“How are you this holiday season?”, the DM from my bestie lit up the screen after she left a laughing emoji on an Instagram reel I’d sent her.
We’ve known each other long enough that I knew it was her shorthand for, “Are you ok or are you hiding under the covers crying and wallowing with ice-cream because of the year-end blues?”
Truth be told, I can’t remember when I started feeling sad and wistful whenever December rolls around. It might have stemmed from growing up with the tradition of yearly academic report cards, that eventually graduated to life report cards with the inner critic going, “You could have done better! You should have done better!”
Perhaps the dread came from going to holiday parties in my 20’s and 30’s without a plus one for years running and then being given pitiful looks and well-meaning “Awww…you’re a great catch! I’m sure you’ll find him soon.”
Maybe it was the trauma of having my first boyfriend break up with me 3 days before Christmas after I’d given him his presents early which I had wrecked my credit score for. He broke up with me citing that “You’re too nice” and then had a new exciting girlfriend on his arm by Valentine’s. Whatever the trigger was, my bestie knew me too well.
“Don’t worry, I’m ok”, I half lied. “Surprisingly not as emo as I thought I would be this time of year.”
It was technically true. I wasn’t as morose as I usually am when the Christmas carols start playing and Instagram stories start flooding with scenes of snowy ski slopes and the streets of Japan (Sidenote: I must be the one Singaporean who has not stepped foot in Japan yet). But the key qualifier in the previous sentence is ‘as morose’ because in my not-so-emo-but-still-kinda-emo state, a random intrusive thought or two would slip through the cracks if I accidentally glance upon a couple’s private moment of secret smiles and inside jokes.
“When will it ever be my turn?”, my heart would sigh. Then interestingly enough, it’s quickly followed by a resigned “Just get me out of here. I’m done.”
Gasp, could it be? Has 2025 marked the end to Rin The Romantic?
Unless a Christmas miracle arrives in the next week or so, it looks like the grapes didn’t work this year. Neither did they work the year before. So it’s pretty safe to say that I’ll be skipping the New Year’s Eve ritual of sitting under the table and furiously devouring 12 grapes. Nope, I did not meet the Love of My Life in 2025.
I really believed that I was so close though. That much is true. But I guess I was still lucky enough to meet two Soft Spot(s)of My Life™ this year alone.
One of them brought passion and sensuality I haven’t experienced before. It was brief and chaotic, with plot twists and drama that usually belonged in a K-drama. But in between, there were glimpses of tenderness and playfulness. I doted on him but knew it would not last. Yes, I liked him but I also felt an overwhelming desire to take care of him. Strike 1.
The other Soft Spot™ brought intellect, wit and a rapport so easy when we first met that it didn’t feel like a Hello but more of a There You Are. If the first guy felt like I was living in a K-drama, then this one felt like a season of Sex & The City. We shared stories over brunches and walks in the parks, and got tipsy over wine and jazz. Suddenly Ella Fitzgerald and Peggy Lee were stuck in my head all day long and I finally felt seen and oh so ‘adult’. But in true Carrie Bradshaw fashion, it was my neurotic overthinking that ruined the mood. I finally understood why Billie Holiday sang,
You’d better go now
Because I like you much, too much
You have a way with you
You’d better go now
Because I like you very much
It seemed like he had it all together that in comparison, honestly I felt beneath him. I’m 41, (not so)funemployed, and feeling lost in life. Why would someone like him want to be with someone like me? Ironically it became the opposite of the first affair. While I adored him, I just really wanted to be taken care of by him. Please tuck me in bed, give me a kiss on the forehead, and tell me everything will be alright.Strike 2.
So what happened? Spoiler alert, I just liked them more than they liked me and that’s all there is. In a bid to practice what I preach about being transparent and vulnerable in the love life, I told them where I stand and asked if they felt the same. They didn’t share the same sentiments so there’s no real villain in either story. Just a tale of Rin Got Friendzoned (Twice). Strike 3
While I definitely understand that fundamentally, we weren’t compatible enough to make sense in the long run, it doesn’t mean that it didn’t fucking hurt when it happened.
With the former, when I bumped into him with a new girlfriend a couple of months later, I said hi and then ducked into a public toilet and sobbed in a cubicle. With the latter, after we had The Talk that evening, I bought myself an ice cream, put my AirPods on and let the tears run silently down my cheeks in the dark as I walked back home through the park.
But there was something different in the air that night.
Instead of putting on Ms Fitzgerald as usual, I decided to put on Miss Olivia Dean. As the trumpets started blaring into the intro to So Easy (To Fall In Love), a switch in me went ‘click’ as I sang the familiar verses to myself since they’ve been on repeat the past few weeks.
I could be the twist, the one to make you stop
The icing on your cake, the cherry on the top
It’s heaven in my heart, and we could find you some space, mm
I could be the world to you, the missing piece
That extra sentimental kind of chemistry
Some people make it hard, with me, that isn’t the case
‘Cause I make it so easy to fall in love
So come give me a call, and we’ll fall into us
I’m the perfect mix of Saturday night and the rest of your life
Anyone with a heart would agree
It’s so easy to fall in love with me
For all the previous times the tune was stuck in my head, I interpreted the song as a poetic plea for a lover to please choose her. Yet as I hummed the melody through the hot tears and in between bites of the sweet melting chocolate ice-cream, I started laughing to myself.
Ahhh, this must be it. This must be how Rin lost the plot and finally went crazy.
On the contrary, this is when it hit me that it’s not a song about begging to be chosen. Instead, it’s a shrug of one’s shoulders and a flick of the wrist, “Well, your loss.” Then confidently sashaying away.
I still cried all the way home that night though.
The love experts and meme makers on the Internet have a very specific term for the period from November to February. It’s called Cuffing Season. Call it the human version of mating season, it refers to when singles start coupling up because the days get colder and the nights get longer in the Northern hemisphere. (Handcuffs, get it?) Then the holidays with societal pressure of being one half of duo start rolling in relentlessly: Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Valentines.
Even though we’re halfway across the world, you can still feel the effects of cuffing season in sunny Singapore as the winter wonderland tableau of the shopping malls eventually give way to lunar new year decor and the dreaded “When are you going to settle down?” from the parents. As much as you can be successful in every other aspect of your life, loneliness can creep up insidiously during this time if you’re single. It can be in the form of that quick pang of envy from watching couples holding hands, to the clockwork ‘Hello stranger’ text from the ex. (Fun fact, even couples aren’t immune from the relationship drama. December 11 is globally recognised as the date when the most break-ups happen.)
So apart from Olivia Dean as my rousing anthem of independence, this factual tidbit about cuffing season keeps me in check that my emotions of loneliness and grief may not truly be how I feel in the moment but actually amplified by the time of the year itself.
Rin The Romantic isn’t dead, she’s just going through rebranding to Rin The Romantic Realist.
I can’t take full credit for the rebrand though as I had help from my other bestie who also happens to be a life coach. Since August, I’ve been having sessions with Mabel to uncover the self-limiting beliefs holding me back to what I really want in life. Initially I thought it’ll be the straightforward stuff like finance, health and career. Yet I was thrown off by one of initial exercises we did to set the pace for my goals. We were going through the pillars of my life and setting the baseline of how content I was or where it needed improvement.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, how satisfied do you feel about love?”, Mabel gently asked.
“Mmm…maybe a 7?”, I was enjoy the era of early limerence at that point of time.
“Ok, what would a 10 look like to you?”
“Commitment?”
“What does that look like?” She prodded.
I was visibly confused, “What do you mean how does it look like? He’ll ask if i want to be his partner?”
“Yes, but how do you know if he really loves you? How does he show you love?”
I hesitated, “Well he’ll look after me. He’ll be there for my ups and downs. He’ll listen and not judge. He’ll be my cheerleader, he’ll be so proud of me.”
“Ok, then how will you show him love?”
“How will I show him love?” Apart from my first thought of, ’copious amounts of sex and blowjobs’, I was stumped.
“Yes, how will he know that you love him? What will you do?”
“I guess I’ll take care of him? I’ll be there for him emotionally, I’ll help him out if I can. I’ll cook for him and listen to his day. I’ll look after him when he’s down, I’ll be so proud and encourage him in all he does.”
“That sounds like being his mother. How else can you show him love? And how else will you know he loves you?“
Ooooffff…. For once, I was speechless.
It was like looking into the mirror and seeing my Mummy and Daddy issues staring right back at me. The irony didn’t escape me of course. For all the prancing around of ‘Woe, is me, I’m still looking for love…”, I wasn’t sure how else love will look like if it didn’t resemble the dysfunctional relationship my parents had. Or more accurately, what was missing in the past when I wanted a parent to say they’re proud and love me no matter what I did. Not a “you could be better. It’s your fault you’re not.”
I don’t know what my 10 in Love is. Yet.
But on the other hand, this haziness around what my ideal looks, sounds and feels like has given me clarity about what it’s definitely not.
My love is not a Maybe. It’s not a If I Hide Some Parts, He’ll Like Me.
My love is not I’ll Only Be There When It’s Convenient For Me.
My love is not a Let Mummy Take Care of You. Nor a Please Save Me.
It’s not Let’s Avoid All Emotions. Nor Fix My Feelings Now.
It begets the question – if I haven’t figured out what’s my 10 in love, how can I expect anyone to be part of that 10? More importantly, shouldn’t I at least practice with myself on how it does look and feel like to me now if he’s taking a while to show up?
Well, let’s start by not treating myself as someone to fix but instead someone to love. I was telling an old friend about the state of my love affairs this year and lamenting about how I should have spotted the red flags and does it mean I’m unhealed given how easily I fell. She furrowed her brows and went, “You know, you get so stuck on the 5% that you’re still learning about and not the 95% you got right this time around. A couple of years ago, a setback like this would have thrown you off and you’ll be hiding for weeks. Now you’re having coffee with me wondering where you went wrong so you’ll avoid it with the next one. Be proud of yourself, there’s nothing to fix. You did really well.”
I was pretty surprised to hear that because she was right. I was so focused on what’s wrong with me that I just wanted to avoid it happening again. It’s so fucking uncomfortable to sit through the abandonment, the fear and the grief. But what I’ve been slowly learning is that not every emotion requires an action. Perhaps instead of trying to find someone new or wondering how to improve myself so I can be loved, I should give myself grace and ask ‘What’s the story I’m telling myself here?”
(I’m alone because nobody wants me. I’m not good enough to be chosen and for them to stay.)
For those who speak Therapist-ese, you might recognise the question that will usually come next, “Is this story true?”
(No, I have friends and family who love me. They’ve been with me through thick and thin. If I have a partner, I’ll accept him for who he is. Why would I accept someone who wouldn’t do the same for me? As much as I want him to choose me, the question is can I actually see him being right for my future to also choose him?)
I’ve also added my own Therapist-ese when I catch myself spiralling, “Is this voice kind?”
(Why are you being mean to yourself now? Is this how you really feel about yourself or did someone else led you believe that?)
If that harsh voice persists and the loneliness feels like molasses dragging me under, I have my last resort. I’ll pull up this picture of me and 10 year old Rin.
Look at that cutie, you wouldn’t treat her that way would you?
(Thanks ChatGPT for the time traveling hack to self love.)
Maybe on 31st Dec, you will find me sitting under the table with my 12 grapes afterall. I can’t promise that I won’t sneak in “I’m with a partner who loves me for me and who I’ll grow to be” but I know that from now onwards, I don’t want the affirmations “I love myself” to sound hollow anymore. I’ll have Lil Rin to take care of now in the words of Ray Charles:
Come rain or come shine
We’ll be happy together, unhappy together
Now won’t that be just fine
The days may be cloudy or sunny
We’re in or out of the money
But I’m with you always
I’m with you rain or shine
Happy holidays friends and lovers xx