Deep, deep within, there’s always been a silly wish to be somebody’s favourite person. I don’t know how it started, much less why, but I do know the feeling has been chasing me until today, like a lion after a prey. Maybe it never quite left, this shadow.
Favouritism is a weird thing. A pull, a tug at the chords of our hearts. Inside my head, if anything is my favourite, I’ll cheer up to it the same way a flower moves towards the sun. When a song becomes my favourite, I play it once, twice, multiple times in a row, for days with no end; soon learn it, know it like the back of my hand. It won’t leave my mind, and even when it seems to, it simply sits in a corner. It makes me happy. It becomes important. Not necessary, but wished, desired. Wanted.
I kept this wish like a candle between my hands, lighting up the way through my relationships. I wanted to be a cardigan, the one they’d pick from under someone’s bed; to be tied with strings or paper rings, and have a language only the two of us would understand. I think I craved intimacy, which is a weird concept, a bit alien — to be close, to care, to grow beside someone, what does it take to have all that? Everything in life comes with a certain amount of sacrifice. All I know is wanting, and I think my head is too lost within the wish that fails to recognize anything else. Perhaps the daydream is too sweet to pass.
Still, maybe because I was innocent, or because I didn’t know any better, I tried. I’d lend my shoulder for others to cry on, my arms for them to rely in. I’d give my time to listen to their ramblings, their pleas and whatnots. It filled my heart, every moments, even the bad ones, especially the bad ones. To be there for the worst times surely meant something, didn’t it? There was value in my presence. I must be important to them, right? So I kept it up. I kept being present, being there. I’d watch as silence stretched and loneliness knocked on my door; when days, weeks went by without being reached out to, waiting, receiving only hollow conversations, holding on to the reassurance that all my efforts couldn’t go to waste. All the times I tried.
Today, I see all this desire as something I wasted myself with. As this plea to be chosen and, in a way, used — don’t we all choose the things we can give a certain use to? I didn’t realise back then, so it came as a slow tide, or like when you happen to glance at your nails and notice how much they grew. Oh, I need to trim them! I took an initiative to let others confide in me, but did I ever do that with them? I don’t think so. Why? I’ve done it for so long, all I know is to give, give, give. I’m everyone’s safe place, except my own, it seems.
So I tried. Being a pretty private person with a big tendency to go along with whatever the crowd wishes isn’t the best combination out there. There’s also this spiteful shame that stops me from sharing my lowest, my worst sides unless I’m undoubtedly loosing it. But I tried. I started by reaching out first, trying new things, sharing what I loved with who I cared about, trying to include them in the picture. Was it silly to hope it’d bring us closer? That I’d be opening up this tiny creak in a door they’d surely open? Only regret came knocking, when I realised reality never quite plays like we script it in our heads. Reactions and different points of views that I immediately took as people upset around me, or perhaps not… satisfied, happy. Regret filled its lungs and screamed.
Ah, so that’s why. With the search for intimacy, there’s an unspoken rule where you must open up, but to open up means being exposed to the possibility of getting hurt. I look back now at all the times I gave myself away without keeping anything for me, and I get angry, defensive and emotional. It’s been years like this, and where did it let me? What am I doing wrong? Why does it keep not working? I wallow in disappointment, and wish to apologize for… sharing. Being this way or like this.
There’s this one line I always pay attention to whenever I listen to “Soon You’ll Get Better” : “I know I’ll never get it, there’s not a day that I wont try”. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. On good days, I think that quote portrays exactly what love is: a prolonged effort to keep trying, together, even with the wall standing tall between . On lesser good ones, I can only see the fatigue behind the words. Giving yourself again and again and again, strangled to hope.
When some of you comment how you connect to what I unmask, it brings me great joy and pride. I wish this letter doesn’t resonate. You know, there’s also this... responsibility every now and then to be inspiring. I’m no preacher, I’ll never be one, but I wish to be strong, even if I rarely feel like that. I know this array of depressive musings is one way for my mind to prove it’s in control, and that none of this is a lie, but they don't include the full truth either. It’s acutely dark, and this whole text hits too close to self-pitying, when it might just be an effort to... grieve over the subject. To let it hurt how much it needs, so I can grow from it. Isn’t that the cycle of life?
And what else is there left to do? I sit on my desk and write my heart out, figuring out all the juggled puzzle pieces to make up a meaning. I don’t think the flame burns as strong. Now, my steps are a bit more careful and thoughtful. To keep the peace within, I think a bit before reaching out my hand. I try to cut on the apologies. As much as I want to be cared for, I think it’s time to care for myself too, and, in a way, that means drawing lines, finding solace inside the walls of this body and soul. I know I’ll never stop trying, sometime later I’ll get hurt, and angry, and sad, and disappointed, and regretful again. And then, I’ll try once more. By then, I just hope I’ll feel stronger, and not so foolish.
Thank you for reading delicate. I hope this first week of September treated you well, or that it didn’t wreck you too badly. If so, take this weekend as an opportunity to rest and recharge all your batteries.
DELICACIES OF THE WEEK
This love letter that opens up to form an art gallery hasn’t left my mind ever since I saw it. I did my own version, although it was a mess, and wasn’t for anyone in particular.
I watched Tune In For Love. Have you ever started a movie with an inkling you’d love it, AND that hunch comes true? Because that was the case for me with this one: a sentimental, slow paced film about two people who meet at various moments of their lives, and how they fall and choose to stay in love through it all. The soundtrack too was perfectly handpicked. Highly recommend if you want something to relax to! (runtime: 120 minutes)
This week I also finally saw the Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions, quite obvious given I did leave nods to many lyrics here and there (could be a bit corny, I know; it just came with the moment). It’s funny, but I always thought I was more of an Evermore kind of girl; more autumn instead of winter, when the sun still shines bright without the air being too cold. The documentary really highlighted just how interesting each and every song in Folklore stands individually. Maybe it’s the heavy dark clouds that plagued the sky throughout the whole week, this piece and album just felt fitting. (runtime: 106 minutes)
I think my favorites behind-the-lyrics ments were the ones for peace and hoax.
SONGS OF THE WEEK: meant to be by yerin baek, i'm in love by yerin baek and do you see my love? by lucid fall || delicate’s spotify playlist!
i think it's normal to want to be someone's favorite, thank u for writing about this. as another fellow swiftie, i have to ask, did you name your substack delicate after taylor's song??? cause i love that song too ahh
ahhh omg obsessed, the two taylor swift references in a row had me on the floor. this was absolutely beautiful and it really is difficult to write about loneliness without making it sound like self-pity!! it’s my least favorite thing, but writing always helps either way :))
you posted this at a very relevant time in my life. September is for new beginnings and making friends when semester starts. it’s hard not to crave being someone’s best friend immediately, i guess those relationships can’t be forced. but anyways this was beautiful. i know one day you will be someone’s favorite person, or you might even be now just unaware of it !! hope the rest of your September treats you well