Growing up I had always jumped from relationship to relationship, thinking that life is defined by being with someone (a silly sentiment, I know). My parents have the fairy-tale love story that everyone dreams of, so I have been genetically engineered to be a hopeless romantic. A sentiment I bitterly resent about myself, and I am always the first person to roll my eyes when I hear about people being in love. However in my constant juxtaposed state, I will forever be in love with my parents story.
My Mother met my Father after she was already married to someone else. She and her husband had gone on holiday and met up with some friends, one of them being my Father. Upon meeting him, she knew that he was the one for her. My Mum has never said how she knew, simply just that meeting my Dad made everything fall into place. On that holiday, she made the biggest decision of her life. Immediately after they arrived home, she had moved in with my Father and left her husband. They have been happily together since 1981. They are the definition of best friends, and when they look at each other, it is enough to make even the most cynic person believe in love. They are both in their sixties now and still mess around as if they are teenagers in love. I have repeatedly accidentally walked in on the two of the cuddled up in the living room kissing. Both a sentiment that disgusts me as their daughter, but gives my heart hope as a romantic. My sister and I have a running joke that we will never be happy with a partner as we will always be holding out for that “special moment” like they had, and we won’t be satisfied until we are convinced we’ve had it. The question I keep asking myself is… Will this moment happen naturally, or for some people will we have to make our own moment? The one that defines and clarifies our feelings towards one another. I think I’ll always hope that I experience that “special moment”, and I’ll always fear that I have already had it but was too young and naive to realise it for what it was.