If I had to simplify my view on love, relationships and everything in between, then I would say that I’m a hopeless romantic. Yes, you may see me cringe at a couple’s public display of affection, or hesitate over attempting to flirt, but you can just as easily catch me at the cinema bawling over a couple that isn’t even real.

 

In secondary school, I had a fair few crushes. Some were attainable, some unattainable, and some fictional. But I never made moves, even on the real ones. I never ‘grafted,’ as a Love Islander would say. Why didn’t I ‘graft’? What is there to lose by telling someone you like them? Well, to secondary school me, everything: confidence, self-esteem, and, as I believed, respect from fellow classmates. Would anyone have cared if I asked someone out? Probably not. Regardless, it was just out of the question in my little brain.

 

Fast forward to college. New people, new circles, new friends to be made. That was my priority in my first year – to meet as many students from all over Ireland and the world as possible and to make some memories. I did just that, but in between the friendships, there have been ‘things.’ ‘Things,’ yes, because, even as an English literature student, I can’t think of a better word. Friends of mine have flown from relationship to relationship, labels ablaze, while I remained either single, or responded, ‘I don’t know,’ to their probing questions.

 

You see, I still don’t make moves – I always thought to myself, ‘Sure, when I see someone I like, the bravery to ask them out will just come to me.’ But, I’m yet to have any luck in that regard. I think the main reason I was – and still am – nervous to do such a thing is not only the fear of making a fool of myself, but also the fear of losing a friend. It’s also why I don’t have any dating apps – I’m not against them, but diving right into the getting-to-know-someone formalities with a stranger from the internet is just too much pressure for me to handle.

 

So, I’d wander into different friendship circles, identify a potential love interest, but, then, brush it to the side. Until, as astonishing as the concept was to me, someone I liked made moves on me. I don’t mean your traditional shenanigans of night-out culture – I mean someone, over time, whether days, weeks, or months, would talk  to me to make an effort to get to know me. This method predominantly took place over social media, but it would always be so subtle and in between banter and ‘flanter,’ that I would never be one-hundred-percent certain that there was interest there. This famous ‘talking stage’ takes the crown for being the most common stage I’d find myself in other than single.

 

At some point however, whether over Snapchat, or to my face whilst hanging out, hey presto! – the boy would tell me that they liked me. Even if I had previously picked up on tiny hints and made guesses at what their words and phrases meant, I would still be shocked at their revelation, before telling them, as awkwardly as ever, that I liked them back.

 

 After the revelation typically began the ‘dating’ phase. The meeting up, the hanging out, the getting food and vibing stage, but without either of us labelling what we were to each other. The things which were a thing, nothing more, which eventually died down. The online conversations dwindled, and the plans faded.

 

For the rest of my college career, I was meant to be in New York. Yes, New York, the centre of cheesy 2000s rom-coms about sassy female journalists clashing with witty, big-name business men, who eventually fall in love. I was ready to meet even more people and make even more memories, and, possibly, gain enough courage to put myself out there and seek my own witty love interest, rather than sit idly by. Just the thought of asking someone out successfully, and going on dates in Central Park, to a Broadway show, or on a rooftop gazing at the famous skyline sends shivers down my spine. But, alas, New York was not meant to be this year – I’m sure we all know why… 

 

I’m in Dublin for the foreseeable future, and I’ve no real desire to ‘get out there’  – whether on a dating app, or in the wild world of Covid-19 Ireland. Despite having visited there, I think I’ve over-romanticised New York; thinking that, when there, I’d suddenly become a new woman who’s daring enough to risk everything for love – like the Hollywood characters always do. I’ve come to realise, however, that I wouldn’t change just because of a new environment; I’d still be goofy Jane, who ponders quietly to herself over whether or not a particular guy likes her.  I’m okay with that. My life isn’t a film, so finding love is never going to be easy. It’ll still be exciting for me; not exciting like a dramatic roller coaster, but rather like a casual car journey, during which I might hesitate to indicate right or left, or make wrong turns, but will eventually reach the destination.

 

For me, there’s no rush, panic, or hype over getting into a relationship – as much as I fangirl about couples in New Girl, Star Wars and Disney films. At least, there isn’t a rush right now: I am only 20.