While my jaunt to the digital marketplace of so-called romance may have been fleeting (and fruitless), it was rather a curious journey. Although, one I categorically refuse to take again. However, it was interesting – and perhaps largely telling of a much wider and profoundly sadder issue – but, while these modern men about town aim to present themselves as a paradox wrapped in an enigma for us to giddily swipe right on, they’re not really bringing much to the table, are they, really?
There’s power in solitude, believe me.
Don’t get me wrong, I understand that connection with others is equally important in weaving the golden threads of a good life – laughter with friends, the quiet comfort of being in a loved one’s presence – they’re vital. But with the relentless pursuit of external connection and validation perpetually purported to be our saviour, I firmly believe that we’re losing sight of the importance of connecting with ourselves.
On female rage…
Yes, we are feminine; we are the shelter from the storm, but rest assured: we are also the fucking storm. We are the gathering clouds, exhausted from years of quiet observations, comments, patronising, subtle, persistent moments of being undervalued; the patriarchal pronouncements, the dismissals, the undercurrent of doubt that threatens to shroud us in perpetual shade.
Will this work?
We are all, after all, delicate creatures of routine and solitude, and new connections demand a shift; a recalibration of what is familiar to us. And that in itself can be scary; vulnerability requires connection, after all, so we’re immediately on edge – assessing.