The Pointless Chase

Okay, it is a fact, people do shiloads of pointless things throughout their life under the umbrella of "everyone does it, so there must be a point to it". Obviously I'm not going to tackle all of them, that would mean arguing with a rough 99% of mankind's actions and would lead us to a (pointless) conversation about the meaning of life and other deep shit. However, I will refer to a recurring theme nowadays, which has me perplexed on how we unnecessarily complicate our lives. And just to clarify, by "we" I mean you including me, as I definitely am prone to such condemnable behaviour.

I will start from the (I hope not far-fetched) assumption that everyone wants to find true love. Or okay, maybe that is a bit too corny. Say the majority of us, the less ambitious, want to find  at least some warm substitute to IT (the true love that is), to snuggle with on the couch on a Sunday afternoon and complain about how shitty our day was. And to talk, fuck, laugh or, what do I know, other actions we supposedly cannot perform as well on our own.

Then comes the typical scenario. Girl meets Boy, or should I say, Woman meets Man, as we're all pretending to be adults here.  They interact a bit and both decide (in their heads only, of course) that they like each other and there's some potential future laughing, talking, fucking, snuggling on couches and complaining about bad days. They play a completely unnecessary game to exchange phone numbers or Facebook IDs, and when they eventually do, the Pointless Chase begins.

Let me explain. You see, as I mentioned before, they both decided they liked each other. However each will go out of their way to prove the contrary, thus earning desirability points (???) . She will not call first because of double standards, because she might seem too eager and easy and all of the such. And of course, because as soon as she shows a bit of interest, it's game over. He will not call the first 3,5,7 days either, because she will then think he's weak or clingy and a potential overly attached boyfriend. And what man in their right mind wants that? And this is just a first sample of the never-ending chase that will follow, to continuously establish who's in a position of power in that relationship, that has not even started yet. Which makes a whole lot of sense, eeerm.

In a happy end scenario, they will manage to hook up. However, they will have wasted a lot of time they could have spend together instead. Factoring in the assumptions that they were both looking for companionship and there was mutual attraction from the very beginning, point proven, the chase was pointless. In a less joyful case scenario, while one of the parties is busy putting all that effort in earning desirability points, the other party (who let's not forget, was interested to begin with) might get bored, or fall in love with a more interesting hunter, playing the game better. Again, point proven, futile chase.

Maybe I am simple minded this way, but I'd say, since we already have a lot of chasing to do in our everyday life anyway, why not make this slight percentage of it easier? You likey, me likey, let's go, no?

Loving with Nobody to Love

First time I fell in love I was eight. His mother was my dentist and he was the smartest boy I had ever met.Child of divorce, a bit damaged, with dark hair and eyes and a resonant name. He used to give me his fluorescent lollipop cards and say that it was hell if I didn't love him back. He said his shirt had a sensual print. I said the same...about my 101 dalmatian print blue leggings. We went to summer camp together, I drooled on his desk after his mom fixed my tooth, we danced on Backstreet Boys. Then he left the city. We would still see each other every once in a while when his parents would visit mine. I would make the most awkward jokes and wear the shortest skirt, even when having my both knees grotesquely bandaged. He was the first guy who made me want to be the best version of myself. I swore to love him forever, and all the love songs were happy and about us back then.

I met my second big crush when I was in the 6th grade. Again a very dark haired boy, this time with the bluest eyes ever. Fatherless, a bit damaged, it seemed like a nice pattern to follow. I went to social studies gatherings and sang in the choir just to spend time with him. I drove my best friend crazy by talking on and on about him, dragging her for endless walks by his block just hoping to run into him. It went on for a while, and by then the love songs, which of course were about us, had started to be bitter sweet. I was already discovering how confusing young love could be, but still happily crippled my emotions all over again.

After a string of small, poetic flings, that kept my hyper heart busy enough, I decided to give another piece of me for keeps. What started as friendship and gratitude to (yet another) the dark haired boy who was by my side in the darkest hours, turned out to be the greatest love my 18 year old self could accommodate. I guess that after tons of happiness, promises, bliss, learnings, firsts, but an equal amount of anxiousness and hurt, a great love that is not THE love can only turn back into its initial state, of immense gratitude. For the teaching that sometimes it is okay for love songs to be sad, one can gracefully survive and even dance on them.

My latest discovery is that you can become oblivious even to the Theme Song of your life. Rollercoasters do stop running eventually, and neither heavenly nor heartbreaking songs last forever, even if they temporarily tell Your story.

Now for the first time in almost two decades, all the love songs are happy again. It is easier when they're not about anyone. Just like loving, that is easier with nobody to love.

2000 and 13 Clichés

As these days I find myself confined in bed, fighting "not-malaria", a wrap up of the year that just ended seems very much called for. After all, it's been one of the most interesting and emotionally diverse years of my life. How many clichés can one fit in a year's time? I had to catch'em'all, I mean, overachiever much? And since I know very well that (Cliché#1) time does wash everything away, and this is one of those years I do want to remember with clarity, here goes what the past 12 months taught me, of course, the hard way.

My 2013 started with metaphorical clouds of storm and actual rainy days, in what better a setting than the (Cliché#2) city of love. Which is a bit ironic, cause right there I was ambushed into (Cliché#3) letting go of a whole love related lot. And since I saw no choice, with a tiny resigned heart I obliged, or at least so I thought. But how very wrong I was thinking that I can, just like that, accept what for me was a less than ideal course of events. And how many intrinsic back and forths and illegitimate feelings and hope I had to fight. Took an unacceptably long amount of time and a whole lot of ego taming to understand that it is perfectly possible that someone cannot love you the way you want them to. And that (Cliché#4) even if you find their new heart direction useless and inappropriate because it is not right up your street, it doesn't mean it's not there at all.

Upon wrapping up half a horrible year in Paris, an extremely overrated location for that matter, time came to move to Amsterdam. And I be damned if I was not bamboozled when I wept for letting go of my 20 square meter studio in the 17th district and my coldhearted colleagues. Because of course, (Cliché#5) one's routine, even if bad and harming in its nature, is something one finds comforting in the face of something new. But there I was, having signed up for an everything but routinary lifestyle, carrying more than I could handle, in all possible senses. But after moments of perfect soul storm I switched to this new home and to a new stage of 2013, not lacking all kinds of lessons, more or less trivial. I taught myself (Cliché#6) how to ride a bike in Amsterdam, seems like I have a taste for choosing resonant locations. Soon after, I turned 26, and one of my biggest dreads, the late 20's, kicked off. (Cliché#7) I felt a different age for the first time after quarter a century, but good different for that matter. Then I discovered, the hard way of course, with tears and sweat and a whole new level of heartache (Cliché#8) that the best way to get over an obsession is to replace it with a fresh and as different as possible one.

Sometime halfway through the year the news about my third assignment came along, and then a distinct drama broke loose. Needless to say that stability had not been my strongest suit this past year, but I suddenly felt like I was being forcedly extracted from everything that was at least remotely familiar and thrown some unnecessary thousands of miles away. It was in the process of acceptance of this new upcoming reality when a few more truths occurred to me, not the easiest to digest. (Cliché#9) Difficult circumstances make for unlikely friendships, and (Cliché#10) similar experiences fast forward people's closeness. Complementary, (Cliché#11) those few people who matter and whom you matter for will stay despite of the rootlessness, the growing apart or outgrowing each other or even an actual continent standing in between.

By far the toughest relationship wisdom of last year, experienced from both perspectives -that of affection projector and projectee - was (Cliché#12) not taking people who care about you for granted. Because there's so much one can put up with before they say "F it, I am done". And while it is the easiest to take it out on people who you know love you, thinking that unconditional love will be enough for prioritizing your arrogant and needy ass, there is a limited amount of tantrums and eyes rolling one can prioritize you over. Because flash news, (Cliché#13) someone's boundless affection is not synonymous to them sticking around forever.

To wrap up a majestic 2013, in the 4th quarter my Africa begun. Which is too big of a deal to even begin fitting it in last year's story. Which was and still is beyond any imaginable cliché and beyond my explanatory power. The experience I feared most and still fear, that caused me to cross a lot of my boundaries and break a number of rules, that thought me different is not better or worse. Just refreshingly different, just how I feel now while blowing my nose, color coding my wardrobe and writing stupid sweet nothings.

Fruit taste better in Nigeria. Mac cosmetics are the best. There's no place like home. French people don't like to speak English. Your best friends are the same kind of crazy as you. You'll not be given more than you can handle. There are a million bikes in Amsterdam. Feelings put on hold are prone to kick back when one’s ready for them.

All of this and 2000 other tiny things broke my inside into tiny pieces and put it back together last year. And I kid you not, this refurbishment was much awaited for.