The last time I got my heart broken felt like the last time for real.

I remember exactly where I was in Accra as I picked up the bits and pieces of my heart and glued them together with multiple binges of Friends, bottomless ice cream tubs, and the warmest hugs and affirmations from my confidantes, I just knew. This couldn’t happen again. The last time I got my heart broken had to be the last time for real.

That’s probably when I started carrying this metaphorical placard. The one that says “Not ready for love”. It’s why I think I met the man of my dreams in the cinema lobby last month but ran away before he could ask for my number. It’s why I panicked and blocked my friend of three years everywhere the moment they started to call me baby after we went on a “date” for the second time.

My metaphorical placard rings true. So if I’m not ready for love, why am I always looking?

Why do my eyes linger in crowded rooms, noticing the way someone laughs or the ease with which they exist? I’ll catch myself wondering what they’ll be like when it’s just the two of us, or how their voice sounds when they’re half-asleep. I’ll tell myself I’m just observing, just people-watching. But then I’ll start looking for them in the crowd, tracking their movements like my heart didn’t get the memo that we’re not doing this right now. Could this be something? Could they be something? 

At the grocery store, I’ll make eye contact with a cute stranger and wonder, just for a second, if maybe we would have some ridiculous meet-cute story. Maybe we’d both reach for the last Viju Chocolate drink at the same time, laugh, and start talking about our mutual love for Viju Chocolate. Or maybe my cart would lose a tyre and all my items would fall to floor and they would rush to my rescue 💀

I did it with the stranger I met at the beach. I did it with the nice guy who walked me to the restroom at Element House. I did it with the gym bro that bantered with me at the gym car park few days ago. I did it with the new friend I made on Bumble even though I insisted I’m only there to make friends to show me around this new city.

I say I’m not ready for love but I’m always looking. My brain is running in the background of my placard still, looking around me for any connection strong enough to override this self-imposed barrier. It’s almost like a dating app tbh. I’m swiping without meaning to take it seriously, and reading between lines that probably don’t have any hidden meanings.

I remember running into an old friend, someone I hadn’t thought about in years. We hung out, caught up on life, and as they talked, I found myself wondering why had I never seen them this way before? I told myself I wasn’t looking, but my mind had already started drafting a new possibility before I could stop it. Do they fit the bill? Of kindness. Of romance. Of partnership. Of companionship. Did they leave me the last chicken wing? Did they open the door for me? Would they make my life easier? Or just a tiny bit harder?

Maybe I do want love, even if I’m scared of it. Maybe I want the possibility of something, even if I’m not sure I’d know what to do with it if it showed up at my door. Maybe saying “I’m not ready” is just a way to protect myself from disappointment.

Or you know, maybe it’s human nature. Maybe we’re wired to seek out something bigger than ourselves, even when we think we’re not in the right place for it. Maybe readiness isn’t a switch you flip on and off, but a moment that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

None of it matters anyway because I know that if the right person came along, all my reasons, all my logic, all my careful defenses would crumble in an instant.

So here I am telling the world I’m not ready, and I’m not looking, while my heart shakes its head and quietly disagrees.