I met Tom Felton on Saturday. It was beautiful and perfect, he was beautiful and perfect. He called me sweetheart and lovely and we shared an intense eye-staring moment that I’m pretty sure is equivalent to a marriage proposal.
As much as I wanted that moment where he had his arms around me to never end and be the start of something beautiful that would last for all eternity, the truth of the matter is as soon as I walked out of his eye sight I was replaced by another equally enthusiastic fangirl who too believed she was his soul mate.
It was a hard moment. Tom meant so much to me and I was just another girl in a line, one of thousands he would meet that day. Sure, I had Simon who he thought was so cool that he told his manager, and I was with Quack who wrote him a creepy poem, but after a while girls start melding together and I’m sure if I somehow found myself in England tomorrow and ran into him, he wouldn’t recognise me at all. That’s the difficult thing about being a fangirl. You obsess, you obsess so much that the celebrity takes over your life and you know everything about them. Then you meet them with these ideas in your head that you’re going to fall in love and have a fairytale romance, and even though you do realise it’s never going to actually happen, there’s a part of you that thinks if it can to that one girl who married the guy from her favourite boy band in the 90s, then it can happen to you (after all, John Green said in Paper Towns that everyone is entitled to one miracle per lifetime). But then the moment happens and they’re sweet and lovely and everything you could have dreamed about, but when you have to turn around and never see them again, the reality hits hard. Fangirling is ultimately a futile activity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to stop fangirling, if anything I’ll fangirl harder. It’s fun, and when you do actually meet them it’s so perfect, I can’t even begin to explain it. And anyway, at the end of the day, how do they know I’m not their soulmate if they’re yet to meet me?
Tom has now left the country, back home to his girlfriend (nobody likes Jade), and I’m left sitting here feeling like my life is the song Superstar by Taylor Swift. After all, I’m no one special, just another wide eyed girl who’s desperately in love with you. Give me a photograph, to hang on my wall, superstar.
Also, give me a photograph he did (after I handed over $40), and it is a brilliant photo if I may say so myself. Even though everyone who sees it (and toong’s) says he looks like he’s a dying old man.
frangipani princess xoxo