the universe has taken upon itself to ensure that i cease online dating
for the umpteenth time, something has not gone my way. i finally realise why this was is and continues to be so upsetting. it is a cognitive dissonance of sorts. when what you imagine and what happens in reality completely mismatch - like a mini shock to your system.
my butt is a blessing and a curse, but mostly a curse
i feel like a pornstar who's trying to break out of the scene and change her line of work. there is for sure an element of self sabotage and lack of control on my part. perhaps the ideal hang/bang situation i envision is not something that can even happen - for anyone.
having sex does not mean i deserve less respect
i fear that i have grown accustom to inherently distrusting men. recently after sexting, a guy said he had a family emergency, wasnt in a good place and didnt want to meet anymore. my deep distrust led me to actually entertain the thought that he could be lying, and even im being honest, 5% of me still thinks that. which makes me ugly honestly. this distrust can manifest in a self-centeredness that i resent.
i am running out of lessons to learn
i feel like ive learnt every lesson out there. ive nursed the hurt from being ghosted, from him liking someone else and from a simple lack of reciprocity.
the. irony. of. just. wanting. to. have. sex. with. someone. i. vibe. with.
what does this connote? hassle free, problem free, light, easy.
what does this entail? uncertainty, lack of closure, ambiguity.
stop having sex?
starting to believe that this is the answer. perhaps, yes, it does feed into the madonna-whore complex. but i am also just utterly tired. so maybe i stop fighting, stop trying to defy the norm.
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Thursday, December 19, 2019
why online dating makes me wanna cry
WAIT, I THOUGHT THIS BITCH WAS ON A HIATUS? WHAT SHE DOIN BACK ONLINE?
i shall begin with a small story time (i wish i had the balls to actually do videos and post them online but the possibility of working in government/as a teacher looms over me).
after a 9/10 month dating app hiatus (except for that one time i had a mini breakdown while studying for finals and used tinder web for a few minutes), i finally found myself typing up "bumble.com" in my search bar one fateful afternoon (after promising my lunch buddy "ya ok what you say makes sense, i wont go back to the apps"). what possessed me to do this? most likely a combination of boredom and desire for male attention. i selected my pictures - picture 1: cute picture of me in sunlight taken by D, picture 2: a quirky picture of me laughing and showing off me b00ty taken by B and picture 3: a simple cute smiley photo of me against some foliage (lets see if you can already spot my rookie mistake).
after swiping right on every guy for awhile (i was trying to leave it up to fate rather than choice) bumble finally stopped me with its right-swiping-limit and i went to bed. the next day i woke to a bunch of matches and naturally, felt validated - they like me !
but then came scrolling through and deciding who to actually talk to (still prefer this to being bombarded with 50 "hi how are you"s - 50? i exaggerate, im cute but not 50-messages-on-tinder-cute).
so look, im not trying to be racist or xenophobic, but i was trying to sieve out the guys who might be from india. as someone who likes brown dudes, i have not-so-unintentionally gone out with AND slept with more men from india than i have from singapore. tried and tested, i havent exactly gotten along with them - we always reach a wall, especially when it comes to humour. i dont have much luck in dating as it is so i just wanted increase probability of vibing by talking to sinGaporean men. so that was my little prelude, please dont get me wrong dear readers.
WHO AM I?
so i deliver some quality bantery messages to a handful of guys - top notch stuff. but then i realise, i've forgotten how to talk to boys. sending the first message is like composing a tweet, one-way, quippy, funny, more so for your entertainment. but once they reply, it becomes a two-way thing.
suddenly im stuck.
stumped.
to the guy with the bio "the best indian you'll ever takeaway" do i say, "yeah i love eating indian food if you know what i mean ;)" - because thats my default! innuendo-riddled sexy fun timez messages! but no, thats not what we're doing anymore. we're trying to nOT have meaningless sex with strangers remember. so... what do i do, what do i say? i went on a date with a guy (with whom i am now pals with, shout out to you D!), and he told me i was coming off too strong with the whole "tell me how you REALLY feel, who are you REALLY", so i was trying not to veer into that either. avoid the extremes! so this was obstacle number 1: how the fuck am i supposed to be my authentic self...
i decided: dont put so much pressure on what youre saying exactly, just have the right intentions
the right intentions being: get to know him, not bone him
and with that i merrily chatted with a few suitors
WHO ARE THEY AND WHAT THE HELL DO THEY WANT FROM ME?
one guy in particular catches my attention. our conversation flows really easily (its indian takeaway man). we move to telegram real fast (i was hesitant but i was also trying not to second guess things too much, "go with the flow" as the kids say). i made it a point to not explicitly say, "oh im looking to vibe with someone and then possibly have sex with them" - in the past ive been very upfront with my intentions, but ive learnt that this kind of robs the connection of genuinely developing. instead of actually engaging with them, i have an internal checklist of what should/shouldnt happen. so this time, im free and easy (not like THAT).
after a few messages, i realise he's being a bit overtly flirty with the "hey sexy"s and "is that ass real", but okay, i excuse it because he also asks more innocuous questions like, "what do you look for in a guy" and "what're you up to". i dont encourage the flirty messages, i deflect them by asking more questions instead (nice one girl, there was a time when you wouldve jumped on the opportunity to send someone a naked picture). i pat myself on the back for being a good converser with this man. eventually we decide to meet and THAT'S when things get hella confusing.
firstly, he refuses to pick me up even though its along the way. is this a red flag? am i asking for too much? should i insist on it to make a statement about what kind of girl i am?
secondly, upon meeting he cannot. shut. up. about how pretty i am. yall, im not trying to be self-deprecating, i know i am pretty and hot and all, but no one has gone on and on about it like him. it confused me more so than validated me.
thirdly, all this below:
so after grabbing my hand a few times in the car and interlocking his with mine, we get to mount faber. i think to myself: great, we can walk and talk, and attempt to get to know each other. but then, all hell breaks loose. fella keeps touching my ass, says weird things like "do you know how many other girls i cancelled on to meet you, i wanted to see if that ass was real". i thoroughly regretted my cheeky (pun always intended) ass pic immediately.
the thing is, i really wouldnt mind something casual. i would just like to talk first and establish some vibing before getting into that. at this point, i was sick of being sexualised, i dont need it no more! but, he's hella cute and very attractive despite all this, and i proceed to engage in risque activity with him. i apologise to my country for soiling mount faber like this!
some particularly weird moments during said activity:
- him grabbing my neck and pulling me into his face to kiss him, ignoring my "your hurting me"s
- him kissing me while i was mid-sentence
- him talking a lot about himself (this one i didnt hate, but i'd like to be asked questions too)
- his dogged insistence on fixing my jaw even though i said no multiple times (he proceeded to semi-erotically coerce me into opening and closing my mouth while he pressed on my jaw. only a man has the confidence to play doctor amirite)
- him doing other stuff despite me saying no multiple times
to his credit: maybe i wasnt saying no convincingly enough. maybe i did actually want it? maybe i was distracted because he was cute. i really dont know.
even though i didnt want to, i launched into a small monologue about how i was trying to change my ways, but it was met with indifference.
okay so thats all he wanted, to have sex with me. noted.
THE AMBIGUITY, THE FUCKING AMBIGUITY
okay so the next day, fully aware of what he wants, i think to myself, "maybe having a fk buddy before i fly off isnt such a bad thing". i ask him if he wants to meet up and im met with a cold, disinterested message.
i shouldnt let this get to me right? but i did. not because he "rejected" me, but because i was upset with myself.
had i undone my 9-10 months of work? all the growing i was trying to do? 10 months later and i end up in the exact position that prompted me to go on a hiatus in the first place.
my mini spiral leads me to question, am i even capable of letting a man get to know me and getting to know a man (in a non-platonic capacity ofc, shout out to my male friends reading this, love yall boos)?
i am fed up with being in these positions. the grayest of gray situationships where being treated like a human being is a delightful surprise more so than the status quo and where i am always in a state of confusion as to who i am or what i want.
THE END
so i go home. delete his messages and telegram contact. delete my bumble.com account. and meet my friend for gengki sushi to nurse my sadness.
and folks, this is why dating apps make me wanna cry.
i shall begin with a small story time (i wish i had the balls to actually do videos and post them online but the possibility of working in government/as a teacher looms over me).
after a 9/10 month dating app hiatus (except for that one time i had a mini breakdown while studying for finals and used tinder web for a few minutes), i finally found myself typing up "bumble.com" in my search bar one fateful afternoon (after promising my lunch buddy "ya ok what you say makes sense, i wont go back to the apps"). what possessed me to do this? most likely a combination of boredom and desire for male attention. i selected my pictures - picture 1: cute picture of me in sunlight taken by D, picture 2: a quirky picture of me laughing and showing off me b00ty taken by B and picture 3: a simple cute smiley photo of me against some foliage (lets see if you can already spot my rookie mistake).
after swiping right on every guy for awhile (i was trying to leave it up to fate rather than choice) bumble finally stopped me with its right-swiping-limit and i went to bed. the next day i woke to a bunch of matches and naturally, felt validated - they like me !
but then came scrolling through and deciding who to actually talk to (still prefer this to being bombarded with 50 "hi how are you"s - 50? i exaggerate, im cute but not 50-messages-on-tinder-cute).
so look, im not trying to be racist or xenophobic, but i was trying to sieve out the guys who might be from india. as someone who likes brown dudes, i have not-so-unintentionally gone out with AND slept with more men from india than i have from singapore. tried and tested, i havent exactly gotten along with them - we always reach a wall, especially when it comes to humour. i dont have much luck in dating as it is so i just wanted increase probability of vibing by talking to sinGaporean men. so that was my little prelude, please dont get me wrong dear readers.
WHO AM I?
so i deliver some quality bantery messages to a handful of guys - top notch stuff. but then i realise, i've forgotten how to talk to boys. sending the first message is like composing a tweet, one-way, quippy, funny, more so for your entertainment. but once they reply, it becomes a two-way thing.
suddenly im stuck.
stumped.
to the guy with the bio "the best indian you'll ever takeaway" do i say, "yeah i love eating indian food if you know what i mean ;)" - because thats my default! innuendo-riddled sexy fun timez messages! but no, thats not what we're doing anymore. we're trying to nOT have meaningless sex with strangers remember. so... what do i do, what do i say? i went on a date with a guy (with whom i am now pals with, shout out to you D!), and he told me i was coming off too strong with the whole "tell me how you REALLY feel, who are you REALLY", so i was trying not to veer into that either. avoid the extremes! so this was obstacle number 1: how the fuck am i supposed to be my authentic self...
i decided: dont put so much pressure on what youre saying exactly, just have the right intentions
the right intentions being: get to know him, not bone him
and with that i merrily chatted with a few suitors
WHO ARE THEY AND WHAT THE HELL DO THEY WANT FROM ME?
one guy in particular catches my attention. our conversation flows really easily (its indian takeaway man). we move to telegram real fast (i was hesitant but i was also trying not to second guess things too much, "go with the flow" as the kids say). i made it a point to not explicitly say, "oh im looking to vibe with someone and then possibly have sex with them" - in the past ive been very upfront with my intentions, but ive learnt that this kind of robs the connection of genuinely developing. instead of actually engaging with them, i have an internal checklist of what should/shouldnt happen. so this time, im free and easy (not like THAT).
after a few messages, i realise he's being a bit overtly flirty with the "hey sexy"s and "is that ass real", but okay, i excuse it because he also asks more innocuous questions like, "what do you look for in a guy" and "what're you up to". i dont encourage the flirty messages, i deflect them by asking more questions instead (nice one girl, there was a time when you wouldve jumped on the opportunity to send someone a naked picture). i pat myself on the back for being a good converser with this man. eventually we decide to meet and THAT'S when things get hella confusing.
firstly, he refuses to pick me up even though its along the way. is this a red flag? am i asking for too much? should i insist on it to make a statement about what kind of girl i am?
secondly, upon meeting he cannot. shut. up. about how pretty i am. yall, im not trying to be self-deprecating, i know i am pretty and hot and all, but no one has gone on and on about it like him. it confused me more so than validated me.
thirdly, all this below:
so after grabbing my hand a few times in the car and interlocking his with mine, we get to mount faber. i think to myself: great, we can walk and talk, and attempt to get to know each other. but then, all hell breaks loose. fella keeps touching my ass, says weird things like "do you know how many other girls i cancelled on to meet you, i wanted to see if that ass was real". i thoroughly regretted my cheeky (pun always intended) ass pic immediately.
the thing is, i really wouldnt mind something casual. i would just like to talk first and establish some vibing before getting into that. at this point, i was sick of being sexualised, i dont need it no more! but, he's hella cute and very attractive despite all this, and i proceed to engage in risque activity with him. i apologise to my country for soiling mount faber like this!
some particularly weird moments during said activity:
- him grabbing my neck and pulling me into his face to kiss him, ignoring my "your hurting me"s
- him kissing me while i was mid-sentence
- him talking a lot about himself (this one i didnt hate, but i'd like to be asked questions too)
- his dogged insistence on fixing my jaw even though i said no multiple times (he proceeded to semi-erotically coerce me into opening and closing my mouth while he pressed on my jaw. only a man has the confidence to play doctor amirite)
- him doing other stuff despite me saying no multiple times
to his credit: maybe i wasnt saying no convincingly enough. maybe i did actually want it? maybe i was distracted because he was cute. i really dont know.
even though i didnt want to, i launched into a small monologue about how i was trying to change my ways, but it was met with indifference.
okay so thats all he wanted, to have sex with me. noted.
THE AMBIGUITY, THE FUCKING AMBIGUITY
okay so the next day, fully aware of what he wants, i think to myself, "maybe having a fk buddy before i fly off isnt such a bad thing". i ask him if he wants to meet up and im met with a cold, disinterested message.
i shouldnt let this get to me right? but i did. not because he "rejected" me, but because i was upset with myself.
had i undone my 9-10 months of work? all the growing i was trying to do? 10 months later and i end up in the exact position that prompted me to go on a hiatus in the first place.
my mini spiral leads me to question, am i even capable of letting a man get to know me and getting to know a man (in a non-platonic capacity ofc, shout out to my male friends reading this, love yall boos)?
i am fed up with being in these positions. the grayest of gray situationships where being treated like a human being is a delightful surprise more so than the status quo and where i am always in a state of confusion as to who i am or what i want.
THE END
so i go home. delete his messages and telegram contact. delete my bumble.com account. and meet my friend for gengki sushi to nurse my sadness.
and folks, this is why dating apps make me wanna cry.
Saturday, November 30, 2019
why i stopped having sex with men i did not know
my earliest memory of romantic love (in relation to me) is this vivid dream i used to have - a man was on the brink of death, an apparition appears illuminated by my night light, she tells me that this man will die unless i love him, i agree to love him immediately, to save him. why do i agree to marry and love him so easily? why was my first conception of romantic love so linked with death?
if this is indicative of how i first became acquainted with love, then what was my first perception of sex?
when i was 13/14, i accidentally sexted a boy i met from this religious thing i used to go to. i was in my living room, sleeping on the couch (even though i had a perfectly good bed a few steps away), on my little Nokia phone, a luxury i was still getting used to, i was engaging in one of my first real "sms conversations". me and A were secret friends. at the religious place, we barely spoke, but for some reason, we texted a lot. it was odd. i didnt like being associated with him in real life. but the secrecy, the clandestine texts, reeled me in. A wanted to be a fashion designer. i knew he had to be gay. but he here he was texting me about some other girl he liked. we started playing an sms-text game of would you rather - we slowly transitioned from "would you rather nipples on your eyelashes or eyelashes on your nipple?", to "would you rather big boobs or small boobs?"
we both started feeling tingly - for me it was a tingly characterised by wetness, for him it was a tingly characterised by hardness.
my first brush with sex. post would-you-rather-sexting, my proverbial dry spell would go on to last about 5 years. until i actively sought it out.
it'd be reductive to say it was peer pressure. on C's bed, during one of our many sleepovers, she was telling me about the recent sex she had with her then boyfriend when i suddenly blurted out, "it feels like you've all been invited to a party and im the only one who hasnt been invited". (i always did like a party heheh). but it wasnt the act of "sex" that i felt like i was missing out on, it was the act of "feeling sexually desired".
ive always a sort of disjuncture between thinking i was pretty but realising that other people didnt think the same way. i used to think i had an actual shot with my childhood crush J, until i dug up an old photo of us in kindergarten and realised i was thrice his size. maybe not so much pretty, but attractive - i've always thought i was attractive because attraction (in my head) takes into account the person's personality. i think i have a nice personality. but, bit by bit, little me realised people werent always going to see it. what did they see was an obese little girl, red from running (mostly walking) around the netball court in TAF club. boys did not give me the time of day. i thought my neighbourhood-pal was cute but when i tried playing badminton, i distinctly remember him laughing at me and calling me some sort of fat-related insult. i think i skipped ahead to sex to compensate for all the years of feeling undesired - to me, sex was the most powerful indication of attraction, an attraction so alluring that it coerced someone into action, to act on it. having sex was a big fuck you to the boys i used to play with on the playground.
i can separate the physical act from emotion, yes. but what i didnt foresee was that it'd be disappointing to skip ahead to attraction-affirming-sex. because it skipped past a part of myself that i love: my personality. my approach was disaggregated - i tried to neatly segregate parts of myself and affirm what i thought i lacked affirmation in. i'm not gonna lie, it did work. knowing and experiencing that there were people in the world who were attracted to me and wanted to have sex with me did have a profound impact on how i saw myself. to an extent, it un-did the years of feeling undesired, feeling neglected or looked pass, but i would be constantly disappointed (to different extents) when these men didnt fall in love with who i was. a weirdly inflated ego i have. i'd unconsciously make myself extra charming, extra understanding, extra funny, extra articulate, and yet, all these men wanted to do was to spank my ass. my new conundrum: why were they not falling in love with me? is my personality not as amazing as i thought? do i have to fix this now?
so i lost myself a little bit. it's not that i didnt know who i was. i did, i really did and do. i just struggle to show it on dates(?) and ambiguous interactions with men(?). i could easily be a body to them but i didnt know how to be a person. D kind of shared this sentiment, she wrote a poem about how out of body it felt to have sex. not because the sex was gREAT. out of body in the literal sense, like we literally felt like we were outside of our body, riding a random bearded indian fella we met online a few hours ago. subconsciously, i yearned for them to know me.
i only became cognisant of this when i had a brief encounter with someone who somewhat married "knowing me" and "fucking me". it gave me soOoo much satisfaction that he could say things like he liked that i was independent, out-going, confident, and not just that he liked my ass, breasts, soft hands. i became even more cognisant of it when this was abruptly taken away from me. this man became a ghost (geddit, cos he ghosted me) but more importantly, this unity of my physical attraction and personality, ghosted off with him. my tiny brush with a more holistic sense of affirmation.
ok this is why i stopped having (a lot) of sex with (strangers). for one, i didnt want this to happen to me again because it was so hard to recover from. my friends and i almost got in am accident and my first thought was that my last thought was being sad over a man i barely truly knew and who barely truly knew me. for awhile i didnt trust myself to make correct decisions about boys.
"youre going to get yourself into this situation again, because you've programmed yourself to expect the bare minimum and be happy with the bare minimum. so you're going to do this again because you cant fathom how to expect more".
okay something about that little sentence makes my uncomfortable but i wont delete it. its not that these men were monsters, they entered into something purely physical, its just that they werent the nicest about it + i had some weird expectation that they would be so enamoured by me. so its not their faults, no.
my little break has served me well. in this time ive voiced out when i wanted to stop having sex with a man because i realised i wasnt attracted to him, had sex with a complete stranger and left immediately after because i realised i didnt particularly enjoy it or his company and had actual good sex where i had the space to voice out what i wanted.
baby steps.
i still like having sex and i dont think i can get used to a life where i go cold-turkey. but im appreciating it now for other reasons: no more rhetoric about affirmation - the only thing these men need to give me are orgasms and some kindness. they dont need to be fixing my years of insecurities.
now in my second attempt, i want to have sex with people that i attempt to get to know first. i want us both to make an earnest attempt at getting to know each other so the sex feel fuller, more whole. im still not out there tryna look for loVe or a reLationship. its taken me awhile but i truly dont want those things anymore. i like being a little free. ok some people have laughed and said that sex + vibing is basically a relationship with no commitment. but i think its different. (ok i could be wrong, like ive said before, i am not to be trusted). but it feels different??
who knows honestly. maybe the true secret to my happiness is celibacy.
thank you for reading this incoherent blabber. i will revisit this in my dark times, when i forget who i am. (or maybe when im in bed once more with a stranger)
if this is indicative of how i first became acquainted with love, then what was my first perception of sex?
when i was 13/14, i accidentally sexted a boy i met from this religious thing i used to go to. i was in my living room, sleeping on the couch (even though i had a perfectly good bed a few steps away), on my little Nokia phone, a luxury i was still getting used to, i was engaging in one of my first real "sms conversations". me and A were secret friends. at the religious place, we barely spoke, but for some reason, we texted a lot. it was odd. i didnt like being associated with him in real life. but the secrecy, the clandestine texts, reeled me in. A wanted to be a fashion designer. i knew he had to be gay. but he here he was texting me about some other girl he liked. we started playing an sms-text game of would you rather - we slowly transitioned from "would you rather nipples on your eyelashes or eyelashes on your nipple?", to "would you rather big boobs or small boobs?"
we both started feeling tingly - for me it was a tingly characterised by wetness, for him it was a tingly characterised by hardness.
my first brush with sex. post would-you-rather-sexting, my proverbial dry spell would go on to last about 5 years. until i actively sought it out.
it'd be reductive to say it was peer pressure. on C's bed, during one of our many sleepovers, she was telling me about the recent sex she had with her then boyfriend when i suddenly blurted out, "it feels like you've all been invited to a party and im the only one who hasnt been invited". (i always did like a party heheh). but it wasnt the act of "sex" that i felt like i was missing out on, it was the act of "feeling sexually desired".
ive always a sort of disjuncture between thinking i was pretty but realising that other people didnt think the same way. i used to think i had an actual shot with my childhood crush J, until i dug up an old photo of us in kindergarten and realised i was thrice his size. maybe not so much pretty, but attractive - i've always thought i was attractive because attraction (in my head) takes into account the person's personality. i think i have a nice personality. but, bit by bit, little me realised people werent always going to see it. what did they see was an obese little girl, red from running (mostly walking) around the netball court in TAF club. boys did not give me the time of day. i thought my neighbourhood-pal was cute but when i tried playing badminton, i distinctly remember him laughing at me and calling me some sort of fat-related insult. i think i skipped ahead to sex to compensate for all the years of feeling undesired - to me, sex was the most powerful indication of attraction, an attraction so alluring that it coerced someone into action, to act on it. having sex was a big fuck you to the boys i used to play with on the playground.
i can separate the physical act from emotion, yes. but what i didnt foresee was that it'd be disappointing to skip ahead to attraction-affirming-sex. because it skipped past a part of myself that i love: my personality. my approach was disaggregated - i tried to neatly segregate parts of myself and affirm what i thought i lacked affirmation in. i'm not gonna lie, it did work. knowing and experiencing that there were people in the world who were attracted to me and wanted to have sex with me did have a profound impact on how i saw myself. to an extent, it un-did the years of feeling undesired, feeling neglected or looked pass, but i would be constantly disappointed (to different extents) when these men didnt fall in love with who i was. a weirdly inflated ego i have. i'd unconsciously make myself extra charming, extra understanding, extra funny, extra articulate, and yet, all these men wanted to do was to spank my ass. my new conundrum: why were they not falling in love with me? is my personality not as amazing as i thought? do i have to fix this now?
so i lost myself a little bit. it's not that i didnt know who i was. i did, i really did and do. i just struggle to show it on dates(?) and ambiguous interactions with men(?). i could easily be a body to them but i didnt know how to be a person. D kind of shared this sentiment, she wrote a poem about how out of body it felt to have sex. not because the sex was gREAT. out of body in the literal sense, like we literally felt like we were outside of our body, riding a random bearded indian fella we met online a few hours ago. subconsciously, i yearned for them to know me.
i only became cognisant of this when i had a brief encounter with someone who somewhat married "knowing me" and "fucking me". it gave me soOoo much satisfaction that he could say things like he liked that i was independent, out-going, confident, and not just that he liked my ass, breasts, soft hands. i became even more cognisant of it when this was abruptly taken away from me. this man became a ghost (geddit, cos he ghosted me) but more importantly, this unity of my physical attraction and personality, ghosted off with him. my tiny brush with a more holistic sense of affirmation.
ok this is why i stopped having (a lot) of sex with (strangers). for one, i didnt want this to happen to me again because it was so hard to recover from. my friends and i almost got in am accident and my first thought was that my last thought was being sad over a man i barely truly knew and who barely truly knew me. for awhile i didnt trust myself to make correct decisions about boys.
"youre going to get yourself into this situation again, because you've programmed yourself to expect the bare minimum and be happy with the bare minimum. so you're going to do this again because you cant fathom how to expect more".
okay something about that little sentence makes my uncomfortable but i wont delete it. its not that these men were monsters, they entered into something purely physical, its just that they werent the nicest about it + i had some weird expectation that they would be so enamoured by me. so its not their faults, no.
my little break has served me well. in this time ive voiced out when i wanted to stop having sex with a man because i realised i wasnt attracted to him, had sex with a complete stranger and left immediately after because i realised i didnt particularly enjoy it or his company and had actual good sex where i had the space to voice out what i wanted.
baby steps.
i still like having sex and i dont think i can get used to a life where i go cold-turkey. but im appreciating it now for other reasons: no more rhetoric about affirmation - the only thing these men need to give me are orgasms and some kindness. they dont need to be fixing my years of insecurities.
now in my second attempt, i want to have sex with people that i attempt to get to know first. i want us both to make an earnest attempt at getting to know each other so the sex feel fuller, more whole. im still not out there tryna look for loVe or a reLationship. its taken me awhile but i truly dont want those things anymore. i like being a little free. ok some people have laughed and said that sex + vibing is basically a relationship with no commitment. but i think its different. (ok i could be wrong, like ive said before, i am not to be trusted). but it feels different??
who knows honestly. maybe the true secret to my happiness is celibacy.
thank you for reading this incoherent blabber. i will revisit this in my dark times, when i forget who i am. (or maybe when im in bed once more with a stranger)
Thursday, August 1, 2019
Playing Boyfriend with my Boy Friends
I'm not sure how this started, but somewhere along the way, I started confiding in boys who were virtually strangers. Every time I started a "texting relationship" with a guy I matched with, it didn't take much for me to start pouring out my deepest secrets and feelings. I think, in my innocent young mind, I thought that the more open I was with them, the higher the likelihood that they'd fall in love with me. Maybe, if I try to psychoanalyse myself, this is a result of all the media that I consumed as an impressionable girl that fed me the narrative (that I consumed without resistance): pretty girls get the guys, fat girls were fun sidekicks at best.
I sincerely thought, I needed to lose weight in order for anyone to fall in love with me.
Something else has been happening these days. It's a bit more ambiguous, a bit more insidious, I'm not sure if its as "bad". I've gotten into the habit of assessing my male friends, assessing whether they can be something more, more than friendship. Friendship and more-than-friendship suddenly become permeable spaces. Maybe this only happens with a few guys right? That wouldn't be so bad? Not like EVERY male friend. Whatever it is, it's fucking irritating!
The last time this happened, I acted on the instinct that the boy must like me (he said my earrings were nice, he said he can see why guys would like me more when they're older, he said its unusual that he talks so much around me because he usually doesn't). Why do I value these comments more when I interpret them as romantic statements? What does it mean to receive validation, care or support from a platonic male friend? I don't know A evaded this process - I guess because he was attached when we met or because there was just an instant sibling-like connection.
Getting closer to R happened in admittedly romantic settings - long walks at night, swinging in a park. The setting doesn't help. At first I was just happy I had a neighbourhood pal to walk with. Now I'm looking at his tagged photos going, "aww he looks so cute", thinking about him before I go to sleep sometimes, itching to text him.
What is the value of a platonic male friend to me? Do men just have a romantic expiry date for me? Am I in a bit to prove to my young self that I am worthy of love? Does that discount the love that R had for me? Is it reciprocal love I'm looking for?
I'm afraid that I'm getting in the way of organic things - of the natural growth and decay. I disrupt these processes with my questions, asked in earnest, in search of clarification. Maybe it's not always good to be clear. When you ask someone to be clear, you put the pressure on them to have an answer, to wade amongst the weeds of uncertainty and emerge with a substantial answer. It could be a premature no, or a premature yes. I have to learn to bite my tongue, especially on the words, "are you attracted to me?".
This used to be my favourite question. If I were.a character in a video game, the answer "yeah I'm attracted to you" was what made my life bar full, filled to the brim.
When did I make these synaptic connections?
Boy nice to me = Boy like me
Boy say nice thing to me = Boy want to have sex with me
Boy nice to me = I want to have sex with Boy
Boy and I vibe = Boy and I should have sex
Who snuck into my brain and embedded this into it? Un-embed it please, I am tired of wondering, I am tired of shooting myself down, I am tired of having mind sex with these boys. These nice boys, who just want to be my friend. For reasons. These nice boys who make the effort to get to know me, something my 15-year old self thought was impossible. Boys who laugh at my jokes. Boys whose jokes I laugh at. To whom I can admit openly when I don't understand an economics terms, or with whom I can candidly admit I know jack shit about stocks.
Now when one of these boys gets in a relationship, I develop a relationship too, with a pit in my stomach. But they were never mine to begin with. And they aren't mine to end with.
I sincerely thought, I needed to lose weight in order for anyone to fall in love with me.
Something else has been happening these days. It's a bit more ambiguous, a bit more insidious, I'm not sure if its as "bad". I've gotten into the habit of assessing my male friends, assessing whether they can be something more, more than friendship. Friendship and more-than-friendship suddenly become permeable spaces. Maybe this only happens with a few guys right? That wouldn't be so bad? Not like EVERY male friend. Whatever it is, it's fucking irritating!
The last time this happened, I acted on the instinct that the boy must like me (he said my earrings were nice, he said he can see why guys would like me more when they're older, he said its unusual that he talks so much around me because he usually doesn't). Why do I value these comments more when I interpret them as romantic statements? What does it mean to receive validation, care or support from a platonic male friend? I don't know A evaded this process - I guess because he was attached when we met or because there was just an instant sibling-like connection.
Getting closer to R happened in admittedly romantic settings - long walks at night, swinging in a park. The setting doesn't help. At first I was just happy I had a neighbourhood pal to walk with. Now I'm looking at his tagged photos going, "aww he looks so cute", thinking about him before I go to sleep sometimes, itching to text him.
What is the value of a platonic male friend to me? Do men just have a romantic expiry date for me? Am I in a bit to prove to my young self that I am worthy of love? Does that discount the love that R had for me? Is it reciprocal love I'm looking for?
I'm afraid that I'm getting in the way of organic things - of the natural growth and decay. I disrupt these processes with my questions, asked in earnest, in search of clarification. Maybe it's not always good to be clear. When you ask someone to be clear, you put the pressure on them to have an answer, to wade amongst the weeds of uncertainty and emerge with a substantial answer. It could be a premature no, or a premature yes. I have to learn to bite my tongue, especially on the words, "are you attracted to me?".
This used to be my favourite question. If I were.a character in a video game, the answer "yeah I'm attracted to you" was what made my life bar full, filled to the brim.
When did I make these synaptic connections?
Boy nice to me = Boy like me
Boy say nice thing to me = Boy want to have sex with me
Boy nice to me = I want to have sex with Boy
Boy and I vibe = Boy and I should have sex
Who snuck into my brain and embedded this into it? Un-embed it please, I am tired of wondering, I am tired of shooting myself down, I am tired of having mind sex with these boys. These nice boys, who just want to be my friend. For reasons. These nice boys who make the effort to get to know me, something my 15-year old self thought was impossible. Boys who laugh at my jokes. Boys whose jokes I laugh at. To whom I can admit openly when I don't understand an economics terms, or with whom I can candidly admit I know jack shit about stocks.
Now when one of these boys gets in a relationship, I develop a relationship too, with a pit in my stomach. But they were never mine to begin with. And they aren't mine to end with.
Saturday, June 22, 2019
The Long Line Of Men Who Have Treated Me Badly And Why I Had Let Them (or maybe I'll just talk about the one that hurt me the most)
There comes a time during your (somewhat) dating life, that you start to discover a pattern. The pattern being that every male encounter that you've had has ended badly. I need to clarify that badly does not equate heartbreak. There are times where I yearn for the simplicity and beauty of heartbreak. No. This "badly" is a combination of a lot of emotional labour on your part and a lack on theirs, it is a disjunct in expectations, it is a sudden cold response - simply put, it is the beginning of the end that you are not ready to face. The last straw for me was my most recent bad ending.
I was bored one night and he messaged. His bio was kinda funny - something about shuffling between the courts of law and basketball. I think he suggested coming over after barely a few days. I remember being super hesitant. I didn't want another situation where I meet with someone with the intention of hooking up, but then simply changed my mind or realised I wasn't attracted to them. So I made it clear: can we walk around and talk a bit first before we decide? And he was completely amenable and said something to the effect of, "I wouldn't wanna do anything you wouldn't wanna do."
It's a bit of a blur now, but it was such a nice night. He tried to act cool and aloof at first, but somewhere along the way we broke the ice. I brought him to the Berlin Wall with the intention of him making a move on me (I came to learn that he hated PDA). I made a shoddy excuse about being too tired to climb all the way, and sat (seductively) on a bench. He said ok I'm gonna go see the wall, and left me. Which I find/found hilarious. Eventually we found ourselves in my room. I let my candle burn the whole night, while we caressed each other in its warm light. I felt like he was touching every part of me at the same time, tenderly. I remember laughing. It was purely sexual. It was purely hot and heavy. It was funny. It was fumble-y. I honestly don't even remember if we had sex. I just remember waking up in the morning and both of us not wanting to part. We got Starbucks and talked a little bit more about our lives, near the Utown bus stop, in broad daylight. Usually I never wanna be seen in public with any of my "conquests". He showed me his ID and sometimes I wonder if I should've memorised his address so I could've mailed him a letter when things went to shit - a letter he wouldn't have been able to ignore.
We had 3 months of bliss. Of seeing each other 3, 4, 5 times a week. Having sex. Eating breakfast. Making chai. Cleaning. Packing. Watching old British comedies. Watching some trashy Youtube comedy. Watching Brad Pitt scale mountains. Almost watching a Hindi movie (thank god it was buffering too much). Watching a film about basketball.
I still think about one night in particular.
He had just come for my theatre show the evening before. I was out with C and A. I was going on and on about missing him. Suddenly, we see him. I remember being so happy in that moment, my heart was floating. We gave him a ride back (he was drunk and made some weird Indian humour jokes, telling A to go "left-uh, left-uh"). I cringed, apologised for his behaviour and went upstairs with him. Bear in mind I was wearing a leotard and fuzzy sleep shorts. We were both so tired. He just finished a game and I just ended a show. He sat on the big armchair, I sat on top of him straddling him, my head buried in his neck and chest.
"I'm so happy I bumped into you tonight."
"Me too."
Then we talked about death. I talked about how I was sad that G couldn't watch me. He talked about someone he knew who died at a college party, I think he fell off the building.
This was our most tender moment. It was pieta-like. Frozen and slumped into each others' bodies. I'm almost tempted to end here, on this tender moment. But that wouldn't be representative of what followed, it wouldn't be an accurate story.
Contrary to the title of this post, this was the only time I felt that I hadn't done anything wrong. I was on the right page this time. I don't know where he was, or where he went.
Maybe I should sidetrack and talk about my past encounters.
We love a good listicle right, so here's a list of the mistakes I'd made in the past:
- rushed to try and define what the relationship was
- hyped the relationship up in my head during the texting phase
- settled because he loved me
- ignored the fact that we didn't vibe
- hoped that he was in love with me (even though I wasn't in love with him)
- passive aggressively texted
- ignored the fact that they were in love with someone else
- continued having sex even though there was a lack of chemistry
- travelled all the way to his house on his birthday, only for him to ignore me and play LoL
- didn't say "no" convincingly enough
- settled for less, while expecting more
- tried to find reason or rationale where it didn't exist
With V, I did what I wanted and received the respect and attention I've always wanted to expect so easily. If I ignore how things ended, this was the most healing relationship I've had with a man. It was the one that matched my mind and expectations the most. I finally let myself get comfortable. Because this man wasn't hurting me and so in my eyes, he wasn't capable of hurting me.
Okay but, the reality is that, he did hurt me. And because I didn't see it coming, this one hurt the most, it hurt the most deeply.
He brought the blissful 3 months to an end. Out of all things, he ghosted me. Something you expect from a tinder chat. Something you don't expect from someone you have been intimate and vulnerable with for 3 months. He finally did some half-assed explaining when I couldn't take it one night, and told him he was affecting my mental health. He was stressed out, having panic attacks about his masters program. I needed more of an explanation. Icing me out couldn't just be a result of academic pressure and stress. I couldn't just be reduced to a factor. But I never got an explanation beyond something to the effect of, "it's not you, it's me".
I begged for closure. I begged him for an explanation. I didn't even care what it was, I just wanted to know. In that moment, I understood fully and empathetically why people do crazy things - why they wait beneath houses, why they reach out to someone's siblings, why they want to pin someone down, why they want to scream at someone.
When someone denies you hope of closure by denying you an explanation, denying you the simple favour of explaining their feelings, it's enough to make someone simultaneously depressed and furious.
So ironically, the only man who treated me with respect, hurt me by not honouring that expectation of respect that I had come to associate with him.
Nothing I write about/to him does justice to the intensity of what I felt. The intense security and happiness I felt with him, and the intense depression and pit in my stomach that I felt at the end.
I, equal parts, am grateful for meeting him and also wish I never had.
I was bored one night and he messaged. His bio was kinda funny - something about shuffling between the courts of law and basketball. I think he suggested coming over after barely a few days. I remember being super hesitant. I didn't want another situation where I meet with someone with the intention of hooking up, but then simply changed my mind or realised I wasn't attracted to them. So I made it clear: can we walk around and talk a bit first before we decide? And he was completely amenable and said something to the effect of, "I wouldn't wanna do anything you wouldn't wanna do."
It's a bit of a blur now, but it was such a nice night. He tried to act cool and aloof at first, but somewhere along the way we broke the ice. I brought him to the Berlin Wall with the intention of him making a move on me (I came to learn that he hated PDA). I made a shoddy excuse about being too tired to climb all the way, and sat (seductively) on a bench. He said ok I'm gonna go see the wall, and left me. Which I find/found hilarious. Eventually we found ourselves in my room. I let my candle burn the whole night, while we caressed each other in its warm light. I felt like he was touching every part of me at the same time, tenderly. I remember laughing. It was purely sexual. It was purely hot and heavy. It was funny. It was fumble-y. I honestly don't even remember if we had sex. I just remember waking up in the morning and both of us not wanting to part. We got Starbucks and talked a little bit more about our lives, near the Utown bus stop, in broad daylight. Usually I never wanna be seen in public with any of my "conquests". He showed me his ID and sometimes I wonder if I should've memorised his address so I could've mailed him a letter when things went to shit - a letter he wouldn't have been able to ignore.
We had 3 months of bliss. Of seeing each other 3, 4, 5 times a week. Having sex. Eating breakfast. Making chai. Cleaning. Packing. Watching old British comedies. Watching some trashy Youtube comedy. Watching Brad Pitt scale mountains. Almost watching a Hindi movie (thank god it was buffering too much). Watching a film about basketball.
I still think about one night in particular.
He had just come for my theatre show the evening before. I was out with C and A. I was going on and on about missing him. Suddenly, we see him. I remember being so happy in that moment, my heart was floating. We gave him a ride back (he was drunk and made some weird Indian humour jokes, telling A to go "left-uh, left-uh"). I cringed, apologised for his behaviour and went upstairs with him. Bear in mind I was wearing a leotard and fuzzy sleep shorts. We were both so tired. He just finished a game and I just ended a show. He sat on the big armchair, I sat on top of him straddling him, my head buried in his neck and chest.
"I'm so happy I bumped into you tonight."
"Me too."
Then we talked about death. I talked about how I was sad that G couldn't watch me. He talked about someone he knew who died at a college party, I think he fell off the building.
This was our most tender moment. It was pieta-like. Frozen and slumped into each others' bodies. I'm almost tempted to end here, on this tender moment. But that wouldn't be representative of what followed, it wouldn't be an accurate story.
Contrary to the title of this post, this was the only time I felt that I hadn't done anything wrong. I was on the right page this time. I don't know where he was, or where he went.
Maybe I should sidetrack and talk about my past encounters.
We love a good listicle right, so here's a list of the mistakes I'd made in the past:
- rushed to try and define what the relationship was
- hyped the relationship up in my head during the texting phase
- settled because he loved me
- ignored the fact that we didn't vibe
- hoped that he was in love with me (even though I wasn't in love with him)
- passive aggressively texted
- ignored the fact that they were in love with someone else
- continued having sex even though there was a lack of chemistry
- travelled all the way to his house on his birthday, only for him to ignore me and play LoL
- didn't say "no" convincingly enough
- settled for less, while expecting more
- tried to find reason or rationale where it didn't exist
With V, I did what I wanted and received the respect and attention I've always wanted to expect so easily. If I ignore how things ended, this was the most healing relationship I've had with a man. It was the one that matched my mind and expectations the most. I finally let myself get comfortable. Because this man wasn't hurting me and so in my eyes, he wasn't capable of hurting me.
Okay but, the reality is that, he did hurt me. And because I didn't see it coming, this one hurt the most, it hurt the most deeply.
He brought the blissful 3 months to an end. Out of all things, he ghosted me. Something you expect from a tinder chat. Something you don't expect from someone you have been intimate and vulnerable with for 3 months. He finally did some half-assed explaining when I couldn't take it one night, and told him he was affecting my mental health. He was stressed out, having panic attacks about his masters program. I needed more of an explanation. Icing me out couldn't just be a result of academic pressure and stress. I couldn't just be reduced to a factor. But I never got an explanation beyond something to the effect of, "it's not you, it's me".
I begged for closure. I begged him for an explanation. I didn't even care what it was, I just wanted to know. In that moment, I understood fully and empathetically why people do crazy things - why they wait beneath houses, why they reach out to someone's siblings, why they want to pin someone down, why they want to scream at someone.
When someone denies you hope of closure by denying you an explanation, denying you the simple favour of explaining their feelings, it's enough to make someone simultaneously depressed and furious.
So ironically, the only man who treated me with respect, hurt me by not honouring that expectation of respect that I had come to associate with him.
Nothing I write about/to him does justice to the intensity of what I felt. The intense security and happiness I felt with him, and the intense depression and pit in my stomach that I felt at the end.
I, equal parts, am grateful for meeting him and also wish I never had.
Monday, February 4, 2019
I Wanna Know What Love Is, I Want Me To Show Me
I'm probably not the first one to ask this, but really, what the fuck is love?
We all want it? Teenage fantasy? Maybe Jorja Smith was right.
I used to have DREAMS about love. I had this recurring dream of a man who would DIE unless I promised to marry him. I don't doubt it exists, love and all. I'm just doubting its quality. Maybe I've experienced too much second-hand romantic love already and I'm burnt out? My best friends have been in loving relationships, and I've been at the front lines. I don't say this with jealousy, once upon a time I'd have said it with jealousy, but now I say it from a comfortably numb distance.
Maybe I've also second-experienced too many breakups to actually believe that love is amazing?
I'm "seeing" this guy right now. A more accurate term would be, I am hooking up/hanging out with this guy right now. Sometimes while I'm laying next to him or staring into his eyes as we're having sex, I wonder, so how would "love" make this arrangement different?
People who engage in hook up culture are all too familiar with the performance - the heart and mind tricking performance of a relationship without the substance. Here's where I go on a tangent to elaborate on the performance - what my friend aptly terms "body canvas friction".
Today I spent almost the whole day at his place, longer than I usually stay with someone. Usually I wouldn't even be acquaintances with the men I have sex with. Here are generalised reductive one-word descriptions of the men I've hooked up with in the past (I'm actually referring to a list of their names and giving each a descriptor): confusing/mean, strange/odd, VERY odd/immoral, loving (anomaly), paranoid, odd, aggressive, inconsiderate, inexperienced, unassuming, emotionally-unavailable, confusing, nice, empty, poser-y, inexperienced.
That was actually quite fun hahah. Don't get me wrong, I'm not shitting on any of them, I was (almost) fully aware of what I was getting myself into. I had set my expectations extremely low because I realised we don't get what we imagine, even when we try to settled for second best.
Time spent with these men exists in another dimension. They are not productive hours, they are not accountable hours, they are (arguably) not meaningful hours. For some reason, memory fails you. What was the colour of the pillow you were lying down on as you so "lovingly" caressed unfamiliar nooks and bends of skin as if they were your own. Hooking up is not as wham-bam-thank you-ma'am as it is purported to be. It can be so tender and it can be so loving. But you must remind yourself that it is not real - which is often very easy to do, because once they open their mouths, the illusion is usually shattered.
What I have now is definitely an anomaly. A glitch in my sex matrix.
A man who's company I enjoy, with and without sex. An example: today I pretended to be a chaiwala with him. Not trying to immortalise this as some tender, perfect moment. Just elaborating on the glitchiness.
So how would love make this any different? How would love make this feel better? Would it offer me some unshakeable security and comfort? I can't fathom it.
For now, at this point of my life, I am content. It's like going over to a friend's house and playing with their pet, but never actually buying your own pet. You don't have to deal with cleaning shit and pee (except for the occasional accidents - yeah that's right, this analogy is getting even more real). I get to play relationship and then I get my alone time - time that I use to figure myself out, chat up other random fellas, hang out with pals, or make things.
It's so weird. I feel like I spent too much time at his place. As if there is a precise amount of time I can spend there before things start to get murky, confusing - I start to question an apathetic touch or a disinterested stare.
So yeah, what is love? Is it better than oscillating between single and performative sex/relationship?
Or am I just getting too used to this.
We all want it? Teenage fantasy? Maybe Jorja Smith was right.
I used to have DREAMS about love. I had this recurring dream of a man who would DIE unless I promised to marry him. I don't doubt it exists, love and all. I'm just doubting its quality. Maybe I've experienced too much second-hand romantic love already and I'm burnt out? My best friends have been in loving relationships, and I've been at the front lines. I don't say this with jealousy, once upon a time I'd have said it with jealousy, but now I say it from a comfortably numb distance.
Maybe I've also second-experienced too many breakups to actually believe that love is amazing?
I'm "seeing" this guy right now. A more accurate term would be, I am hooking up/hanging out with this guy right now. Sometimes while I'm laying next to him or staring into his eyes as we're having sex, I wonder, so how would "love" make this arrangement different?
People who engage in hook up culture are all too familiar with the performance - the heart and mind tricking performance of a relationship without the substance. Here's where I go on a tangent to elaborate on the performance - what my friend aptly terms "body canvas friction".
Today I spent almost the whole day at his place, longer than I usually stay with someone. Usually I wouldn't even be acquaintances with the men I have sex with. Here are generalised reductive one-word descriptions of the men I've hooked up with in the past (I'm actually referring to a list of their names and giving each a descriptor): confusing/mean, strange/odd, VERY odd/immoral, loving (anomaly), paranoid, odd, aggressive, inconsiderate, inexperienced, unassuming, emotionally-unavailable, confusing, nice, empty, poser-y, inexperienced.
That was actually quite fun hahah. Don't get me wrong, I'm not shitting on any of them, I was (almost) fully aware of what I was getting myself into. I had set my expectations extremely low because I realised we don't get what we imagine, even when we try to settled for second best.
Time spent with these men exists in another dimension. They are not productive hours, they are not accountable hours, they are (arguably) not meaningful hours. For some reason, memory fails you. What was the colour of the pillow you were lying down on as you so "lovingly" caressed unfamiliar nooks and bends of skin as if they were your own. Hooking up is not as wham-bam-thank you-ma'am as it is purported to be. It can be so tender and it can be so loving. But you must remind yourself that it is not real - which is often very easy to do, because once they open their mouths, the illusion is usually shattered.
What I have now is definitely an anomaly. A glitch in my sex matrix.
A man who's company I enjoy, with and without sex. An example: today I pretended to be a chaiwala with him. Not trying to immortalise this as some tender, perfect moment. Just elaborating on the glitchiness.
So how would love make this any different? How would love make this feel better? Would it offer me some unshakeable security and comfort? I can't fathom it.
For now, at this point of my life, I am content. It's like going over to a friend's house and playing with their pet, but never actually buying your own pet. You don't have to deal with cleaning shit and pee (except for the occasional accidents - yeah that's right, this analogy is getting even more real). I get to play relationship and then I get my alone time - time that I use to figure myself out, chat up other random fellas, hang out with pals, or make things.
It's so weird. I feel like I spent too much time at his place. As if there is a precise amount of time I can spend there before things start to get murky, confusing - I start to question an apathetic touch or a disinterested stare.
So yeah, what is love? Is it better than oscillating between single and performative sex/relationship?
Or am I just getting too used to this.
On Disappointing Your Friends (and Family), Amongst Other Things
This is a public declaration that I have not been a good friend (and arguably, person) this 2019. In a mere month, I have hurt (or at least pissed off/annoyed/irritated) 4 people who are close to me. If there are more, please don't come forward, I don't think I can handle it.
I don't hold myself to impossible standards. Bad grades are reasoned away with the logic that the module was bad or the professor was terrible or I wasn't in the right headspace. If I'm in a rush, you will catch me in a substandard outfit. I don't pride myself on being the most eloquent person in the room. We are all supposed to be our own worst critics. I've never entirely related to that saying. I give myself a lot of leeway and let myself make mistakes - mostly the administrative kind. Recently a friend of mine pointed out that I wasn't as caught up in the "rat race" as everyone else is in school.
But if there is one aspect in which I do conform to this saying, it is in my relationships.
I first discovered the power of friendship when I met my best friend at 14. Up till then, I always assumed family came first and then friends were temporary guests in the living room of my life. But this friend taught me that friends can be family, and that relationships can be so fulfilling. I haven't looked back since. I subtly inspect other people's friendships - I sit on my high horse of healthy relationships and superb open communication, and dispense unsolicited advice.
But when that bedrock is gone, when my relationships develop friction, I feel like I lose all legitimacy. Worse than that, I feel like I've lost myself.
My first instinct is always to get defensive. "I didn't mean it that way", "You're reading too much into it", "That wasn't my intention" but all these attempts at defending myself are instantly negated, instantly undermined, when I realise I've hurt someone I love. Nothing is more depressing.
Kinda hard to think of a silver lining, happy ending. Even as I write this in retrospect, it makes me sad. Seeing a counsellor in a few weeks, let's see if that helps.
I don't hold myself to impossible standards. Bad grades are reasoned away with the logic that the module was bad or the professor was terrible or I wasn't in the right headspace. If I'm in a rush, you will catch me in a substandard outfit. I don't pride myself on being the most eloquent person in the room. We are all supposed to be our own worst critics. I've never entirely related to that saying. I give myself a lot of leeway and let myself make mistakes - mostly the administrative kind. Recently a friend of mine pointed out that I wasn't as caught up in the "rat race" as everyone else is in school.
But if there is one aspect in which I do conform to this saying, it is in my relationships.
I first discovered the power of friendship when I met my best friend at 14. Up till then, I always assumed family came first and then friends were temporary guests in the living room of my life. But this friend taught me that friends can be family, and that relationships can be so fulfilling. I haven't looked back since. I subtly inspect other people's friendships - I sit on my high horse of healthy relationships and superb open communication, and dispense unsolicited advice.
But when that bedrock is gone, when my relationships develop friction, I feel like I lose all legitimacy. Worse than that, I feel like I've lost myself.
My first instinct is always to get defensive. "I didn't mean it that way", "You're reading too much into it", "That wasn't my intention" but all these attempts at defending myself are instantly negated, instantly undermined, when I realise I've hurt someone I love. Nothing is more depressing.
Kinda hard to think of a silver lining, happy ending. Even as I write this in retrospect, it makes me sad. Seeing a counsellor in a few weeks, let's see if that helps.
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