Confessions of Vanity and Desire, Learning to Value Yourself
You know, behind all that vanity, it’s really just me feeling… empty inside.
Halfway through our play, he got yanked away by a phone call.
And just like that, the whip got tossed in front of me.
I could kinda hear his team on the line, reporting stuff like, “Where are you traveling tomorrow?” or “The client wants to sign a million-dollar deal.”
And there he was, frowning just a little, standing all shiny and calm, analyzing and arranging everything like a boss… and honestly, I think even I—standing right there—looked dull in comparison.
He hung up and bounced fast, saying he had to get back to work, totally forgetting I was still mid-play.
So, of course, I walked him to the door, ignoring my own interrupted fun, just worrying if I’d messed with his career.
Only after his confident little silhouette disappeared did I start picking up the tiny pieces of myself.
Sometimes I think about it and… okay, yeah, it’s awkward, but I just can’t help being a little obsessed with strong people.
Back in high school, I had a crush on this guy in the class next door—he got fast-tracked to Tsinghua.
His name was always on the honor roll, basically number one every time.
Naturally, he became my secret crush. I stuck close, wrote him love letters, knitted scarves, basically forced him to admit I was his girlfriend.
And you know what? I secretly loved it when people asked, “Who’s your boyfriend?” and I could point at the top student in the grade. Boom. Vanity satisfied.
Fast-forward to college, our foreign teachers encouraged us to pair up with foreigners to practice English, and… well, I went straight for one of them.
Friends warned, “Student-teacher thing? Bad idea.”
Me? I didn’t care. Having a foreign boyfriend in college? Instant spotlight. People would literally stare.
“Bad idea”? Pfft. Jealousy talking.
So even when I found out he cheated and was seeing multiple Chinese girls, I stuck around.
Until one day, he double-booked two girls and asked me to handle the other.
There I was, cleaning up his little battlefield while my rose-colored glasses shattered. Yeah, finally saw him for what he really was.
Why am I so drawn to strong people? I ask myself this a lot.
It’s like… if they shine, I’ll ignore all their flaws and hand myself over, even if they hurt me. I’ll even make excuses for them.
Take the Dom guy I mentioned—super impressive, under 30, huge company, flying around like a superhero.
Even leaving student life behind didn’t stop me from falling for guys like him.
He liked BDSM, so I morphed into whatever he wanted.
He stayed in my city for only four hours, and I skipped work to meet him.
He said from the start he wouldn’t marry me, just play. And yet, I happily brainwashed myself: “I’m just not good enough for him.”
He’d say he missed me, and I’d hop on a plane 2,000 km away.
He’d say he was busy for two weeks, and I’d mute myself, scared to send a message, waiting for him to reach out first.
Sometimes, I swear I was nuts. I knew he probably had someone else during those two weeks. I knew being with him was a total waste of time. But when he contacted me again…
Suddenly, I felt important again. Just a little. And bam—I was groveling like a little puppy, all over again.
My bestie yelled at me: “He hasn’t even spent money on you! You bought the tickets, right? Can you just wake up and stop being pathetic?”
And you know what? She had a point.
I’ve thought a lot about why I chase strong people.
It comes from being scared of being looked down on.
I wasn’t strong enough, so I tried borrowing other people’s power to make myself look… impressive.
—My boyfriend’s top of the class? I can strut in front of friends.
—My boyfriend’s foreign? Instant spotlight.
—My Dom’s super successful? Hello, prestige!
But behind it all, vanity just hides a lack of self.
I’d throw myself at them, trading my trust and dependence for a little “protection”: “My partner is powerful, I just need to go along. Me? Who cares if I’m not impressive. I’ll hide under their wings.”
Except those wings? Yeah… they flung me around sometimes, too.
I read something from Seneca once:
“But you never care to look at yourself, to listen to your own heart. Therefore, you have no right to demand anyone’s attention, because it is not that you lack others’ company, but that you cannot bear your own.”
I cried like a baby when I read that.
After my Dom disappeared for two weeks, I finally decided to leave him and try putting my life back on me.
By the time I wrote this, I’d been living alone for months and had figured a lot out.
Being drawn to strong people? It’s really just wanting what you can’t have. We put a filter on it; once we get it, the magic fades.
If that college foreign teacher popped up now? Meh. Just a guy. Flaws included.
But the cost? I finally saw my attraction to power for what it was, and I lost my heart that once loved freely.
I don’t think I’ll fall for someone easily again.
Funny thing—this year when I went home for matchmaking, I met a totally suitable guy: same age, normal grad, nothing flashy, but genuine, honest, wants to grow and hustle together.
Everything about him screamed “perfect,” except… I didn’t feel a thing.
After a few days, I politely said, “We’re not a match.”
At 18, I wanted a perfect partner, someone to feed my vanity and shine for me.
At 23, I wandered in fog, worshipping every shiny light, giving myself completely, even if it burned me.
At 25, I cleared the mist… and realized I’d lost my own heart. Now, I’m just moving forward alone.