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| Artcard by Samantha Viray |
Treading the familiar streets with a heavy heart has always been the most common thing I experience every February. The usual busy streets are much busier with twice the crowd. The overpowering scent of flowers and sweet perfumes, and boisterous sounds of love songs, emanate around the place. A much younger me would be a lot more annoyed by things like this, but now that I am much older, I have learned that there are far more important things than being sulky because I do not have someone special in my life.
But at times, I am given the chance to relax and reflect on my life, which is rare, given that I am close to opening a chapter of actual adulthood. I can not help but feel sad when it comes to my experiences with romance. I do admit that I am not one of those people who are conventionally attractive, nor have that striking charm or unique personality. I am what most people would mostly consider average, someone who just… exists. People do not double-take when I pass by, nor do they whip their heads when I enter the room, and I know what that looks like. Being friends with people who light up the room, I know when someone’s company is genuinely enjoyed and exhausted. I know how they look at my friends in awe, whether it's because of their looks or personality.
And none of these were thrown my way ever, if ever there was, because it was out of necessity. I have always been the insignificant one when it comes to romance, the not chosen, last option, least favorite, backburner; a chopped liver. The one people bat an eye at when there is nothing to look at anymore, but when their initial prospects are around, you are like air to them.
“What am I, chopped liver?” is an expression that often exhibits annoyance over the feeling of being unimportant or unappreciated. When you are the chopped liver, you live most of your life in the shadows; you are the director, not the actors on the stage. You are the fashion designer, not the model; you are the bridesmaid, not the bride. Though all of these people in the shadows do have a purpose, they remain in the shadows, helping the others shine brightly in the spotlight. In these moments, I cannot help but wonder, when will it be my time to have the limelight face my way? Do I have to chase it, as it finds another person to shine on? Do I have to prove myself to the spotlight that I am worthy to be shone on?
But then maybe the spotlight isn’t the issue, because even if I present myself on the stage, the audience still looks elsewhere as if I were hollow and transparent—not even considered as one of the options because I am not their type. Yet I continue performing, even if I show ridiculous acts, but still nothing from the people.
Though this may not be a show, and there is no stage in actuality, I could hope that amongst the unentertained mass of audience, at least one of them watches earnestly and enjoys, no matter how silly I would have looked. Even if I do not know who they are just yet, it is more than enough to know that someone is watching.
