Fantasy is not for me

What it is within me that incapacitates true love from taking me over. I thought I was sensible and mature enough to have realized the complexities and bluntness of life to occassionally be mentally provoked by Bollywood’s typical fantasy extravaganza. But I have seen enough love stories play out in real life (some of them quite obnoxious, unfortunately I must admit) to have to question myself: am I, mentally, really far above the naive love-falling lot, or am I made of cold stone?

Maybe what I am trying to comment on is that perhaps life, or at least a small part of it, is beautiful, or could potentially be so if I happen to look at its charms more closely. Or maybe that’s not what I am trying to say. Lets try again: I think what I am trying to say is that I don’t live life happily, and I think I should.

Maybe I will fall in love - I have often heard it sort of comes all of a sudden (which is exactly what I hate about it). Maybe its well and good that I haven’t fallen in love. I tend to push my love in unifocal directions. And I fear that others who I presently love most may become victims of my duller side. My infatuation with someone else would inevitably (or so I think) wean me away from those I love now; not necessarily decreasing the love entirely but certainly spreading it thin.

I keep digressing. To come back to it all, what is it with me? I seem to have all the right ingredients for a full-fledged love story, Bollywood-style: I am shy, introvert, respectful and polite to begin with; passionate, committed, crazy and doting all the way; and altruistic, principled, mature and a true family man in finality. But in reality my life seems to be completely without what the elements enmeshed in it should ideally produce. So, why is my life not like a Bollywood fairy tale, when I truly consider myself no less than a lone super star?

I never thought I would fall this low to have ever been asking this question. Truly sad.