When my first proper "boyfriend" told me that he loved me, I was e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y spooked out. I'm pretty sure that my response was "thank you, it's nice you feel that way." When another boyfriend told me that I had "child-bearing hips" (I kid you not) and that we should start thinking about our future, I couldn't help but wonder, what future?
When I finally left home to start traveling, I realized that what I actually wanted to spend my life doing was trying to find a place that made me feel at home enough to stay. At the same time, my school friends were all getting pregnant and engaged - even my old best friend who I'd made a pact with at the age of 11 to marry if we were still single three decades later.
Over the years, I started to realize that maybe love isn't too bad after all. Unfortunately, I started to believe this just as I began dating a guy who was incredibly intense - I'm pretty sure we ended up bordering on obsession with each other.
However, it all ended rather abruptly when he unveiled his grand plans to shoot out the kneecaps of several people he didn't like, and I realized the whole thing was probably a lot more toxic than it should have been.
At the same time as all of this was going on, I continued to read the hundreds of books that I had managed to acquire (I think the count currently stands at around 480). I loved the idea of the type of love that was portrayed in them, where there was no toxicity and absolutely nothing except pure, unadulterated love. Stories of hope and adoration would be my go-to, but encountering loved-up couples in real life had me scoffing.
Surely, no one outside of the fictional world could actually sustain a love like this.
That was all until I fell in love in Budapest. I flew to the capital of Hungary with a guy that I had only known for two days (not going to lie, it wasn't the safest thing I've ever done), and we had the most incredible time. It was the sort of adventure that leaves you tossing and turning in bed for nights after arriving home, desperately trying to dream yourself back there.
Over time, this guy and I started to see each other more and more often, but it was quite difficult considering I lived in Wales and he in England. Regardless, we managed to spend at least 30 percent of our time together, and things were so intense and perfect that it all happened so fast.
We talked about marriage and our futures, and he bought me a promise ring to seal the deal. I felt so, so, in love, and my loved-up friends were all way too happy to smugly tell me, "I told you so." Everything was going flawlessly... until I had to leave for three months in Spain.
We had talked prior about how we each wanted to spend our lives. I want to travel the world and live a life of great adventures. He wanted a house in South Wales and a family. We weren't the most compatible, but I figured it would be worth it to try and make it all work. Eventually, however, things crashed and burned, and he felt he had to end it before I had even returned from my trip.
Maybe it was for the best. After all, I was next set to go to Canada for four months.
I lived for a while in Madrid, and it was the most incredible thing. I was in a gorgeous country, had a solid group of new friends and even found myself going on dates with this one other guy. Having just learnt that I was actually capable of love, I was actually pretty ready to jump back in and get that whole fuzzy feeling back again. He seemed pretty awesome as well. He wanted to be a traveler, just like I did.
The only problem was that he was leaving for New York.
Honestly, I was pretty devastated.
Eventually, I had to return to Wales. "I had my heart broken too once," said my taxi driver one evening. "And I've vowed to never let myself vulnerable enough again to let this happen." Sounding proud of her accomplishment, I started to feel quite sorry for her. So what, I'd gotten myself burnt once or twice? But to never feel love again and end up settling down with a man that I didn't even like, such as she had done, was the last thing I wanted to do.
I couldn't help thinking though - what was the point in getting attached to people and places, when in the end you would just have to leave? I started to think that maybe I didn't want to live my life getting heartbroken on a weekly basis. It hurt too much to begin to fall for a person deeply, and then have to tear yourself brutally away from it. I didn't think myself strong enough to be able to cope with the constant heartbreak.
I went back to the casual dating, until I realized how little meaning it all now held. For the first time in forever I wanted to stop wasting my time, and instead, discover for myself that home didn't have to be a place, but a person.
Traveling the world solo left me hungry for more, and I started to really crave a travel buddy that I could share adventures, bills and memories with on the road. I wanted that person to stick by my side forever, and eventually own a little house together in Bali, bordered by a waterfall canopy.
After all of this I've come to learn that I want to continue to leave myself vulnerable to falling in love. As I travel, I want to have a heart open enough to let in new people in new countries. Honestly, I think that a small part of me still hopes that one day, whoever it is won't have to watch me leave.
Instead, they'll leave with me.
