The Lovergirl Arc.

Dating guys is embarrassing. You put yourself out there, you bare your soul, tell them you miss them back—only for them to turn around and disappoint you.

So, if I’m going to suffer secondhand embarrassment from my friends’ dating horror stories and oh my god my own too, I might as well make sure mine are at least entertaining. And luckily for you, I’m a lovergirl through and through. One minute I’m hopelessly romanticising a fleeting glance on foreign land; the next, I’m giving myself a reality check—is love just an elaborate scam?

Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging.

Love has definitely been a series of phases for me. All the chance encounters, the deep connections and a constant redefinition of what love actually means to me. I’ve always been drawn to love that feels larger than life. I just love that cinematic stuff; and it really does just happen to me. I love that kind of love that imprints itself onto places, scents, music. I mean if you’ve read my Substack, you already know this.

Whether it was running drunk through the neon-lit streets of Hong Kong for the eighth time that year or receiving my favourite flowers on day two in Bangladesh or sharing a bowl of Jjajangmyeon at the cutest 7/11 in South Korea facing the beach—because nothing says romance like convenience store noodles with a view. I think I’ve always treated love as an extension of an adventure.

I never just fell for the dudes, I fell for the cities, the stories and the way love can take the most mundane moments and sprinkle in just enough magic and it’ll feel rather amazing. 

It’s funny, in a way I was never allowed to watch princess movies or Disney films growing up. My parents were strict about shielding me from the idolisation of romance, the illusion of what love is supposed to be. But they had their own secret language, constantly doing romantic things for each other. 

So, of course, in a plot twist I definitely didn’t see coming, I grew up to be someone who wholeheartedly believes in magic. Grand gestures? Love them. Serendipitous, right-place-right-time moments? I eat that shit up, it happens to me all the time. A whirlwind romance in a foreign country? Say less.

Maybe it’s rebellion, maybe it’s destiny I don’t know but honestly? It’s just so much fun. I documented every touch, every glance, every ridiculous date.

But that's the thing, I keep calling it love, even though deep down, I know it probably wasn’t. It was intensity. It was magic. It was moments strung together like scenes from a film. But love? Maybe that’s something else entirely. Because love or whatever it’s called, as it sometimes does, fades. It unravels and when it ends, I can’t help but wonder—was any of it ever real?

Somewhere in my mid 20s, my understanding of love began to shift. I learned that love isn’t just about those intoxicating, all-consuming beginnings. It’s about what lasts, what remains really.

A friend and one of my favourite people ever gave me some of the best advice last year. He said, "People live as memories in our minds and perhaps our first encounters are absolutely amazing. But the way life works and I believe the way life should work, is we get judged by how we consistently show up in each other's lives, not how we showed up at one particular point in time. And for me, unfortunately, that's the test that he failed.” Just my brothers handing out report cards. 

There were times I mistook intensity for longevity. If something burned bright enough to blind me, surely it had to be bigger than us right? Wrong. Turns out, sometimes a sparkler is literally just that. Eight seconds of entertainment. 

Zanzi guy was one of those lessons. The moonlit swims, the champagne toasts, it all felt like a movie montage leading up to something quite monumental. But when we met again months later, the illusion crumbled and suddenly, it was giving trash limited series, a 4/10 rating and not this epic novel. And that, I realised, was part of my journey as a lovergirl, learning to distinguish between love that lasts and something that’s just a holiday romance? 

Because that’s the thing about love (or whatever I insist on calling love)—it finds a way to turn even the most familiar places into something new. Am I deluding myself again? Because everything about first encounters are so lovely. 

My friend from Oman, who’s married, shared something quite pivotal with me a couple of weeks ago, something from my faith that I had forgotten. It was a passage that goes:

"And among His signs is that He created for you spouses from among yourselves so that you may find tranquility in them; and He has placed between you love and mercy. Indeed, in that are signs for people who reflect." (Qur'an 30:21) Hearing it again felt like a reminder of what love is truly meant to be, a place of peace and happiness but also work.

In the past, love was all places, fleeting moments, serendipity, intensity. I mean the truth is, I will never love passively. But love doesn’t have to be extreme euphoria every time but it also doesn’t have to come with chaos, uncertainty or an inevitable expiration date. Maybe it’s not an either/or. Maybe it can be both? Steady and electrifying. These days I ask myself: Am I fully seen? Do I feel deeply safe? And sometimes, am I thrilled by someone in the quietest, most unexpected ways?

For many, love is something simple, tick the major boxes, a little autopilot. But for me, it’s always been something far bigger. It’s cinematic, transformative, it’s been about discovering who I am. Like it has been an adventure. 

I let love shape my journey, a kind of surrender that’s rare I think. But when you allow love to take over, it teaches you. It moves you. It forces you to evolve. It changes you. And I don’t mean that just romantically. And for me, there’s no greater joy than seeking light and staying close to it. 

I know I’m lucky. I date because I can, not because I have to, not for family approval, financial security or societal expectations. Having my own independence has given me the freedom to explore, to play, to fully enjoy the thrill of dating and to love love without the pressure of it being anything more than what I want it to be. That’s a privilege I don’t take for granted.   

The Lovergirl 2.0.

I still believe in magic but no more illusions. I still crave depth but not at the cost of my peace. I still want romance and it has to show up for me fully, consistently and without the expiration date. I love love but I love myself more.

The track I’ll leave you with today is Boa Sorte/Good Luck by Ben Harper and Vanessa da Mata.

Love,

Rez x