or most of my life, I never really wanted a boyfriend. Sure, I fantasised about one day having the kind of earth-shattering romantic love that was destined in the stars – but I never really wanted an actual boyfriend. It seemed too practical. Too serious. Too likely to end. There was so much more in my early 20s to this life I was etching out in a still-new city: ocean swims between classes; sunlit cafes; share-house balconies full of girls swapping sequinned tops; a whole community of brown women that was a world away from my mostly white upbringing. I wanted experiences, to feel it all out, and singleness was a vehicle to that. Maybe that’s why being single always felt easy to me. A more
