“That’s why they call them crushes. If they were easy, they’d call them something else.”
– Jim Baker consoling his heart-broken daughter Samantha in the film Sixteen Candles.

Crushes are fucking brutal. I myself have been battling a crush this year, and I don’t understand how people can enjoy this sensation. The thoughts of them that interrupt your stream of consciousness all day while you are trying to do more important things like studying, and the fact that each time you interact with them, you come away with yet another piece of gorgeous knowledge about them, which only serves as more supporting evidence for your growing infatuation.

Of course, you’d never tell them all this – because that would ruin the fantasy of them actually being interested in you. 90% of the time, crushes are not mutual – which means that you are stuck dealing with it until it runs its natural course. Technology is the worst thing to ever happen to the good old-fashioned crush, because you become some type of neurotic fuckwit who starts vetting your photos from four years ago, “just in case” they might see one that could be a dealbreaker (I suppose in some ways, having a crush is great motivation to tidy up your online presence).

Another alarming thing that technology often allows (as it did for me last night) is the inevitable drunken feels-reveal. This used to be pretty difficult when you had to pick up a landline and actually speak to them, but with the advent of mobile phones and the internet, it’s dangerously, alluringly easy. I was absolutely shitfaced at a gig last night, and sent my crush a beautiful pic of a bathroom festively lit with suspiciously-1990s coloured party lights, underneath which I wrote:
“In the spirit of honesty I think you’re fucking beautiful and am glad to know you.
Am in love with you”
BECAUSE OF COURSE I DID.
(In the spirit of honesty? Kill me now).

The next morning I woke up around 6am, saw what I had done and that he hadn’t seen the messages yet, so I tried to delete them but apparently when you delete them on your end it doesn’t change a thing on theirs. The guy sent me a message back a couple of hours later and was really awesome about it (because of course he was, hence the crush) and no true harm was done, apart from my mega embarrassment at being such a juvenile dipshit. I have to see him tomorrow too, so that’s gonna be fun.

What were we talking about?

Oh, right.

CRUSHES FUCKING SUCK.

Love, Akika xoxooxoxoxox