(Author’s note: Edited again. Somewhere. Yes, I am indecisive. :)

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The word boyfriend has lost its meaning for me. What seemed to have been a dream come true with its obligatory white horse and shiny armour seems to get more and more elusive each day, just like the magic kingdom that every visitor can see but may never touch.

It is not to say that Mr. Prince Charming is a lie. After years of growing up with Disney Princesses and Sailor Soldiers, reading Cleo, CosmoGirl!, Women’s Weekly, and Seventeen more media propagation that did wonders to my almost non-existent self-esteem for as long as my innocence stayed in Sweet Valley, I have come to realize that he is more than just business and world domination media control of Hallmark and whatnot. For an idea to exist, surely something must have happened before. Cause and effect; yin and yang. To deny the existence of that very thing everyone else has been flaunting is just that: Denial.

Is this an article from a former wishy-washy romantic gone bitter hag due to a nevernon-existent sex life? Not quite. I had boyfriends before. “Serious” ones, if I may add. Boyfriends who worshiped my existence for its sensuality, exclusivity, comfort, novelty, excitement…

…and I had non-”boyfriends” who did the same thing. Boyfriends who did not want an official, exclusive relationship “at the moment”. And I played along, assuming that our understanding and respect was mutual, which worked out for a good bit. Let’s not go there right now.

And the more scandalous bit: I had other people’s “boyfriends” who shared what felt to be a more…fulfilling relationship (friendship and/or otherwise) with me than with their supposed “girlfriends”.

What’s going on here?

Hence, three years ago, there came my first inkling of doubt towards the sanctity of the very notion of having a “spouse” or a “significant other” under the alias of “boyfriend/girlfriend”.

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Furthermore, Hollywood is no help. The moment the spotlight is on that single good-looker, regardless of how pathetic or how much of a jerk he will be to the main character, anyone sensitive enough would recognize the upcoming happily ever after. Even if he gratefully dies in a train wreck in the end, you can tell that she has found The One, no doubt.

They always make it seem like they’re the one and only. “Soulmates”. Bah, almost no resemblance to real life.

Lucky bastards. Moments like this makes me wonder what the hell happened to my own stage camera.

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You must be wondering where I am going with this. After about 5 official boyfriends, 12 half-assed whirlwind romance and a number of romantic interludes I do not intend to recall, I have come to realize the futility of believing in a real Romeo. Not the kind who only knows the right sonnets, songs, and consolations at the right time and place, nor the kind who calls you often enough just because they know you care enough, but the ones who do not feel their cold feet as they stride to catch each of your fall.

Regardless of your reasons; even if the excuse is not their horny loving arms.

Especially those who know that you would do the same for them. From the start.

After all, let’s face it: We still live in that faraway place of dungeons and dragons, witches and warlocks, with damsels in distress stuck in ivory towers of abandoned castles, even though we may think that all of this happened once upon a time, a long long time ago. For if we don’t, why do we still speak so much about the ideal date, the ideal wedding, or the ideal partner then? Why is Disney still capable of milking more moolah using morbid improvised fairytales after bygone years?

The way I see it, what is missing from the real picture is the good knights, shining armours or not. Many of them seemed to be so used to making peace in their kingdoms of comfort zones that when their inner demons came out to play, they ran and hide like a boy, instead of confronting them like a man should have, leaving the womanly princess behind.

It became hard for the princess to seek for them again. She became vulnerable, eventually bitter, with a grudge.

Perhaps, she should not have let go so quickly, so trustingly. If only because they seemed to sincerely promise to catch her fall, indirectly or not.

And then she feels the blame.

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Once upon a time, my life was a fairytale, a romantic comedy, a chick flick.

I wonder when my time will come again……for good.

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I wish I didn’t like watching girly shits this much. Damn those 27 dresses.