that reaching intimacy with someone is also a wager, a coin flip, a “Hail Mary”. It is you hoping that they’ll put you first too, time and time again.
And yet from what I’ve seen and observed from my surroundings, be it friends or acquaintances, their path in finding someone isn’t a smooth dealing — it’s one filled with uncertainty, full of heartbreaks, and thus grief.
You’ll make what you deem to be wrong choices, and you’ll also be a wrong choice.
You’ll make right choices too, but maybe the stars just do not align for the both of you to work out.
I’ve seen my friends trying to recover from their heartbreaks, some smoother than others, and some longer than others.
In the first series, Fleabag tried to replace her need of intimacy with attention. In her train of thought, she probably thought that it is perfectly alright, that she settled for what she could get.
But it was never that easy. I’ve seen a multitude of different relationships go awry in my lifetime, and I have never seen any attempt to replace it with anything artificial going right.
Fleabag tried to pretend that not caring about anyone would keep her safe, because she would not be flipping any coin. But her heart still breaks when she realizes that Harry was giving up his “Hail Mary” to her, and she could not artificially push him to give her that attention she is so desperate to have anymore.
All of this left her in a self-destructive state by the end of the first season, as she grapples with the feeling of being rejected, even by her own family.
Yearning and Longing
Love is awful. It’s painful. Frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. Makes you selfish, makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair. Makes you cruel. Makes you say and do things you never thought you would do. It’s all any of us want and it’s hell when we get there. So it’s no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own.” — The Priest
The very first episode of the second season/series of the show acquainted Fleabag with the [Hot] Priest in a family dinner.
Moving forward, the Priest would be the catalyst that would birth the desire for intimacy in Fleabag. He is a subject of forbidden romance for her, and that attracts her even more. Because I think, she finds comfort in knowing that they would never be together. She finds comfort in knowing what she is pursing is doomed from the start, that it’ll just leave her feeling broken like she always is.
For once, Fleabag learns to long and yearn, even if it’s for something that may turn out to be destructive for her.
Yet as they became more acquainted, it seemed clear that the Priest became the very first person to truly see and observe Fleabag the way that she wanted, as the flawed person she is. He even notices the fourth wall breaks that Fleabag would occasionally do, even calling her out while she was doing it.
They would talk, a lot, and even once at a Catholic confessional booth, despite the fact that Fleabag is an atheist (even until the show ends). She would pour her heart and soul to her conversations with the Priest, and he in turn would listen and return pour his heart and soul in return.
All of this would finally accumulate in an intimate night between both of the characters. The Priest would also confess his attraction to Fleabag, one that he admits is more than just physical.
And yet, this would be the first time and last time where we would not be an audience to Fleabag’s intimate night, as she pushes the camera away and the screen turns black.
Finding comfort in something that is doomed from the start sounds stupid and self-destructive. Yet I understand where Fleabag is coming from, I truly do.
Because while I do not channel my need of intimacy to attention and sex like Fleabag does (I’ve yet to even hold a girl’s hand romantically haha), I share her understanding of how comforting embracing hopelessness is.
Putting in the extra mile is scary, it is tiring, it has never, and it may never work out (at least for me). It’s much easier to just give up and never have hope for any sense of real intimacy.
It’s just so much lighter to be an observer in others’ stories and life, accepting that there are just things that aren’t meant for you.
Because ultimately, I understand Fleabag’s thought of not fitting in with any of society’s standards (as I’ve said, repeatedly).
I’m physically below average. Much, much, below average than the normal person, and I stare at every single flaw that I have at the mirror every single day.
This could be the extra tooth I have, one that completely ruins my teeth’s symmetry, making my smile crooked (I have a really ugly smile). Maybe it’s my left eye that would suddenly turn into another direction if I don’t focus enough. Or it could be my hands, that would suddenly be shaking/feeling warm out of the blue.
Or perhaps it may not be something that is physically visible at all, like how I would occasionally slur when I talk, or my tone-deafness that makes me unable to sing.
All of that, and everything else I’ve yet to list in this piece.
Socially, I’m yet to have a fulfilling career. I’m still figuring out life too, like Fleabag is. And it feels like I’m surrounded by amazing human beings who have been doing well for themselves (or at least I know they will, if they have not yet), and I’m just trailing behind them.
I truly wonder, why does my friends and family think so highly of me, when I don’t really deserve any of that admiration.
This applies to trying to date too, being the only one below average in my friend groups makes me unable to apply any of their tips/advice (haha).
I think I’ve made my peace with it, really. I’ve removed any estimations of marriage from my life plan/calendar (marrying in this economy isn’t something that’s strategic to do anyway), and I think that I would have experienced at least a glimpse of intimacy by now if I’m meant to have any.
Because after all, would God have made me so defective if I’m meant to experience romance?
The very last scene of the show takes place in a bus stop, after the Priest had officiated her Father’s wedding.
They conversed, she confesses on how she has truly had feelings for him, but as she predicted, he chose God over her.
“It [the Love] will pass.” he replied.
But as he walked away, he added “I love you too”.
Fleabag cried, but it seemed like she finally accepted the situation.
And then she left us, the audience, behind in the bus stop.
“I was taught if we’re born with love, then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, it feeling right. When it feels right, it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do. Being a romantic takes a hell of a lot of hope. I think what they mean is… when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope.” — The Priest
I’ve explained above that I’ve truly accepted the fact that I’d probably never experience intimacy in the way that I want and imagine. And yet, I still believe that love is all about yearning, it’s always been about longing — that innate curiosity that pushes you to know the other person, to be able to understand them and their life, that to always wanting to hear their voice because you know you’d never get tired of hearing them talk.
I understand that it’s really just a part of what makes us humans. Scientifically, we are wired to make sure that our species survives, weren’t we?
It’s probably true that I am (to an extent) delusional, a contradictive one at that. To be a hopeless romantic that wants to experience what romance movies offers, such as finding the love of my life in an MRT, and yet being so accepting that things may never work out for me.
But I’ve also learned that life is also about choosing — to let go or to hold on — to be kind, or to be cruel.
I’ve chosen to accept that I may never get what I want, the romantic story that had been ingrained in my head since I was young, and that I should be alright with that.
I’ve also accepted that I’ll be a hopeless romantic, no matter in any phase of my life. That maybe if God allows and miracle does happen, I’ll pour my heart and soul for whoever becomes the recipient of my love and intimacy.
To answer the question I’ve thrown above, the final thesis of this piece is this: love stories are unrealistic, it is delusional, and yet I don’t really mind.
I romanticize love stories, no matter how unfeasible it is because I’m just another human, and humans are delusional to an extent, that’s just how we are.
The yearning, the longing that we feel for someone to suddenly barge in into our lives and flip it upside down will probably never pass. And I’m more than alright experiencing this feeling my entire life, if I have to.
