When I was five years old, I was in love.
He was silly, and he was relatively kind—the class clown of Ms. Arthur’s Kindergarten class. Knowing me, I am sure it did not venture too far beyond that. But I knew for certain that I wanted to be with him forever. As Anne of Green Gables taught me, locking in the trope of the playful young enemies to lovers at the earliest age possible is the goal. I set out to do just that.
So, with my limited knowledge at the age of 5 years old of how to confess one’s feelings, I wrote Nick a love letter. I knew it had to be relatively personal so he would know I knew him well and was serious. Some of my classmates and I would call him nickel as a joke, and nickel rhymed with…pickle. Perfect. The future journalist instilled in me got straight to the point. With a thick Crayola marker, I scrawled on a folded piece of printer paper: “Nickel Pickle, I love you.” If I remember correctly, I drew, as one could probably assume…a heart? Maybe I did, but to avoid being too forward, I drew a nickel and a pickle as well. Because who knows, perhaps he could not read the words nickel and pickle yet.
Obviously, Nick and I did not ride off into the sunset and thank God for that.
The lore of my Nickel Pickle love letter followed me through elementary school. My mom would run into his mom at the grocery store, and she would tell her that they still had my infamous note. I assumed any weird glance in my direction from one of his friends was making fun of me because of my crush. I took teasing very seriously, and this was detrimental to my image. I felt deeply embarrassed.
I set out to try and disprove every rumor I faced while maintaining my seemingly vast love. I would vehemently deny any sort of love letter when confronted. In the third grade, he annoyed me so much in class that I poked him relatively hard with my Ticonderoga pencil, and he screamed like a baby. I hoped that would dispel any rumors until, in 4th Grade, on Electronics Day, everyone saw my DS Lite’s Pictochat profile message that I wrote about having a crush on him. I had written it as a joke with some friends months prior, but that did not matter at that point. In the fifth grade, I gaslighted his girlfriend when she asked me about the letter from five years ago. Like I said, vehement denial.
It is something I cackle at now, but why did this experience feel so embarrassing?
Why is it shameful in our culture to have big feelings and express them? Why are we forced to decipher nuanced actions instead of sharing what is truly on our minds?
It could be that people are confused and mean. When someone sees someone else who decisively knows what she wants, jealousy and resentment form instead of a genuine interest in understanding. And when we do not understand something, we gather our pitchforks and run at it full force. Suddenly, love seems like a curse instead of a blessing.
According to a 2022 study reported by CNBC, 93% of Hinge users are looking for emotional vulnerability in a partner over height and income. Dating apps, at face value, can seem more on the shallow end of things, but users seek some sort of emotional connection just like everyone else. There is a demand for openness that may not come from poorly drawn cards, but true statements of feelings would suffice.
As humans, we are born to love. Big Thief put it this way: “I was born for loving you, just something I was made to do.” It starts simple, but we make it complicated. When we add in our own insecurities and trauma from past rejection, loving seems impossible. Love could be a mistake, messing up our planned trajectory.
Fear can run our lives. Saying “I love you” could change the course of a relationship forever. In the “Prince” episode of New Girl, Nick tells Jess he loves her, and she responds with finger guns as her car drives away. The episode focuses on Jess’s fear of saying I love you, as Prince tries to train her to say the three simple words. He tells her that her fear of losing Nick is stupid. He tells her: “Anything beautiful is worth getting hurt for.”
If we do not take the risk of loving others, we take the risk of missing out on the human experience.
This should be more scary than sharing feelings.
Love is one of the most beautiful parts of life. As Christians, we are called to love as God first loved us. This calling is not necessarily in a romantic fashion, but it applies the same. We are intentionally designed to have deep feelings, so why are we embarrassed instead of proud of them?
If I can survive writing a love letter, so can you. Tell your friends you care for them, go out of your way to compliment the person you have always wanted to compliment or even tell the guy you have been talking to you like him. Life is too short, so be honest. We all seek and have love, whether we want to admit it or not. And if feelings are not reciprocated, find where your love is welcome and appreciated. It is not as hard as it seems.
When did love become embarrassing?
When I was five years old, I was in love.
He was silly, and he was relatively kind—the class clown of Ms. Arthur’s Kindergarten class. Knowing me, I am sure it did not venture too far beyond that. But I knew for certain that I wanted to be with him forever. As Anne of Green Gables taught me, locking in the trope of the playful young enemies to lovers at the earliest age possible is the goal. I set out to do just that.
So, with my limited knowledge at the age of 5 years old of how to confess one’s feelings, I wrote Nick a love letter. I knew it had to be relatively personal so he would know I knew him well and was serious. Some of my classmates and I would call him nickel as a joke, and nickel rhymed with…pickle. Perfect. The future journalist instilled in me got straight to the point. With a thick Crayola marker, I scrawled on a folded piece of printer paper: “Nickel Pickle, I love you.” If I remember correctly, I drew, as one could probably assume…a heart? Maybe I did, but to avoid being too forward, I drew a nickel and a pickle as well. Because who knows, perhaps he could not read the words nickel and pickle yet.
Obviously, Nick and I did not ride off into the sunset and thank God for that.
The lore of my Nickel Pickle love letter followed me through elementary school. My mom would run into his mom at the grocery store, and she would tell her that they still had my infamous note. I assumed any weird glance in my direction from one of his friends was making fun of me because of my crush. I took teasing very seriously, and this was detrimental to my image. I felt deeply embarrassed.
I set out to try and disprove every rumor I faced while maintaining my seemingly vast love. I would vehemently deny any sort of love letter when confronted. In the third grade, he annoyed me so much in class that I poked him relatively hard with my Ticonderoga pencil, and he screamed like a baby. I hoped that would dispel any rumors until, in 4th Grade, on Electronics Day, everyone saw my DS Lite’s Pictochat profile message that I wrote about having a crush on him. I had written it as a joke with some friends months prior, but that did not matter at that point. In the fifth grade, I gaslighted his girlfriend when she asked me about the letter from five years ago. Like I said, vehement denial.
It is something I cackle at now, but why did this experience feel so embarrassing?
Why is it shameful in our culture to have big feelings and express them? Why are we forced to decipher nuanced actions instead of sharing what is truly on our minds?
It could be that people are confused and mean. When someone sees someone else who decisively knows what she wants, jealousy and resentment form instead of a genuine interest in understanding. And when we do not understand something, we gather our pitchforks and run at it full force. Suddenly, love seems like a curse instead of a blessing.
According to a 2022 study reported by CNBC, 93% of Hinge users are looking for emotional vulnerability in a partner over height and income. Dating apps, at face value, can seem more on the shallow end of things, but users seek some sort of emotional connection just like everyone else. There is a demand for openness that may not come from poorly drawn cards, but true statements of feelings would suffice.
As humans, we are born to love. Big Thief put it this way: “I was born for loving you, just something I was made to do.” It starts simple, but we make it complicated. When we add in our own insecurities and trauma from past rejection, loving seems impossible. Love could be a mistake, messing up our planned trajectory.
Fear can run our lives. Saying “I love you” could change the course of a relationship forever. In the “Prince” episode of New Girl, Nick tells Jess he loves her, and she responds with finger guns as her car drives away. The episode focuses on Jess’s fear of saying I love you, as Prince tries to train her to say the three simple words. He tells her that her fear of losing Nick is stupid. He tells her: “Anything beautiful is worth getting hurt for.”
If we do not take the risk of loving others, we take the risk of missing out on the human experience.
This should be more scary than sharing feelings.
Love is one of the most beautiful parts of life. As Christians, we are called to love as God first loved us. This calling is not necessarily in a romantic fashion, but it applies the same. We are intentionally designed to have deep feelings, so why are we embarrassed instead of proud of them?
If I can survive writing a love letter, so can you. Tell your friends you care for them, go out of your way to compliment the person you have always wanted to compliment or even tell the guy you have been talking to you like him. Life is too short, so be honest. We all seek and have love, whether we want to admit it or not. And if feelings are not reciprocated, find where your love is welcome and appreciated. It is not as hard as it seems.