Ever since I could remember, I was always bending over backwards for a crush — quite literally. I attempted to impress the first boy I liked by forcing him to watch me do cartwheels over and over again at the playground. 

Flash forward to high school, I was waking up at 6 a.m. every day just to straighten my hair so I could look more like my crush’s type: chungsoon, a very youthful, girl-next-door vibe with straight, shiny dark hair, pale skin and “no makeup” makeup. Having just moved to Korea from California, I did not fit this archetype: I was tan with a closet full of beachy clothes and curls that took forever to straighten out.

But the underlying problem was that  I didn’t feel Korean enough.

 So, I tried to change into someone easier to choose. I researched trends, practiced makeup and consumed pop culture. I felt so proud whenever a guy would tell me, “You know (insert Korean thing)? Wow, you really are Korean.” And then I no longer felt that I was deficient in my Koreanness. But no matter how hard I tried, the parts I wanted to hide resurfaced, like my stubborn curls that reappeared on an especially humid day.

I was never lonely in my pursuits — my friends and I were each other’s investigators and co-conspirators, giving our crushes code names (Pineapple, Skittles, Volleyball, Walnut, Caesar Salad, etc.), helping each other stalk someone on LinkedIn when Instagram failed us or sending screenshots of text conversations to analyze. Even if some guy I hardly knew didn’t like me back, at least I knew my friends would never make me feel like I was unlovable. 

But all our scheming got us were excuses to merely make eye contact or wave — I never actually had the guts to do more. My friends would frustratedly tell me I should just ask him to hang out, but I would just say I was waiting for the right moment. 

Waiting too long for the right moment may also mean watching your crush post their girlfriend on Valentine’s Day and then not going on Instagram for the rest of the day. But that doesn’t mean crushes should be avoided at all costs. Yearning for someone gave me a face to look for at a party, inside jokes and a chance to learn about who I really was rather than who I tried to be for a crush. The next time a new crush comes along, I know I can keep my hair curly, and keep myself upright — no more cartwheels until I’m dizzy.