This weekend went by pretty fast. Yesterday I made breakfast for the Hobbitses who own this place I’m renting. They’re newlyweds about to have a child of their own and I can’t contain my excitement over this. We had toast and bacon and it was an altogether pleasant way to start the weekend. Then at half-past noon I could feel my lymph nodes getting all worked up. By the time I made it to class, I lost my voice and decided to give them work to do at home.
This work at home business is really getting to me. I used to hate when teachers came to class unprepared and gave stuff to do in lieu of discussions. But I tell you, there was no voice to be had at all and it hurt to speak. Rushed home shortly after and was about to nap when I got a call from my mom. They wanted to catch the final screening of Les Miserables–and as it was their 39th anniversary, I didn’t think twice about saying yes.
So there we were at a theater viewing this epic of a film about redemption and next to me were two people who, forty years ago, eloped and made history–or at least that’s what it must have felt like, right?
I’m digressing from travel today to talk about dating and other pursuits. Had a few stories lined up but I feel funky this weekend and this deserves some contemplation. If this isn’t up your alley, you can stop reading at this point. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Arrived home tonight after having eaten only a Spam sandwich for the day. I was in bed, fighting off a mild fever, the aforementioned sore throat and the shock at having the chance to even do this–lie in bed all day. I haven’t done this in at least a year and the body pines for what it wants so well sometimes, all we can really do is give in. The tv, which I can’t live with where I moved, provided the much needed company and I ended up watching a special on the making of Fatal Attraction. This plus the trailer of Anna Karenina–played yet again by Kiera Knightley who looks a wee bit too young to be Anna–got me thinking about relationships again. It’s usually like this: there’s talk of infidelity (which could be my one single commitment issue), some reminiscing about previous relationships, some more thoughts on current predicaments, the idea of marriage floats by and is soon turned away by the singular realization that I can’t be the marrying type–or at least I won’t do it if it means settling, if it means I’m scared of being alone.
Obviously, I fit the hopeless romantic category. I love Faust, read a lot of Keats and Blake and really only feel understood by Jane Austen and Alexandre Dumas. I understand what Feist sings about when she belches “I feel it all” too. I feel it all too much.
Sometime ago this person cautioned me about being too smart and being too good. Says it wasn’t normal for people to be like this and it would just intimidate the guys and I’d be lonely forever. Naturally, that person no longer exists in my circles and is dead to me. Lately though, people have made comments about my Twitter feed and how it’s too smart–I shrugged and wondered about what they meant. Surely they were kidding, right?
A few nights ago, it became known to me that a certain couple who’d been married some time now were having marital problems. They’re younger than most who do and everything else considered, it just seems too tragic to be stuck so soon–and to be stuck at all.
I am dating. Quietly and from afar. It isn’t the best situation as I’m never sure what’s going on but I do know that things are okay and that commitment need not worry me just yet. However, due to the looseness of the set-up, I still can’t help but think about dating in general and how it plays out here. I hate to judge but after going out with some guys here, I noticed that conversation was either dry or too easily caught up in the who-do-you-know net. It could be argued that perhaps I haven’t met the right people but if this means having to date a lot of the Manilafolk, I think I’ll pass. The circles are tight and even before anything remarkable happens, people are already making haste and talking. Then there’s the case of the man attached to his mother. Thankfully, the guys I end up meeting are a little less attached but still, a lot of them will only make decisions with either their dicks or their mothers (not a pleasant set of things to put in once sentence, I know). It’s revolting.
Tonight, at the dinner table, I had to come out with it and tell my mother that really, I’d be happier alone than married and stuck. I told her I wouldn’t settle. I told her I’m still holding out for the guy who reads, likes music, likes art–makes conversation. I’m still holding out for the person who’ll tell me he likes me because I have an opinion (unpopular as it often is) and I’m not afraid to share it. I’ll wait for someone who’ll look past convention and say, “We’re timeless and we need not conform.” Or something like that. And if he doesn’t come, I’ll grow a garden, make stuff bloom and be happy, you know?
In the meantime, some more Tolstoy and the infinite pleasure of text.