"Love is like death, it must come to us all, but to each his own unique way and time, sometimes it will be avoided, but never can it be cheated, and never will it be forgotten."
- Jacob Grimm

I was a child when I first fell in love with fairytale stories. Of princesses and prince's dancing to a mesmerizing music under a magnificent chandelier in a pristine palace.

I watch it, I read it, I dream of it.

The fortunate fate of Cinderella marrying her own prince due to a glass shoe, Snow White and Aurora's true loves kiss, Ariel falling for a human being, or how Rapunzel's long hair found her a prince to love.

Love. Love. Love.

I believed one day, I'd get to find my own fairytale. Wear my own glass shoe, have my own true loves kiss, and brush my own long hair—get my own happy ending. I didn't know that life is the opposite of a fairy tale, then. That 'I' could become the hindrance to my own fairytale.

And boy, did it hurt like burnt flesh to realize the very fact of it.

The fact that prince's don't really define my dream fairytale nor is it confined to—heroines. How confusing?

Indeed.

Wearing a dress gives me heartburn. Skirts make me shiver. Make-ups...