An Open Letter to My Nosy Family and Friends [Diary of the Undataeble]

Dearly beloved,

As the days, weeks, months and—yes—years go by, I find myself perennially single. And I know you all have noticed, too. Because the inevitable questions are bound to roll in during barbeque season, air-conditioned dinner and movie nights and family reunions, I’d like for all of you to realize one significant thing: I’m okay with my relationship status. It’s all of you, however, that find flaw in me flying solo. When you gon’ bring someone by the house? Khalea, you never talk about your boyfriends…is everything okay? Or my personal favorite (#shoutout to the kind heart that served this one!): Are you like…a lesbian?

I’m not sure when, where or how I’ll find love or even mutual like…but I’m truly not tripping. I’ve already discovered that I don’t have the ability to juggle my classes, my internship, my job search and the other ridiculously time consuming and probably unnecessary things that I do with my time along with a boyf.

Please understand that I don’t want to be stuck in something, either…stuck in a haphazard relationship that I only committed to for companionship. And most importantly, I don’t want to try and love someone for who they are if I’m still learning to love myself.

But nah. Y’all don’t hear me, though. You all want me to bring home a business school Bryan who’s on his suit and tie professional flow but too busy for me. Or you all might want me with a criminal Chad who’ll be gone ‘til November…pending. Hey, or maybe I should just date a closeted Charles, a “boyfriend” who’s really a boy and just a friend who can help me choose new shoes and a new boo. That’d be fun, right?! I’ve met and heard about variations of all of these guys…because you all have been involved with them. I think I’ll pass. Kthxbye.

I know that I’m getting older. Trust me, I’m aware. But I promise that my youth and fertility won’t completely perish with every passing virginal day. Pinky swear. And P.S., I’m not really thinking about saving for my wedding or for my kids as I can barely save enough for a MegaBus ticket back home. So chill with that, too.

Beloved. If you’ve somehow stumbled upon this column that I’ve carefully guarded from all of you for almost two years now, please take away this well-meaning message: buzz off. If these last few years have been any indication of the future, then I’ll probablyyy be single for a minute. So let your girl live! I just want to graduate, find an amazing job and the perfect, fabulously-affordable apartment in the city and let the chips fall where they may. I’m too busy turning up to settle down. Just let me live and find love the way that you all did once upon a time…and I promise, you all will be the first to know.

Lovingly submitted,


When she’s not watching for Blue Ivy sightings or doing some serious Facebook creeping, Khalea moonlights as a print journalism major at the REAL HU, Howard University. Follow her on Twitter at @letsbeKHAlear, or feel free to Twatch. Whatever works for you.

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