I wonder if it is ever possible to be self-denial to the point where on the one hand you can relish in the scent of someone’s old t-shirt and also still feel detached enough to know you’ll be okay to never see that person again.
Perhaps self-denial is the wrong term for this oxymoron. Is it more like indulgent or just less co-dependent?
While coaching my fellow girlfriend on dirty wordplay and how it can be empowering for the female sex, I listen to her description of once again the perfect engaging relationship. The whole sharing, connection and universal stars aligning. I almost swear to myself that I see her eyes glistening.
It’s not that I’m against the monogamous relationship. Far from it; those who had read my last last post witnessed me through a bad break up. Certainly there is the trend of young adults nowadays that participate in the growth of open relationships, or less formally known as ‘taking it easy’. If somebody can’t forwardly confirm the status of their relationship with another, they shouldn’t be in one.
That being said, coming out of my break up, I wasn’t very healthy about it. Apart from being a functional alcoholic, I also decided to take that enchanting life motto to get over somebody by getting under somebody else. Now that I’ve rolled over onto the other side of the bed (is that a bad pun?) I’m just taking a look around to see where that landed me now.
I hear the term, why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free. That’s neither here nor there for the sensible argument of being 19 and free versus esteeming yourself higher than the social norm and waiting out for ‘the one who cares’.
What if caring came in a lot of different levels? What if the depths of compassion for somebody is as inherently selfish and inwardly concerned for oneself in the sense of ensuring your mental survival through the worse case scenario (as girls will entertain in their head – guys, feel free to jump on board), but could also mean that you still actually genuinely like that person as well. What if the alternative was being single for the majority of your twenties – the golden age – they say, wasted. What if you just like feeling attractive and slutty in the patriarchal sense because it’s purely fun and addictive.
The point of the matter is that I stand between two friends on very different platforms. The one who was my age at one point and slept with people to which both parties openly admitted did not like each other, but was attracted to each other. Pit against the one who is only a few years older and feels cautious against the advances of modern guys because who knows what’s real and what’s not anymore. I’ve alas gotten myself to the mental state where I no longer feel the need to incessantly check my phone and wonder at which point of their day their usual schedule lands on. I just want to relish myself for a little bit – like how the porcelain in my bath tub shines to the effort of a very determined functional alcoholic.
Now, all I can think about is the fact though I have this guys’ t-shirt, when will I get my watch back if this doesn’t pan out? Does that make me a bad person?