I never planned on being here. In fact, if you’d asked me a month ago what the most unlikely thing I’d ever do would be, I’d have said reality TV dating show without hesitation.

I was perfectly fine watching other people embarrass themselves on screen from the safety of my couch.

But apparently, my friends thought otherwise. They decided my love life—or rather, the lack of one—was their business.

One late night, between too much pizza and way too many inside jokes, they filled out an application on my behalf. Without telling me.

So here I am, standing in a line of dazzling strangers under studio lights, trying to look like I belong. I didn’t even know they’d submitted my headshot.

My friends swore it was "just for fun." But the producers called, and somehow, against all odds, I agreed.

Maybe it’s the shock. Maybe it’s the fact that deep down, I was too shy to ever sign myself up. Either way, my fate is sealed: I’m officially a contestant on The Bachelor.

At least that season was supposed to have equal of men and women, so the choice was going to be, well more fair. Maybe that's why I agreed, I didn't know myself.

However, the pairs seemed to form pretty quickly in the first few days, everyone seemed to have a "partner", someone to talk to and spend time.

It obviously wasn't official, it was just the beginning of the show and no one knew what might happen later, but I knew one thing for myself.

I was once again sitting on the side, just watching, as if I was back home in front of my TV, like I wasn't really there in the hot summer night, sitting at a bar near the beach with the other contestants in front of me.