Wasted love
Mr. X was my celebrity crush. I was deeply in love with him. For years. So really in love. I woke up every morning with my thoughts on him and went to bed at night with him in my head. This love had grown to a part of me. As if it had always been there. In such a way that I had already forgotten how, when, where and why all this had begun.
I was so really high, as if I had a precious treasure with me, which belonged alone to me and about which nobody knows and nobody could take it away from me. But that was not the case, because apparently I was not the only one!
Millions of girls and women were in love with Mr. X. Yes, in my Mr. X! Every day I watched all his appearances on the Internet, watched his interviews on Youtube, checked out the numerous fan accounts on the social networks created by the fans, and read the thousands of comments and declarations of love that the fans wrote under Mr.X’s fotos. And I was one of them! … At least at the beginning … because then I stopped writing comments myself, but I was just content to give likes from time to time. At the end I also stopped with the likes.
The thought “I am only one of millions, I am one of them” made me so sick that I started to think. Of course I am not one of them. My intelligence was far ahead. Nevertheless, I could not give up my love for Mr. X overnight.
That ridiculous stupid love! It was stupid because it wasn’t reciprocated at all and never, never will it be reciprocated like you loved. It was ridiculous because you keep believing that some miracle is about to happen, that you will meet him in a miraculous way and he would fall in love with you at first sight, while you hear the voice of your rationality: “Mr. X would never never fall in love as you loved him. Even though you know in the back of your mind that he doesn’t even have the slightest idea of your existence.”
Years later, when I had managed to achieve a certain rank in this “celebrity” society through my writings and was invited to Ellen De Generes show, Ellen also played her famous “surprise game” with me, with nobody but Mr.X! After a formal greeting we both took a seat next to each other on Ellen’s couch. I wasn’t beside myself. It was so frightening how I felt so normal and “apathetical”. I didn’t feel anything at all, nothing, no clue of the excitement and hot love I felt and suffered for the man next to me for 6 years of my life. I just sat there silently next to him, and I didn’t even feel like using my energy to turn my face to his and look him in the face.
I only had a bitter taste in my mouth, because at that moment when I was sitting next to him, Mr. X, the man who once had robbed my whole heart and mind, the man whom I had so much to say at that time, more than a whole world, I realized the truth that I didn’t know him at all, that I was in love all those years only with my vision, with my imagination of him, with his pictures, with a piece of paper, with an electronic representation of his face. That put me in a brutal indifference towards him. I was speechless, not because of the enthusiasm or excitement of finally meeting him in person but because of the enormous emptiness I felt.
Even when Ellen asked me amusingly what I had to say or ask Mr.X, I reacted very briefly, coldly, and absently. Because a whole honest answer would be inappropriate for a show like Ellen’s. In my head I was already ready, but decided to remain silent just because of respect for myself. The answer in my head that I did not pronounce was:
Dear Mr X: There was times I wanted to know who you are. I’ve taken all sorts of ways and tried things I’d rather not report here, just to get the answer. I know you much better than most people on this planet, I’ve been so preoccupied with you for years, more precisely, with what had come into my hands from you, pictures, books, stories, interviews, from the articles that you yourself do not know about. For years I have followed you on your travels around the globe (through the social networks). But all these are just one side of the paper. The good side of paper which is presented to the public. What I was striving for is the other side of paper, the true side, which might seem less attractive than the public side. Since the question is about the private side – the side nobody knows – I don’t even know what I really wanted anymore, and I don’t know what to say to you. I’d keep silent here, out of respect for myself, because I deserve the respect by respecting you and keeping silent here.
blah blah blah… Actually, I wouldn’t have anything to say to Mr. X because at that moment I realized that my intellect was far ahead of his.
Yeah. We fall in love with celebrities without knowing who they are in reality. We fall in love with a product in a pretty package. Most of them are not intelligent themselves, but only the product of creativity and the result of intelligence of other people. Made by directors, by songwriters, by screenwriters, by make-up artists, by choreographers, … That’s the reason why most of them have nothing much to say, at least not much about their own creativities.
And this here is just another more proof that “love makes you blind”, or better expressed with my own words: “love makes you stupid”.
By Niki Nazemi