Why Don't You Love Me?

Love was always easy for her. In kindergarten, she greeted strangers with a warm embrace, her stick-thin arms willing to wrap around every knobbly pair of legs. Love was an emotion that flowed freely in her blood, infusing her every word with kindness; her every touch with tenderness; her every look with affection. The idea of hurting anyone was appalling to her. So she studied nursing at a local university -- local because she wanted to remain close to her parents. College life was enjoyable enough; she graduated at the top of her class, and secured a job at a tech firm. Nursing isn’t really for me, she had realized with crushing disappointment. 

Every night, she took the subway from work back to her apartment. She ordered the same salad for takeout, and made sure to ask for the dressing on the side with a most pleasant smile. Once the dressing was thrown into the trash bin, she began picking at the leaves and methodically counting her chews. Twenty, she had heard, was the optimal number of chews. 

One...two...three…

Twenty chews also gave her the optimal amount of time to think about her own fickle mind. She grinded her jaws together at the thought of her indecisiveness. 

Seven...eight...nine…

She didn’t like nursing. And why not? Where was her heart? But she didn’t like tech either. No drive, no passion, no heart. 

Thirteen...fourteen...fifteen…

She swallowed at fifteen. On second thought, twenty chews was sometimes too much. Even gnashing at spinach leaves could make her jaws incredibly sore. Twenty chews provided too much free time for her mind to attack. But it didn’t seem appropriate to cry, no matter how attacked she felt -- she had a home, and food, and even a boyfriend. Ah, the boyfriend. He was everything she dreamed of in a man. In seventh grade, she already began writing love letters to her future spouse in her diary: long, winded explanations of why she believed he was perfect. I promise to love you, she wrote over and over in her best cursive. I promise to give you my entire heart. And I hope you will love me, too. 

The boyfriend worked at her tech firm; they met when he opened the door for her one day. Their fingers had brushed, and she immediately looked down in fear that her smile looked too eager. It was her worst fear to appear frivolous, and she hated the way her cheeks reddened at unexpected moments. Yet she was able to direct her thoughts away from her own imperfections, and instead focus on the man in front of her. His eyes were much more thoughtful than her own; his cheeks were the perfect color of light-pink; his smile was enthusiastic yet subtle. She soon felt her favorite emotion rise up and ripple within her body. Love. Yes, she loved him from the moment they locked eyes. 

He was an elementary school teacher on the weekends, and she was planning on visiting his classroom over the upcoming weekend. This would be her first time meeting his students, and she considered it to be an important milestone in their relationship.  

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For the entire next week, however, her boyfriend was mysteriously absent from work. She called him every day, and finally he picked up her call with a strained voice. Relief and love were the first emotions she felt. He was alright, he was alive, and he loved her. But then she asked why he wasn’t at work, and he provided no response. She continued to coo at him and be her usual loving self, hoping to coax out a word or two. At last, he interrupted her. He said he needed to end their relationship, and then hung up. 

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She spent the day in disbelief. On the way home from work, she sat on the subway with her legs crossed. No one sat across from her--this made it painfully easy for her to see her own reflection in the dirty glass. She looked at her mangled face with utter disgust. When the subway slowed to a stop, her water bottle fell from her lap and spilled on the floor; the cap rolled underneath the adjacent seat, and water gushed out of the opening like a waterfall of tears. She picked up the water bottle and left the cap underneath the seat, deciding she didn’t deserve to drink water anyways. Once she arrived home, she threw the water bottle in the trash and drove to her takeout restaurant. A salad sounded especially nice. 

Why doesn’t he love me anymore? 

On this particular day, twenty chews was definitely far too many. She could barely get through a single chew without wanting to spit out her spinach. And she did spit it out, eventually deciding to trash the salad along with the dressing. 

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The following day was Saturday--she was supposed to meet her ex-boyfriend’s students, but she knew he wouldn’t want her there anymore. Yet something drew her there. Why doesn’t he love me anymore? She needed answers. She needed to confirm the reasons that she had already suspected, for there were countless qualities that made her unlovable. Upon arriving at the school campus, she noticed his car was not yet there. But there were plenty of parked cars. Children were stepping out of vehicles and kissing their mothers goodbye, and they walked in herds towards the hallways of the school. One child began walking towards her alone. He was a little boy, much smaller than his other classmates. He walked all the way up to her, and wrapped his arms around her kneecaps. 

Are you the new teacher? He asked, voice muffled. You must be, because our old teacher left. She stood still, and he continued to hug her. 

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Up until that day, she had been a stranger to herself. She had fallen in love with every new person she met, all while continuing to hate herself. She had cowered at the sight of her own reflection, and deprived herself of the food that sustained her mind. She despised her fickle mind, even though it granted her the spontaneity that many secretly envied. But when the child hugged her, she had felt fear--the fear that this child would grow up to be like her. She worried he would pour out all the love in his bloodstream, with not enough left for himself. And so she fell in love with herself. Her imperfections remained imperfect, but she owed her mind and body an apology. It seemed that nothing could make up for the years of self-sabotage. She woke up every day with a desire to continue seeking the goodness in life, just like she always had. But out of all the hearts to love, she chose her own.