Somehow my friends are feeling more urgent regarding my civil status than I do myself. I can't help but to feel accused of being picky. They don't seem to understand. It doesn't come down to looks and other superficialities. "He's nice," they say, as if the word 'nice' could ever describe the entirety of a person. They think I don't know what I want; on the contrary, I know too well what I want. I want someone who's like me - utterly ordinary yet exceptionally special. Someone who is interesting enough to spend the rest of my life with. Someone who makes me think and rethink my beliefs.