Elis Ong @elisongelis
on Tuesday, December 27, 2011 //
No one really thinks about what it means to be selfish.
Kindergarten taught us it was selfish not to share our Crayolas with
Maddy. But as we grow older and enter the murky realm of serious
relationships, sharing brings on a whole new meaning.
Twenty something years later and I’d gladly take the shirt right off my
back if I had to. But I’d sooner die than listen to someone I love tell
me about that experience that meant the world to them. You know, the one
that doesn’t involve me. Now, I’m not talking about innocent puppy love
anecdotes – I welcome those as gracefully as the next person –
especially when my Facebook stalking indicates that the ex in question
poses no real threat.
The thought is all-consuming. You can’t sleep. You can’t pour your
morning coffee steadily. You become involuntarily fixated, obsessed and
paralyzed by a stinging truth: someone else has already been in your
shoes. Although this person has made an admirable effort to stay out of your
life, you can’t help but let the paranoia settle and simmer into your
conscience.
We don’t like to admit it, but that’s how we work. Once our webs
intertwine with someone else’s, we begin to claim ownership, despite our
hardest efforts not to. We forget that we too have held on tightly to
the special memories that have shaped our past. It’s not that we aren’t
glad our significant others had amazing experiences, it’s that we have a
hard time swallowing a very key and obvious point: our significant
others were O.K. before us. In fact, they were marvelous. And to add
insult to injury, here’s what that implies: Our significant others will
be O.K. and marvelous after us.
In other words, you are not as indispensable as you think you are. No
one is. Not in relationships where self-identity is valued, anyway. So
what does that make you? Replaceable. And humans, as Beyoncé proved for
ten straight weeks, want nothing more than to feel irreplaceable. And we
don’t just want to hear that we’re important, we want to know that
we’re the most important. We want proof. We want it written. Not on
paper, but on stone! With blood, dammit. We’re selfish like that.
Our selfishness all comes down to our inability to accept that
perfect strangers were able capture the attention of our lovers, and
that they too shared secrets in the dark. It is an insufferable thought,
but it helps to remember that one day we may very well be that
experience someone else is going to have to hear about. Your name and
everything that is attached with you will inevitably ignite an eruption
of anger, insecurity and paranoia in someone else. It’s a vicious cycle,
and sometimes you’re ahead. But other times, you’re pouring over your
keyboard on a Friday night stalking his ex-girlfriend on Twitter.