Dear Introverts, You Won’t Find “Him” Sitting On Your Couch
You won’t find him at your doorstep either. Unless you’re waiting for the delivery guy to ask you out to dinner sometime (which won’t be so bad). Except, you don’t want the delivery guy.
So, you tuck yourself in bed, spend your valuable hours Netflix and chilling, creating avatars and unrealistic ideologies of your “type” of men. Men birthed from the lust-driven fantasies of Jason Momoa, Dwayne Johnson, Brad Pitt, Will Smith, Idris Elba, Ric Hassani, Chris Brown, Usher, Jason Derulo & the internet likes.
You surf through the net and comment “God when” on every cute couple post you see. You throw love emojis on every romantic picture like a jobless koala. Who would blame you? You love love but you’re not ready to go find it. You have pictures of different couples you don’t even know. You’re saving them for a picture concept recreation when you get a man. You will pepper dem when the time comes. You even took on Tiwa Savage’s “Somebody’s Son” viral dance challenge. Afterall, you’re a hopeless romantic. You won’t give up. Somebody’s son will indeed find you. Okay oh.
Jane just got engaged. Thelma is dating the man of her dreams. Annabel is married. You tell yourself they were lucky to meet these men. You’re genuinely happy for them but somewhere deep down, you’re questioning yourself, your worth. Every Saturday, someone you know is walking down the aisle. Every Saturday, you’re tucked in bed, eating ice cream, binge watching Titanic, The Notebook or The Fault In Our Stars and crying afterwards. When will this love find you?
You tell everyone you’re unavailable. Ahhh. I Can’t come out. Too busy. Lunch meetings. Too tired. Workload. Hectic hours. Sick. Cramps. Migraine. You always have an excuse to stay away, to stay indoors. The whole idea of going out repulses you. Your ideal man would love you just as you are, no questions asked. You believe that with all your soul. Why wouldn’t they? You’re an amazing person. You’re ready to meet him, the man of your dreams, as long as they don’t want to skype or to see you physically.
You loved 2020. The year of the pandemic. You felt alive, free and wanton. You didn’t need an excuse to sit at home or lie about why you wouldn’t be able to meet up. Everyone was online. Everything was online. You could wear your pajamas all day. No big deal. Nobody could care less. You could be a nudist if you wanted. Nobody to judge you. In all honesty, you didn’t want it to end. The reality of facing people again sucked real bad. If there was a way to order a man online, you’d have done that aeons ago. Alas, everyone was in love, everyone except you.
Now, you’re staring at Dexter, wagging his flurry tail at Sasha. Goodness, even dogs were in love! With Dexter’s relentless determination, they’d have little Dexters and Sashas littered all over in no distant time. You look at your phone again. Thelma just sent you a lovey dovey picture to spite you. You send her a text right back…
“Thunder Fire You”
“Go out sometime. You’re not a prisoner” she replies. You grit your teeth in exhaustion.
“Who said I was?” You text back.
“Then why are you indoors on a Friday night?”
You try to recall the last time you went out – on a date, to a party, a picnic, casual hang out, clubbing or even for a walk. Nothing! The last guy you dated only lasted a few weeks. He called you a dead flower. He probably said a few hurtful things, including the apparent truth, that you would die single, with a hundred dogs. You sent him a “Hahaha. Go and die!” to end the wobbly relationship. You would definitely have the last laugh. If he couldn’t see how amazing you are, that was his loss.
“GET OFF THAT FREAKING COUCH BITCH!.
It was a call this time and you had picked it.
“Thelma, can you stop? I said I’m fine. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want any matchmaking of any sort. This love thing is not for me abeg. Let everybody rest.”
“How do you plan to do it?” She asked.
“Do what?” You reply.
You sigh in exhaustion.
“He’s meant to find me and not the other way around. What’s meant for me will come to me.”
There was a little silence, followed by a loud hiss. Thelma wasn’t impressed to say the least.
“Whoever told you that bullshit doesn’t like you or want the best for you baby girl. Nobody, I repeat, nobody will find you like this. You imprison yourself in that dungeon you call an apartment. Netflix should put a ring on that finger of yours because you spend all your time with them. They probably know you better than anyone else…”
“Thelma you don’t understand…”
She cuts you off, visibly irritated.
“Let me finish. You will listen to me and everything I have to say. Someone has to talk some sense into your big head. Get off that stupid couch and out of that stupid house! Love yourself by helping yourself. You have the wildest imagination about your dream man. Well, guess what? That’s all he’ll ever be, your imagination. If you think a man would see all your qualities and virtues from afar, you’re wrong. He doesn’t have infrared vision. He can’t see through walls!. These men don’t know that you exist because you actually don’t!. Get a life Temilade! Go out. Meet people. Attend weddings. Go on dates. Nobody has a knife to your throat. You have to make that step first. Put yourself out there. You won’t die!”
You stand there, rooted, her words playing back in your head. No one could rip your heart out like Thelma. Absolutely no one. She was unapologetic. Take it or take it. Your phone beep and you swipe the screen.
“Everyone deserves love. Even Introverts too. You won’t find him sitting on your couch”