This one isn’t a love letter. Just my wandering thoughts. So brace yourself before reading.
Despite being someone with a mental illness, I take great pride in my brain.
I love writing. I love researching. I love teaching. I know how damn good I am at what I do.
You know what they used to call me back in my master's program? They called me the persistent one. Si Tekun.
Maybe I wasn’t the one with perfect scores or the genius label, but no one was as consistently committed as I was. That’s why the lecturers called me that, and honestly, that’s flattering.
A few days ago, someone I just met asked me a familiar question: what if a man wants to marry me, but he’s not compatible? What if he feels insecure because he’s not my equal?
That question—millions have asked me before. Which is strange, because I rarely talk about what kind of spouse I’m looking for.
I don’t give a damn about my marital status. Yes, I’m not married. So what? Do people think I need to kidnap someone’s son and point a gun at him just so he’ll marry me?
Why do people assume I’m this high-value woman who makes men insecure? I’m not even out here talking about my value.
Don’t twist my words. Deep down, I do value myself highly. But I don’t go around announcing it.
So where do they get the idea that I’m intimidating?
I don’t have a lot of money yet. I live an ordinary life. Do you see me posting branded stuff or fine dining every week? Of course not.
I have an average job. I go places with Gojek, not a Lambo. Most of my stuff is cheap. My bedroom wall literally has mold.
Even my makeup is cheap. I still choose Emina, even though I’m an adult, not a teenager.
So why do they think so highly of me?
“Oh Linda, it’s your personal branding!”
What branding? I just talk about writing. Being a writer doesn’t make you rich rich. I’m not JK Rowling, for god’s sake.
“It’s your confidence! Your aura!”
I’m shy. I have regressive traits. People often think I’m underage. My face and voice don’t scream confidence. I probably look like someone with undiagnosed autism.
I know this shouldn’t be a problem. It’s just a question. But it becomes one when too many people keep asking the same thing over and over.
I don’t have the answer. I haven’t dated any men in the last ten months. I’m not in the dating pool. The only men I talk to daily are my dad, my brother, and my boss. So how would I know what men think when they want to marry me?
And even if there’s one man out there who wants to marry me, his insecurity is not my problem.
I don’t want to marry someone who feels small around me. They’ll suck the joy out of you and make you suffer.
The last time I dated an insecure man, I literally tried to hit my head on the wall. Not worth it. If someone feels insecure about how I live, it’s not my job to help them see their value.
So what kind of person would I want to marry? Easy.
They need to be good. Not just decent. Not just empathetic. They need to have an extremely good heart. Almost perfect.
Why? Because living with me is not easy. I have a mental illness. They’ll be my caretaker sometimes. And if they perceive me as a burden, then they’re not worthy of my love.
I’m willing to walk away from someone I love if they can’t accept my flaws.
Life is already hard. I work my ass off to earn enough to support my lifestyle and dreams. Maintaining my sanity is already nearly impossible.
So no, I won’t love someone who doesn’t understand how life works.
They need to understand that everything costs money.
They need to understand that when someone chooses not to learn, they must endure the consequences of their own ignorance.
They need to understand that the brain and heart must go hand in hand.
And no, I’m not in a rush to get married or to find someone. Because I’ve already found someone I admire deeply.
No, I can’t marry them. No, they don’t even love me back.
But I can still love them, if I want. They don’t have to be mine.
Because their heart is pure. I love them so much. And if I said I fell in love because they’re pretty and sexy, that would be too shallow. But I have to admit, they’ve become my type. Hehe.