Unapologetically pink!

Historical romances with happy endings, 

Princesses, ballrooms, and dukes condescending, 

Movies from Disney, books with covers pink, 

These are a few of my favorite things!

There, I said it. I have an ever-growing romance with love stories, a romance which I’m rather coy about, a romance which I suspect is too superfluous for me, a romance whose extent I try to keep under wraps – and treat as a guilty pleasure.

It all started when I turned four and firmly toppled in love with Disney movies. I figure one is expected to leave behind the wide-eyed idealism and belief in the power of Twue Wuv after a certain stage (moody and misunderstood teenage seems about the right stage for that). While I like to think I’m a little more worldly-wise and cynical now, I can’t deny that a big part of me still lives in the world of make-believe.

Eventually I started getting my daily dose of Happy Endings from romcoms and romance novels (there are only a finite number of Disney movies after all). But I’ve always felt that loving love isn’t something I should be too vocal about – when people ask me what I like, I usually prattle off a list of books and authors carefully chosen from other genres, but it takes a lot more guts to ‘fess up to my addiction to romance. My reasoning being that I’m a smart well-educated scientist being trained to deal with facts, logic, and rational thought, and I ought to be reading deeper and more meaningful literature about life, the universe, and everything – real people, problems, and issues at hand as compared to the romance genre, which has no great literary plot devices, is rather frivolous and ANY person can read and understand. Romance has become my ultimate secret indulgence.

But you know what? All that ends right now. The truth is: I don’t love romance in spite of being a rational scientist, but because I am a rational scientist. Because I’m supposed to deal with cold hard facts, believe only what is tangible and quantifiable, reason out conclusions based in logic and critical analysis … perhaps my profession is all the more reason to seek escape is frivolous romance with its unrealistic tales of impulsive (and frankly, implausible) courage, perfectly imperfect protagonists and guaranteed happy endings.

And yes, it’s not just the unrealistically wonderful parts which I love but also the seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Something bewildering, a feeling of hopelessness, of pain which keeps the female lead struggling for several chapters. While that makes me ache, it reminds me that problems exist, no matter what universe one inhabits. And even that is satisfying because I know that somehow the power of love will overcome it all. There’s a sense of reassurance that if right now your life is going through hardships, if it’s not making you laugh and smile and joyful to the brim … well, that’s because your story is still going on. These are your Seemingly Insurmountable Obstacles to overcome, and with time, effort, and determination borne of love or revenge or just a burning desire to prove oneself – you will reach your Happy Ending.

So yes, since this is the month of love, I figured I’d jump onto the bandwagon and proclaim mine: love stories, my love for love stories, and ultimately self-acceptance and love. To accept the person I am, accept the silly frivolous side of me along with the rational one, and to love myself, just the way I am. To stop worrying and over-analyzing the kind of person I ought to be, the kind of things I should be interested in – to cut myself some slack and live the way I want to, love the way I want to. I’m pretty certain self-acceptance is the right step on the path to my happily ever after. I’ll make sure of that.