I’ve been a believer of this phrase for the longest time. Not just Boys in Books, but Boys in Movies too…definitely. And I guess this is the reason why I didn’t have a boyfriend for the longest time. Books and movies make us want what we read or see. They make us think, “I want a relationship like that…” or, “I want a boyfriend like him…” et cetera. They tend to make us weave a certain ideal or fantasy: this is what I want, this is what I need, this is what I deserve.
Case(s) in point:
When I watched A Walk To Remember, I wanted a guy who would name a star for me. Someone who would change for me. Someone who’s clever enough to bring me in two places at once. (Damn you, Landon Carter!)
When I read Harry Potter, I wanted a wizard for a boyfriend. (What the heck, I wanted to be a witch too.)
When I read Twilight, I wanted Edward Cullen. (Any vampire who doesn’t feed on humans will do. And he should be good looking enough to make my panties drop. Teren Adams of Conversion series will definitely do.)
When I read The Hunger Games, I wanted someone like Peeta. Sweet, caring, selfless.
When I read The Fault In Our Stars, I wanted Augustus Waters. Someone who’s intelligent and witty. (But healthy enough thankyouverymuch.)
When I read Fifty Shades of Grey…well, tell me who didn’t want a Christian Grey of their own! I didn’t even care that he’s practically CRAZY. Ha ha ha.
When I read Thoughtless and Effortless, I wanted someone who would leave me little notes whenever he’s away just so I would feel his presence every single day. (And hot sex in the bathroom FTW.)
When I watched The Notebook, I wanted someone like Noah Calhoun. Someone who would never give up on me, someone who would stay until we’re old and gray. (And mainly because Ryan Gosling played the role.)
When I read The Iron Fey Series, I wanted someone like Ash. Someone who’s willing to get a soul and let go of his immortality just to be with the girl he loves.
When I read The Mortal Instruments, I wanted someone like Jace. Someone who loves me to the point that I’m the center of his universe, to the point that he doesn’t even care that we’re siblings. (I know, it’s sick. But don’t worry, he and Clary are not really siblings so it’s not that gross at all.) Also, he’s smart, witty, and brave. And hot. I think.
Anyway, enough with the examples, as I’m beginning to sound like a pervert already.
I guess what I’m trying to say is (and I’m starting to think I don’t make any sense), it’s always better to have someone real beside you. Being in love with a fictional character could be frustrating, but most girls turn to fictional characters because we’ve encountered so many jerks and assholes already, that we seek respite in our own woven fantasies.
We seek the idea of the perfect man who would make us happy. Well, for me at least, that’s what I thought back then. I was disillusioned, and for some reason, these fictional characters gave me hope.
Now I’ve got someone who’s just a man (not a vampire nor a werewolf, not even Ryan Gosling) but he’s intelligent, sweet, and caring. He’s no Landon Carter— I know he can’t name a star for me, and he won’t let me get a tattoo even if I beg him to. But he’s the kind of guy who spends his whole day making origami owls and tucking little notes with clues on their tiny beaks, hiding these owls all over the subdivision, and then sets me off at night for a hunt to find the Christmas treasures he had carefully hidden.
Good things come to those who wait, indeed.