The chill guy epidemic

or the death of yearners

I have recently met someone who now possesses every part of my being, every movement of my soul. A sweet cloud over the blinding light that has been this year. It truly is when you least expect it that love walks into your life. It is cliché, I’m aware. But even I never thought I would be granted mercy in the form of a lover. And yet I have. I have met my Darcy, and I love him most ardently.

Beyond all the wonderfulness my boyfriend has brought me, he also made me realize how used to nonchalant men I had become. Somehow, I would settle for the bare minimum, thinking that asking for more would have been too demanding.

But like a puzzle piece that has found its match, I have found a soul that recognizes the depth of mine. And like two birds on a wire, I don’t even need to verbalize anything, for he sees through me like glass.

Since I was 15, I have been convinced that I am undeserving of any form of love, and that I am too hard to handle. Where might this belief come from? Perhaps it was my dad sending me back to my room in the dead of night, after waking him up, shaking from a panic attack. Or maybe it was my ex-best friend saying I was too much, needed too much, cared too much.

Throughout my teenage years, I internalized the fact that men would never put up with me. Ever. So, I might as well accept the tiniest bit of affection they had to offer. I couldn’t afford to be picky.

I would chase the tiniest form of recognition from men, whether it was a like on my story, eye contact, or even just a compliment. In some way, I fell victim to the “chill guy” epidemic.

Men seem to frown upon any form of depth in their relationships. This “nonchalant” curse has bewitched many generations, including my brother’s. They don’t respond to your texts, they ignore you when they’re with friends, they ask to “hang out”, not to take you out on a date. No flowers, no hugs, no hand holding. No care in the world for your feelings, your thoughts, your comfort.

Just them, their needs, their d!ck.

To a certain extent, I think I found comfort in it. I had to. So have had a lot of women. But deep down, I longed to be pursued. To be yearned, thought of, and obsessed over. To be loved, not lusted after.

In fact, I have gotten so used to receiving the bare minimum that I find myself tearing up over the tiniest forms of affection my boyfriend demonstrates.

Knocking at my door randomly because I’ve been struggling, bringing me a soda can from the store after going grocery shopping, asking if it bothers me that he rests his hand there, or there.

Answering every single reel I send him. Pausing the movie to talk when something is bothering me. Asking about my day, how I slept, and how I’m feeling.

And saying he loves me. Over and over again. Hugging me in public with no shame in the world. Proudly declaring that I am his. Kissing my scars, wiping my tears. Never judging, never bored, never complaining. Simply there, waiting, reassuring.

My heart stings a little every time I feel relief from something he says or does. Like “thank heavens, I am safe.” Because truly, I shouldn’t be moved by this showing of emotions from another human being.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that the man who claims to love me would be so concerned with my well-being. But it is. Although I have found a rare seed in this generation’s ocean of rotten fruits, I have bitten into spoiled flesh many times. Enough times to forget the taste of being loved.

It shouldn’t be a green flag that a man cares about you and shows it. It ought to be standard, yet I receive every ounce of his affection like a god given solace.

Men have been taught to hide their feelings, push them under the rug, and wait for the maid to clean it up. But there is nothing sweeter than uncovering the sensitivity of the boy you love. No greater gift in this world than to feel the warmth of his desire, the depths of his passion.

So I shall nurture this display of emotions, care for it as I would a blooming flower. Because in a world of shallow men, I have found that authenticity and pure adoration still exist. You just need to stop settling for a glimpse of sunshine and instead turn your gaze to the bright, glistening moon, unafraid to shine its light upon you.