– was what a friend jokingly told me when I was spilling my latest tea regarding a colleague who had asked me out at work.

Instantly, my face soured. I was almost offended that my venting could’ve even been remotely interpreted that way. I was quick to go on the defense and my friend quickly conceded.

Still, it got me thinking: Should I have been that upset about it? At the end of the day, it’s still better than being hated, right? So why is it that every time anyone shows me even a hint of interest – let alone ask me out – my first instinct is to shoot them down?

It’s been drilled into my head, the same way it’s been drilled into a child’s head to never get in a car with a stranger. It’s to be avoided at all costs.

In hindsight, my pattern’s easy to decipher. Each time, I’ll share friendly conversation with a guy when, at one point, I’ll detect his slightest bit of interest and I immediately feel… icky. Uncomfortable. They don’t even have to ask me out or anything. I’ll instantly feel grossed out and paranoid.

I’m self-aware enough to admit that a lot of it has to do with me and my own active imagination. Are they paying more attention to my face? Zoning in on my lips, my eyes? Are they picturing themselves holding my hand – kissing me? What else are they picturing? Anticipating? It spirals out of control, venturing into R-rated territory and eventually, I feel like puking.

It doesn’t take Freud to conclude that the fictional scene itself is not what irks me – or at least it’s not the only thing – but it’s the person I (intrusively) imagine being in it with me. Why? Because I’m not interested. Because maybe I don’t find that person attractive. (This goes without saying that it’s subjective – none of them are actually unattractive.)

But it’s like picturing all that with a person your great-grandparent’s age, or with a little child. Though obviously incomparable, it’s the best way I can begin to explain it.

Truly, one might think this habit of imagination borders on self-sabotage, because as a person who fantasizes about being in a relationship and finding the one, I sure seem to reject any semblance of it that comes my way.

I’ve been told that I’m like this because my standards are too high. Because I’m too nitpicky and particular. I have this clear vision in my head that ‘no one’ can hold a candle to. And though it’s easy to chalk it up to my standards, I think there’s another layer to it.

There’s a part of me, deep down, that always believed that that person ‘didn’t deserve to like me’. I know that makes me sound like a narcissist, but it’s like there’s this terribly cynical voice in my head that’s saying: ‘What makes you think this is a good idea?’

I’ve heard that a common reason why some people feel this way is because they’re essentially insulted that this person – who they don’t think is in their league – is trying to get with them. It’s a blow to their ego.

I’m mortified of the idea that this might be how I truly felt subconsciously. Thinking back to all the times I’ve felt physically repulsed by experiences of this nature, it only reaffirms the one common denominator: that I found none of them attractive.

Can it be? Well, what a terrible person that makes me! Who am I to decide that I am above someone else, in any aspect at all? Is that truly the reason why I feel the way I do?

But then I think of the rare occasions where I didn’t feel physically repulsed. In these cases, I also found none of them attractive.

So why don’t I feel uncomfortable with all of them if I found none of them attractive? How do some of them bypass that visceral disgust?

I reflect on a good friend of mine who confessed feelings for me in high school. How upset I was that people around us goaded him into confessing, that it was going to change the friendship I valued so much. But at the same time, not once did that cynical voice make an appearance like all the other times, spewing proclamations that he didn’t deserve to like me, or that he didn’t have the right to. All I knew was that we were good friends and had a good connection. I trusted him and respected his values – admired him as a human being. He knew me, as I did him.

And I think that’s just it. I was convinced that he actually did like me.

Then I contrast it to that coworker who recently asked me out – brazenly in front of other coworkers, offering me a ‘free roller coaster ride’ (which already horrified me enough because I thought he was making a sexual innuendo, only for him to later mean a ride on his motorcycle). Aside from the careless manner of his asking, I’m baffled. Like, why are you even asking me, really?

‘Maybe he thinks you’re attractive!’ I’m flattered, truly, but… well, is that all? What do we have in common? What about me do you vibe with? Or am I just a shiny toy to keep you occupied before you find another shinier toy? For all I know, you’re asking me because I’m the only girl in the office who’s your age.

‘That’s why he’s asking you out, silly: to get to know you better!’

Aaaand I believe therein lies my problem. We can get to know each other better as friends, you know? Hell, you can’t even be sure you’ll like me as a friend, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Call me uptight, but at the end of the day, It’s important that I believe you know me well enough. I need to believe I know you well enough. It’s a two-way street. There needs to be a foundation of mutual connection that warrants your interest. That helps me understand what you see in ‘us’… Otherwise, your pursuit comes across as misplaced and disingenuous. And that just gives me the ick.

Oh, and by the way, this is just my convoluted way of saying that I’m going to die alone.

To do that, essentially, is to become infatuated with a version of someone that you’ve made up in your head (usually while trying to fill in the blanks about that person of which you don’t know) rather than who that person is in reality.

A key ‘event’ here is that at one point, the line that separates the two gets blurry and you start to believe your made-up version is who that person truly is, even when any evidence of it does not exist. In fact, any evidence that does exist to contradict your fantasy is promptly ignored.

It’s dangerous because you ignore all the ways their actions do not align with your vision. You distract yourself from the shameful truth: that you deserve better.

Fortunately, it’s been a while since I’ve been subjected to something like this (though my love life, or the lack thereof, is a completely separate discussion).

But then one day I was in the shower, daydreaming again. In it, I’m a writer of multiple bestselling books. One’s being adapted into a film, maybe. I’m heavily involved in casting and maybe a little bit of production—it’s all very Jenny Han of me. I’m back and forth between an apartment in New York and a Tudor-style house in a country with cobblestone. Maybe I ride horses in my spare time, and read books on electrical engineering or behavioral psychology because it’s good to take a break from creative projects. The people who know me know that there are dimensions to who I am, not a single identity that they could tie me to. I picture myself coming home for the holidays and relatives either ask me a million questions about my unfamiliar life, or none at all because they know I’m doing just fine.

It’s only when I turn off the shower and that subtle, yet familiar pang of disappointment hits, that I finally realize…

I’ve been doing it to myself!

I’ve been indulging in this version of myself that I’ve dreamt up, materialized from a future that does not exist and is not guaranteed. Indulging in a potential best version of me—one where I’ve finally done the thing, or achieved that other thing.

I have fallen in love with the idea of myself.

How has this affected my life?

1. It has made me comfortable with my inaction

I read once that you shouldn’t tell people your plans and your goals because the act of sharing it ‘triggers a dopamine response that tricks your brain into thinking you’ve already achieved it’.

But lately I’ve been wondering… Does telling yourself count?

Does it also release that same dopamine response? Cause you to confuse yourself between someone who intends to do the thing and someone who’s already done it?

Thinking back to all those nights in the shower, or in between mindless scrolling and long commutes—absorbed in the imaginary life I’ve brazenly created for myself with no followthrough—I’d be inclined to agree. I do it because it makes me feel good, right? It’s as if I’ve lived it and milked every ounce of psychological reward I could get from having achieved the thing. And because I’ve already received that (imaginary) prize, what more does my brain and body need to do, except stay exactly as I am?

I have been caught up in the comfort of staying in my own head, of lulling myself idle with dreams and false fantasies, but at the end of the day, I’ve got nothing to show for it. I’ve just been reaping the ‘emotional’ rewards without having worked for any of it.

Then the next time I feel bad about not having actualized any of the things I dreamt about, I grasp at the quickest thing I can do to make myself feel better and to feel aligned with the way I’ve always envisioned myself. How?

Ding ding ding! That’s right—back into my head I go.

2. It has stopped me from being honest about who I am today

I’m generally not a jealous person. I understand that everyone’s in their own paths and that we’ll all have our turn, you know? But every once in a while I’ll have a conversation with someone, or stalk someone on the internet a little too long and I can’t help but think: What an impressive accomplishment. What a cool and intentional life they lead. All of a sudden, I feel so little next to them. Then I find myself grasping at the quickest way to reassure myself, to re-center myself.

Images of my envisioned future—an alternate reality—flash through my mind and I tell myself that ‘it’s okay, because someday I’m gonna be all that’…

But you’re not all that. That’s the exact point!

Each time, I succumb to the superficial (and temporary) fix to a fleeting moment of jealousy. And come to think of it, what a subconsciously damaging pattern of rejecting my current life! Of invalidating the stage I am in right now.

I’m trying to reclaim my self-esteem, not by recounting my present virtues and endeavors, but by imagining a version of myself that I am not. I tie my worth to a future that is not mine yet (or ever, at the rate I’m going).

But I ignore the fact that who I am now is just as important. It serves a purpose, and it reminds me of all the things I can still achieve. Besides, how can I ever begin to strive for the things I dream about if I’m not honest about the person I am today?

What needs to change?

I know what I want. It’s a feeling that’s embedded in my heart, a destination so vivid when I close my eyes that I feel like I could just reach out and touch it. That dream—that destination—is not going anywhere. It’ll stay as unattainable or as within reach as I let it. It’s me that has to move.

But I cannot let that destination shine so bright that it blinds me from seeing the road. I need to be honest about where I am now, so that I can measure the road ahead of me.

So for every vision I dream up in my head, I must counteract it with an action I can do today, at this given moment.

With all that’s been said, I don’t think I can ever stop dreaming. After all, it’s in our wildest dreams that we find the courage to try and better ourselves. It’s in our craziest ideas and what-ifs that we are inspired to make new choices.

It’s after the dream—after that spark—that we must keep going. Brick by brick, it’s up to us to pave the road that’ll take us where we’re meant to be.

Don’t ignore all the ways your actions do not align with your vision.

You deserve better!

I have this unverified assumption that when a book is being made into a movie/series, that must mean the book is good and therefore, worth reading. It makes logical sense, right? Producers who, I assume, understand the general public must have done a lot of research to conclude that this book is worth the investment. Being part of that ‘general public’, I surrender my judgments to them and allow them to make the call.

I’m not saying that Behind Her Eyes was an exception or a failure of this system, necessarily, but I think it’s one of the cases where I ended up being misled because of that fact.

Sarah Pinborough is a talented writer and certainly not a careless one—I felt that most (if not all) of the plot points were explained and there were no loose ends that left me with questions. It was a pretty good read—I liked the prose, the characters had distinctive voices and the pace was solid.

Things I learned

1. Importance of an internal monologue
   Writing an internal monologue is something I struggle with, so it was nice to see how the author executed it. I notice that I tend to skip out on (important) internal monologue or create ones that are too ‘polished’.
   
   In this story, Louise spends a lot of time in her head. I wouldn’t have done this with my characters, in fear that the readers would get bored. But reading this, I think ‘messy’ monologues that aren’t linear feels more human and highlights a character’s personality.

2. The time/pace in which a main character and reader processes a new piece of information should be relatively in sync
   The main character is the vessel through which readers process the plot. This is obvious but sometimes when a character ‘mulls’ over something that the reader has already gotten over or feels has been discussed enough, or glazes over something that the reader feels is not fully processed yet, there’s that gap in the pace in which the character and the readers ‘walk’ through the story. This causes readers to grow tired of the character (when they’re too slow), or think the characters are unrealistic or desensitized (if they’re too fast).
   
   I don’t necessarily mean this for parts where the character is trying to piece together a mystery because that often uses logic and deduction skills which is (kinda) more objective. When it comes to processing revelations or new events, I think one job for writers is to perfect the pace in which it is processed and eventually accepted by the characters.
   
   

Predicted plot twists*

*or story progression (because some of these are not really plot twists)

1. David is innocent / not a killer
   Obviously, this is not a plot twist, but it’s such a sure thing to the point it became annoying to hear Louise (or Stephanie) harp on about her suspicions towards him. As a reader, it makes me want to yell at her to move on.
   
   This story also reminded me of the Housemaid (SPOILER for the Housemaid if you haven’t read it), where the plot twist was that the antagonist was the husband and not the wife. (Despite not being a huge fan of the Housemaid) It works because the only POV we’re getting is from the housemaid herself (before the twist)—we only had one recollection of events to analyse from.
   
   Though with this one, we know from the get-go (ish) that Adele’s the antagonist from Adele’s POV. This means that there is no room for speculation (since she herself explicitly states that she is manipulating Louise). Then I was worried that it was going to be revealed that David was the antagonist (or at least not 100% innocent), which would’ve sucked because it would’ve felt cheap and anticlimactic. Not to mention, it’s not much of a twist if the main character suspected it (basically) the whole time. Luckily, that was not the case.

2. Louise and Adele switching bodies
   It’s unfair for me to say I predicted this, because I didn’t, but I’m still going to include it in the list because it was one of those things were I would’ve predicted it if I had expanded my view of the realm of possibilities within this story. When I thought of them switching bodies (or even when I suspected that Adele knew about the affair through astral projection), I dismissed it almost immediately because surely not…
   
   I guess at the end of the day it brings up the question of whether or not books have to explicitly disclose their genre. I get that disclosing the fact that this book has elements of supernatural in it would ruin the twist, but if you have to hide the genre (which can be roughly considered a clue) in order for the twist to hit, doesn’t that say something about the coherence of the story?
   

Notes:
I was shocked when it was revealed that this whole time, it was Rob. Some people might find it to be a stretch, layering one twist (of the same ‘nature’, if that makes sense) on top of another twist, but I think it redeemed the story and eased my disappointment with the whole hidden genre thing. I enjoyed that part and gasped a little bit.

Clues (or details) I liked

1. The watch and the well
   I appreciated that with every piece of item that eventually became a clue, we got to spend time with it before it became one.

2. Rob’s diary entries
   Personally, the author nailed Rob’s voice and I never would’ve guessed his involvement in the story. Though, in my defense, me not thinking this was supernatural in any shape or form played a big part in me dismissing his character’s potential involvement. Regardless, the diary entries sold his whole personality and made it believable when the final twist was revealed. I didn’t think it was far-fetched that he latched onto David that quick, because the diary consistently showed that he is capable of being obsessive with a person.
   

Notes:
A clue I did not like was the way Louise found out that Adele was lying about never having seen the second door. She jumped into conclusions with that one and she was lucky it was the right conclusion but realistically, there were a dozen other explanations that would be more reasonable than what she came up with.