The other day my parents came to have dinner with me. It was my Mother's first look at my apartment.
She never has anything good to say. Nothing like, "Wow, nice carpet!" Not even, "Nice carpet, how much did you pay for that?" More like, "How much is this place? $1,300? Wow, that's expensive." I know what she was thinking. If I had taken up her brilliant plan of living in Stamford and spending the weekend at her house in order to do tango, everyone would have been happier because I would be saving money and time.
This comment came around the same time where she said in China she felt obligated to spend thousands of yuan on stupid medicinal stuff and souvenirs, just so the tour guides don't put on a mean face. She knew very well that the tour groups made their money not only from the tour packages, but also from commissions from the many shops they took the poor sheep to during the tour. But she still spent all that money.
Flanking this confession of wasting money was not only the comment on my expensive apartment ("expensive"!), but also a quip about how "only if you're stupid would you be selling a house now". It was in reference to my suggestion that if her mother didn't live in that house, she should just sell it. I know that it was also an indirect jab at my decision to sell my house at this terrible time.
So the point is, for someone who supposedly is so brilliant at making up money-making schemes, she managed to waste all that money on this trip of hers.
And after all this fuss with the housing bubble that showed how out-of-date the aspect of Chinese culture is of owning property as the best way to ensure a stable financial future, she still thought that owning stocks was not as good as owning a house.
This blog entry is to show where I get my stubbornness. This woman has an idea and is fixed to it. No evidence can persuade her otherwise, especially if the point of the evidence is to show she's wrong.
At the same time, we are so different in what we want in life. I want less, whereas she believes more material goods shows greater success in life (which eventually translates to some twisted sense of happiness). I can't explain to her why I would spend money to live in New York, the emotional price. And let's not get into the side of marriage.
I have deeper things to talk about, but not now. It's late. I need more sleep to rid this stupid cough. And talking about family is always a good way to open up something in me, anyway. Perhaps tomorrow I can talk more about this past weekend of non-stop tango dancing. But tomorrow I am actually invited to the birthday surprise of one of the tango teachers in New York. The normal thing to do would have been getting closer to the man who helped me most with my tango life and who organizes most of the famous milongas, who also happens to live just a few blocks from me. But for now that route is a dead-end because he also happens to be the whole reason I cut off connection with that French woman to start with. Tango is too full of drama. But for now, I will find my own anchor with other people. I will see where this path takes me.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Rid Me of this Torment
I slept about 1.5 hours. A tango song is in my head. "Quítame de este tormento..." are the words (the song's name is "Fueron Tres Años", or "Those were three years"). The words means "Rid me of this torment". I am not tormented. Not really. But I am thinking about this verse of this dramatic song (typical of tango) as the sun slowly rose.
We saw the big fireball rising over the Grand Central Parkway. We were both sleepy. I slept, as I said, 1.5 hours; she slept none. She said by the time she was ready to go to sleep, she realized she would have to wake up 18 minutes later.
My heart felt sunken. Like a ship looking for treasure it is itself sinking into the depths along with other ships of treasure. It has been seeking treasure when in the end, along with its own undiscovered, unrealized treasure, it sinks to the bottom, too.
After getting out of bed with 1.5 hours of sleep, I found her climbing out of my kitchen window out to the fire escape. No one has ever done that, not even me. She sat out there, alone. I left her alone, her last moment with New York City on this trip.
I didn't dance with her. I avoided her while not making it obvious. I did it out of spite. I wanted her to know.... But no, because I didn't make it obvious, she shouldn't know. I wanted her to miss me. I wanted her to remember that I was one of her top favorite dancers, even though she had never commented directly how much she enjoyed dancing with me. I wanted her to miss me. I wanted her to miss me and in doing so feel sorry that things didn't work out, to feel regretful to have rejected me. She would prefer a boring lame musician over me; and she preferred an unattractive tango teacher who ended up hurting her, than me. From her I learned that I, yes, I, have to get over the reality that a woman will like a man who is unfit for her, and more importantly, in so many ways not as a good fit as I am. Logic cannot prevail when you like someone because you never really have control over whom you like.
So I didn't dance with her out of spite. But I wanted her to miss me. I didn't talk to her much after the milonga. I paid a lot of attention to her friend. And why not? Her friend was flirting with me. It's such a great feeling to have someone flirt with you when you find her attractive. So I look at this woman, this petite musician whose voice managed to grip my heart ten days ago. I look at her and I realize I am fortunate not to have gotten anything out from her because, if I had gone any further, my heart would be now in ruins. It is still in little pieces after the disaster with the last woman, and it doesn't need to be smoking in powder now.
But the farewell was difficult.
There was no drama. I got up 1.5 hours later to take her to the airport, through Grand Central Parkway, where the fiery ball rose imperceptibly before us. There wasn't much talking. My heart was just a bit squeezed. And those Spanish words of that tango song were ringing in my head.
My art friend was frank with me yesterday after getting know this girl a bit more. She said very tersely that I was making myself a third of what I am worth while making her three times what she's worth. She, and my other friend, couldn't understand what I saw in this woman. But she warned that I was doing the same thing again: picking woman whom everyone else liked.
So that was part of the spite from the milonga: there were too many women at the milonga but still she managed to get a lot of dances, everyone liked her for her charm, her body, her smiles, her bedroom eyes.
I complain that it takes too long for a woman to realize what a gem I am. But do I take the same amount of time to discover the hidden gems around me that other men don't realize at first sight?
I complain that this woman prefers these imbecilic men over the amazing me, but if my art friend is right, then I seem to be preferring women who are not as beautiful as I am.
None of this, now, matters. I realize miss this girl. We hugged before departure. Longest embrace yet because, besides when we are dancing, we don't really hug each other. Now we hugged. She didn't want me to stay with her in the airport. Would I really have wanted that? I wanted drama. I wanted to be part of the movie where the ending is a sweet, long goodbye. I do that a lot with movie endings. I remember with that Polish woman I imagined going to JFK to say goodbye to her one last time and dance with her just before the security check because that was the connection we had deepest. So silly, now that I think about it. I don't know why I have such silly fantasies.
This time I imagined just reconnecting with her after being so spiteful in reactions to her rejection. But it didn't happen. What did happen was that I drove her to the airport. I hugged her. There was no cheesy words about the future. I didn't even ask her to let me know when she arrived. No mentioning of talking more.
Because there is no point. That's what I am learning in a bitter way now about real life. In real life, especially in the real life of tango, you meet a person, you may or not may fall in love with her, but you in any case go through a deep and meaningful experience with them. But it takes certain maturity to accept the end of that experience and move on. No more sentimentality after. Most relationships we make in life are transient, and lasting part about them is the memory and experience left in our psyche.
She and I organized a dinner party last night. She played the guitar and sang her songs at the end. Before the milonga where I avoided her. She sang one last song that she had told me about earlier. It was a song about the only long term relationship she had had. And it was one she didn't want to have dragged out so long. But it affected her immensely. She thought she could eventually love a man with time, but in the end, time simply made the breakup infinitely more painful, and the man apparently is ruined by the experience while still in love with her. The song was her way of telling him through the echos of time that he had to move on, and not hope that he could make her happy, "to set her free." I felt she was singing that to me.
When she captured my heart she was also singing, about two weeks ago, singing this tango song with her amazing voice. I felt she was singing to me. Now this last time she's singing on this trip, I also felt she was singing to me, but in a way that meant closure. Don't fall in love with me, don't give your heart to me. That's the lesson I am supposed to learn, not just with regards to her, but with everyone else in the past and in the future who isn't ready for my love, my heart. And whatever experience I have built with this or that person, I can't keep lingering around hoping that the experience will eventually become the fairytale version I want.
She took her baggage alone and went inside the terminal alone, without turning around. And that was the end of that. That's the painful part. To learn this new lesson is the painful part. To learn to say goodbye without any more thoughts of what had happened between that goodbye and the hello before that. Life is too beautiful and too short to have to linger around the old bus stop of memory.
So I got in my car, and drove away from the sunrise back to my house, where there's a girl that makes me feel happy just because she flirts with me.
We saw the big fireball rising over the Grand Central Parkway. We were both sleepy. I slept, as I said, 1.5 hours; she slept none. She said by the time she was ready to go to sleep, she realized she would have to wake up 18 minutes later.
My heart felt sunken. Like a ship looking for treasure it is itself sinking into the depths along with other ships of treasure. It has been seeking treasure when in the end, along with its own undiscovered, unrealized treasure, it sinks to the bottom, too.
After getting out of bed with 1.5 hours of sleep, I found her climbing out of my kitchen window out to the fire escape. No one has ever done that, not even me. She sat out there, alone. I left her alone, her last moment with New York City on this trip.
I didn't dance with her. I avoided her while not making it obvious. I did it out of spite. I wanted her to know.... But no, because I didn't make it obvious, she shouldn't know. I wanted her to miss me. I wanted her to remember that I was one of her top favorite dancers, even though she had never commented directly how much she enjoyed dancing with me. I wanted her to miss me. I wanted her to miss me and in doing so feel sorry that things didn't work out, to feel regretful to have rejected me. She would prefer a boring lame musician over me; and she preferred an unattractive tango teacher who ended up hurting her, than me. From her I learned that I, yes, I, have to get over the reality that a woman will like a man who is unfit for her, and more importantly, in so many ways not as a good fit as I am. Logic cannot prevail when you like someone because you never really have control over whom you like.
So I didn't dance with her out of spite. But I wanted her to miss me. I didn't talk to her much after the milonga. I paid a lot of attention to her friend. And why not? Her friend was flirting with me. It's such a great feeling to have someone flirt with you when you find her attractive. So I look at this woman, this petite musician whose voice managed to grip my heart ten days ago. I look at her and I realize I am fortunate not to have gotten anything out from her because, if I had gone any further, my heart would be now in ruins. It is still in little pieces after the disaster with the last woman, and it doesn't need to be smoking in powder now.
But the farewell was difficult.
There was no drama. I got up 1.5 hours later to take her to the airport, through Grand Central Parkway, where the fiery ball rose imperceptibly before us. There wasn't much talking. My heart was just a bit squeezed. And those Spanish words of that tango song were ringing in my head.
My art friend was frank with me yesterday after getting know this girl a bit more. She said very tersely that I was making myself a third of what I am worth while making her three times what she's worth. She, and my other friend, couldn't understand what I saw in this woman. But she warned that I was doing the same thing again: picking woman whom everyone else liked.
So that was part of the spite from the milonga: there were too many women at the milonga but still she managed to get a lot of dances, everyone liked her for her charm, her body, her smiles, her bedroom eyes.
I complain that it takes too long for a woman to realize what a gem I am. But do I take the same amount of time to discover the hidden gems around me that other men don't realize at first sight?
I complain that this woman prefers these imbecilic men over the amazing me, but if my art friend is right, then I seem to be preferring women who are not as beautiful as I am.
None of this, now, matters. I realize miss this girl. We hugged before departure. Longest embrace yet because, besides when we are dancing, we don't really hug each other. Now we hugged. She didn't want me to stay with her in the airport. Would I really have wanted that? I wanted drama. I wanted to be part of the movie where the ending is a sweet, long goodbye. I do that a lot with movie endings. I remember with that Polish woman I imagined going to JFK to say goodbye to her one last time and dance with her just before the security check because that was the connection we had deepest. So silly, now that I think about it. I don't know why I have such silly fantasies.
This time I imagined just reconnecting with her after being so spiteful in reactions to her rejection. But it didn't happen. What did happen was that I drove her to the airport. I hugged her. There was no cheesy words about the future. I didn't even ask her to let me know when she arrived. No mentioning of talking more.
Because there is no point. That's what I am learning in a bitter way now about real life. In real life, especially in the real life of tango, you meet a person, you may or not may fall in love with her, but you in any case go through a deep and meaningful experience with them. But it takes certain maturity to accept the end of that experience and move on. No more sentimentality after. Most relationships we make in life are transient, and lasting part about them is the memory and experience left in our psyche.
She and I organized a dinner party last night. She played the guitar and sang her songs at the end. Before the milonga where I avoided her. She sang one last song that she had told me about earlier. It was a song about the only long term relationship she had had. And it was one she didn't want to have dragged out so long. But it affected her immensely. She thought she could eventually love a man with time, but in the end, time simply made the breakup infinitely more painful, and the man apparently is ruined by the experience while still in love with her. The song was her way of telling him through the echos of time that he had to move on, and not hope that he could make her happy, "to set her free." I felt she was singing that to me.
When she captured my heart she was also singing, about two weeks ago, singing this tango song with her amazing voice. I felt she was singing to me. Now this last time she's singing on this trip, I also felt she was singing to me, but in a way that meant closure. Don't fall in love with me, don't give your heart to me. That's the lesson I am supposed to learn, not just with regards to her, but with everyone else in the past and in the future who isn't ready for my love, my heart. And whatever experience I have built with this or that person, I can't keep lingering around hoping that the experience will eventually become the fairytale version I want.
She took her baggage alone and went inside the terminal alone, without turning around. And that was the end of that. That's the painful part. To learn this new lesson is the painful part. To learn to say goodbye without any more thoughts of what had happened between that goodbye and the hello before that. Life is too beautiful and too short to have to linger around the old bus stop of memory.
So I got in my car, and drove away from the sunrise back to my house, where there's a girl that makes me feel happy just because she flirts with me.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Saturday Morning
Last night, at about 4 in the morning, I made a comment, and I can't remember what the context was, but this morning, sitting in my brand new papasan inside my bedroom, I remember the comment. "It's not every day that I get to be with two attractive young ladies."
Taking out of context, I can only imagine what one thinks of me. For those who know me, I wonder if they feel sorry for me, because in some ways, it's pitiful. The context was something funny, because I remember my two guests laughing about it. I have two very beautiful and young tango dancers hanging out in my living room. There seems to be some ideas in the heads of men that I am always with beautiful girls. That's the impression I get from the short comments I hear from men at milongas every now and then.
It's Saturday morning. Really, it's past 1PM. I've managed to sleep past 11AM, the dreaded deadline for my body to wake up. I cheated by taking sleeping aids at 9:30AM when my body wanted to get up after going to bed around 4:30. My throat hurts and I fell asleep twice at the milonga last night. This is because I have been sleeping for less than 4 hours each night for the past week.
It's Saturday morning, and I have that feeling again. It's extremely annoying. It's like a cough, which has dogged me the whole past few days. It is not something life-threatening, but I can't resist it and it really annoys me. That feeling, that famous morning feeling of extreme loneliness and hopelessness. I no longer blame it on anyone, not even myself. I just get annoyed that the visitor comes again and again every morning when I get out of bed. Part of remembering the comment is this morning desire for self-pity. If I am always surrounded by beautiful women, why not a single one of them wants to be with me? That's the thought for the morning. My sister, the lawyer one, once asked me if I really want to be with someone. The answer is obvious, but stepping back, I watch my life and I can see how some people can't imagine the I actually want to be with someone, one person. And the reality is that sometimes I struggle to "enjoy the moment", enjoy the experience of being with different people. These two ladies are like most people I "experience"; they leave something beautiful in my path of life but I will probably never interact with them much again in the future, and unlikely in the same way. A few people, like my close friends, are my permanent companions, not just a trading post of experience on the desolate road of my life. So I try to always enjoy the moment, be grateful I meet people.
But at some point, damn it, I want that different experience, the experience of being with a woman for a longer journey. It is one of my deepest realizations from the last drama in my life: even though she and I might not be the most compatible people, I believed we could learn so much from each other through a partnership as well as struggles with each other. I know that romance for most people starts out with a big bang and excitement and the shaking of the heart, but a long-term romance for me is different from other relationships in this way: this very different way of experiencing life than with friendships or dating or family. There is a lot I haven't learned about myself because I haven't been in a long term relationship in a while.
My neighborhood is quiet, even on a Saturday afternoon and with my windows open. Two friends from New Haven are coming to visit me, today or tomorrow, making this place even busier. I am grateful whenever I slow down and notice. Last night that girl from my last drama sent me text messages comforting me because she knew I was having these morning anxieties again. I am grateful for that too, without having to remember that she and I aren't talking to each other again. And I am even grateful that this young girl who is leaving Monday is still smiling at me despite knowing that I wasn't happy with her rejection, so that in the end, we have avoided drama and will enjoy each other's company for the remainder of our "experience" together. We had a lot of fun last night after her friend from Massachusetts joined her in my "harem", as some people have joked about my company of women. I am grateful for the lack of drama. I am grateful to know another tango dancer. I am grateful I get to hear their stories, their thoughts, and to be made to laugh with their youthful attitude about life. They are as far from me as one can imagine in terms of how to live their lives. They both want to become poor tango teachers, but like any artist, they will enjoy life in a very different, and perhaps more fulfilling way, than my finance peers. Their life isn't set. There is no bag full of structured goals. The girl told me that she wanted to be a tango teacher because that's the feeling she has, a strong feeling, which, she said, is more important than any rational planning.
Sometimes I just want to sell my house and everything I am responsible for to be free like that. Free to following my feelings without many of the shackles of society. Perhaps that's why I am tempted to go busking in public and pretend that the few dollars I will earn will mean I am free. My heart isn't always here. Sometimes I read about China and I want to do something there. When I saw the Tibetan prayer wand on my radiator I want to be there. I don't regret starting my life in New York, working in finance, which is almost as exotic to me as traveling in Tibet. But I should remember sometimes to take that lesson from this cute girl and follow my feelings.
The morning visitor has come and left, as usual. I am ready to start another crazy day with these young ladies.
Taking out of context, I can only imagine what one thinks of me. For those who know me, I wonder if they feel sorry for me, because in some ways, it's pitiful. The context was something funny, because I remember my two guests laughing about it. I have two very beautiful and young tango dancers hanging out in my living room. There seems to be some ideas in the heads of men that I am always with beautiful girls. That's the impression I get from the short comments I hear from men at milongas every now and then.
It's Saturday morning. Really, it's past 1PM. I've managed to sleep past 11AM, the dreaded deadline for my body to wake up. I cheated by taking sleeping aids at 9:30AM when my body wanted to get up after going to bed around 4:30. My throat hurts and I fell asleep twice at the milonga last night. This is because I have been sleeping for less than 4 hours each night for the past week.
It's Saturday morning, and I have that feeling again. It's extremely annoying. It's like a cough, which has dogged me the whole past few days. It is not something life-threatening, but I can't resist it and it really annoys me. That feeling, that famous morning feeling of extreme loneliness and hopelessness. I no longer blame it on anyone, not even myself. I just get annoyed that the visitor comes again and again every morning when I get out of bed. Part of remembering the comment is this morning desire for self-pity. If I am always surrounded by beautiful women, why not a single one of them wants to be with me? That's the thought for the morning. My sister, the lawyer one, once asked me if I really want to be with someone. The answer is obvious, but stepping back, I watch my life and I can see how some people can't imagine the I actually want to be with someone, one person. And the reality is that sometimes I struggle to "enjoy the moment", enjoy the experience of being with different people. These two ladies are like most people I "experience"; they leave something beautiful in my path of life but I will probably never interact with them much again in the future, and unlikely in the same way. A few people, like my close friends, are my permanent companions, not just a trading post of experience on the desolate road of my life. So I try to always enjoy the moment, be grateful I meet people.
But at some point, damn it, I want that different experience, the experience of being with a woman for a longer journey. It is one of my deepest realizations from the last drama in my life: even though she and I might not be the most compatible people, I believed we could learn so much from each other through a partnership as well as struggles with each other. I know that romance for most people starts out with a big bang and excitement and the shaking of the heart, but a long-term romance for me is different from other relationships in this way: this very different way of experiencing life than with friendships or dating or family. There is a lot I haven't learned about myself because I haven't been in a long term relationship in a while.
My neighborhood is quiet, even on a Saturday afternoon and with my windows open. Two friends from New Haven are coming to visit me, today or tomorrow, making this place even busier. I am grateful whenever I slow down and notice. Last night that girl from my last drama sent me text messages comforting me because she knew I was having these morning anxieties again. I am grateful for that too, without having to remember that she and I aren't talking to each other again. And I am even grateful that this young girl who is leaving Monday is still smiling at me despite knowing that I wasn't happy with her rejection, so that in the end, we have avoided drama and will enjoy each other's company for the remainder of our "experience" together. We had a lot of fun last night after her friend from Massachusetts joined her in my "harem", as some people have joked about my company of women. I am grateful for the lack of drama. I am grateful to know another tango dancer. I am grateful I get to hear their stories, their thoughts, and to be made to laugh with their youthful attitude about life. They are as far from me as one can imagine in terms of how to live their lives. They both want to become poor tango teachers, but like any artist, they will enjoy life in a very different, and perhaps more fulfilling way, than my finance peers. Their life isn't set. There is no bag full of structured goals. The girl told me that she wanted to be a tango teacher because that's the feeling she has, a strong feeling, which, she said, is more important than any rational planning.
Sometimes I just want to sell my house and everything I am responsible for to be free like that. Free to following my feelings without many of the shackles of society. Perhaps that's why I am tempted to go busking in public and pretend that the few dollars I will earn will mean I am free. My heart isn't always here. Sometimes I read about China and I want to do something there. When I saw the Tibetan prayer wand on my radiator I want to be there. I don't regret starting my life in New York, working in finance, which is almost as exotic to me as traveling in Tibet. But I should remember sometimes to take that lesson from this cute girl and follow my feelings.
The morning visitor has come and left, as usual. I am ready to start another crazy day with these young ladies.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Rising on another Morning
The other day I was talking to one of my New Haven friends about relationships. In the end, after talking about her uneventful adventures with the same guy with whom she had had this ambiguous and frustrating relationship, she said to me, well, I wish I could like someone new so easily. Yes, it seems a deceptive gift I have that I can fall for one girl after another when the previous didn't work out. But when every morning you wake up feeling the pain I feel, you realize that isn't a gift, but more like a liability. A liability on the heart. This morning I woke up with that same feeling, and then I started to think about returning to my apartment empty for the first time since last Saturday. Of course, I have come back to an empty apartment many nights during the week because this girl was always out taking classes, part of her goal of becoming a "world-class tango dancer/teacher in five years." But her stuff was always here. Yesterday evening, the evening after we had a short and tough talk about her lack of reciprocation of my feelings, I came home and saw the sofa bed all folded up. I was a little taken aback. I thought the whole awkward situation had made her move out without notice. My reaction showed how sensitive I am about returning to an "empty" apartment.
That is not to say that I want a roommate. I have lived with someone, first my sister, then various roommates, for nearly nine years, and the year before that I was living with my parents. And before that a girlfriend for more than a year. I don't mean I want someone to share the living space and cost with; I mean someone I had feelings about. Maybe that's just a way to lie to myself, to make up the illusion of having a relationship. It becomes a little more obvious when I leave the apartment each morning. I look at her sleeping there in the folded out sofa bed and feel the slight pang of not being able to come closer and give her a kiss goodbye, even if she's sleeping. Not even the thought of doing so because it would be inappropriate.
Part of loneliness is the inability to show your love. Obviously, loneliness is about not feeling loved. But while I don't know if others feel the same, loneliness for me is also the giving part. When I like someone I want to hold them, and show them how much I want them. That's perhaps part of the problem. Whenever I like someone remotely, I jump all over them, showing them everything, instead of playing the game of courtship. And there is no patience, no letting the relationship develop. There's the worry that it won't develop into the way I want, and there's the impatience to see how it develops. There isn't an appreciation of the road but the insane eagerness to reach the finishing line. I care too much about the sweetness of the fruit unpromised and don't really notice the green growth of the sapling.
I know I will forget about this girl soon after she boards the plane back to the land wreaked havoc by tornadoes. I remember feeling the same sentimentality in the same degree with other similar situations. At least this time there's not much drama. Far from the examples with women I no longer speak to, no longer have the compulsion to speak to. I think about the girl I went to India with, shared so much with, and I remember all the pain and hopelessness and exaggerated self-pity, but now I hardly think about her, and the pain merely has found new green pastures to grow. Like I said yesterday, "this too shall pass." And I know it's more important to enjoy the moments with her. Last night we went out to this bad milonga and we had a great time making fun of it. And brief as the break we had back home before going to bed, we got to know each other a bit more. Or rather, I got to know her a bit more.
So I know what the right thing to do is. But when you wake up in the morning feeling you still don't have someone to love, it's hard not to wonder about the future, hard not to feel sad about another missed goal.
The most difficult life lesson here is to overcome these moments of self-pity and fear of the future so I can do what I know is right. Here's a girl that is fully willing to connect with me, as one human being to another. She simply can't give me the fairytale ending I want, and too often, at least in the mornings, I think only about that fairytale ending and not all the words between the moment and the unknown future.
Today a friend of hers will come join us in my new apartment. I made the suggestion of busking in Central Park. It has hence been downgraded to busking in the subway train. I have never busked before, and always wondered what that feels like, at least when you are doing it for fun and not, as is the point of busking, trying to make some bare minimal income. I don't know if we will do it. But the fact that she welcomed my idea and even added suggestions is an example of how we connect. It is also she who suggested throwing a dinner party at my place before the Sunday milonga, her last one this trip. This enthusiasm is so attractive that I wonder if it also obscures what I really want from a woman.
Like I said, like my friend had noted with some jealousy, I easily go for the next girl as soon as I am tired of the drama with the current stubborn girl. As another friend noted, I don't really spend the time to heal, time alone to heal. Of course, when I am alone, that's when the pain is the most raw, but that's the beginning of the healing process. Instead of doing that, I run to the next person, and seek a temporary bandaid on the wound that can only heal when exposed to the cruel simplicity of bare nature, no antibiotics, no coverup. I started this new life wanting to have just friends for a while, and not allow myself any drama with anyone. We can't control who we like, even if there are reasons why we like one person and not another. But we can control how we approach the situation. There are other girls I like, as you know if you have been reading every blog entry. I would do myself a lot of injustice if, now that this girl is leaving without leaving behind even the tiniest morsel of her heart, I will jump to the next. But I am not entirely optimistic that I would succeed in breaking the pattern.
That is not to say that I want a roommate. I have lived with someone, first my sister, then various roommates, for nearly nine years, and the year before that I was living with my parents. And before that a girlfriend for more than a year. I don't mean I want someone to share the living space and cost with; I mean someone I had feelings about. Maybe that's just a way to lie to myself, to make up the illusion of having a relationship. It becomes a little more obvious when I leave the apartment each morning. I look at her sleeping there in the folded out sofa bed and feel the slight pang of not being able to come closer and give her a kiss goodbye, even if she's sleeping. Not even the thought of doing so because it would be inappropriate.
Part of loneliness is the inability to show your love. Obviously, loneliness is about not feeling loved. But while I don't know if others feel the same, loneliness for me is also the giving part. When I like someone I want to hold them, and show them how much I want them. That's perhaps part of the problem. Whenever I like someone remotely, I jump all over them, showing them everything, instead of playing the game of courtship. And there is no patience, no letting the relationship develop. There's the worry that it won't develop into the way I want, and there's the impatience to see how it develops. There isn't an appreciation of the road but the insane eagerness to reach the finishing line. I care too much about the sweetness of the fruit unpromised and don't really notice the green growth of the sapling.
I know I will forget about this girl soon after she boards the plane back to the land wreaked havoc by tornadoes. I remember feeling the same sentimentality in the same degree with other similar situations. At least this time there's not much drama. Far from the examples with women I no longer speak to, no longer have the compulsion to speak to. I think about the girl I went to India with, shared so much with, and I remember all the pain and hopelessness and exaggerated self-pity, but now I hardly think about her, and the pain merely has found new green pastures to grow. Like I said yesterday, "this too shall pass." And I know it's more important to enjoy the moments with her. Last night we went out to this bad milonga and we had a great time making fun of it. And brief as the break we had back home before going to bed, we got to know each other a bit more. Or rather, I got to know her a bit more.
So I know what the right thing to do is. But when you wake up in the morning feeling you still don't have someone to love, it's hard not to wonder about the future, hard not to feel sad about another missed goal.
The most difficult life lesson here is to overcome these moments of self-pity and fear of the future so I can do what I know is right. Here's a girl that is fully willing to connect with me, as one human being to another. She simply can't give me the fairytale ending I want, and too often, at least in the mornings, I think only about that fairytale ending and not all the words between the moment and the unknown future.
Today a friend of hers will come join us in my new apartment. I made the suggestion of busking in Central Park. It has hence been downgraded to busking in the subway train. I have never busked before, and always wondered what that feels like, at least when you are doing it for fun and not, as is the point of busking, trying to make some bare minimal income. I don't know if we will do it. But the fact that she welcomed my idea and even added suggestions is an example of how we connect. It is also she who suggested throwing a dinner party at my place before the Sunday milonga, her last one this trip. This enthusiasm is so attractive that I wonder if it also obscures what I really want from a woman.
Like I said, like my friend had noted with some jealousy, I easily go for the next girl as soon as I am tired of the drama with the current stubborn girl. As another friend noted, I don't really spend the time to heal, time alone to heal. Of course, when I am alone, that's when the pain is the most raw, but that's the beginning of the healing process. Instead of doing that, I run to the next person, and seek a temporary bandaid on the wound that can only heal when exposed to the cruel simplicity of bare nature, no antibiotics, no coverup. I started this new life wanting to have just friends for a while, and not allow myself any drama with anyone. We can't control who we like, even if there are reasons why we like one person and not another. But we can control how we approach the situation. There are other girls I like, as you know if you have been reading every blog entry. I would do myself a lot of injustice if, now that this girl is leaving without leaving behind even the tiniest morsel of her heart, I will jump to the next. But I am not entirely optimistic that I would succeed in breaking the pattern.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Post Kiss Attempt
What happened that night?
I am in the train now, thinking back. The train is making this very deep sound somewhere beneath us. It will pass. "This too shall pass," is the phrase tattooed in Hebrew on the left inner wrist of the girl staying at my place. It is based on a story with King Solomon who learned humility from this phrase. The sound shall pass. And so shall all the annoyances or hurts we encounter. We just need to have faith that this is so.
Nothing happened as I had imagined. There was no rain. There was no waiting beneath that awning of my apartment building. In fact, it was a nice, cool early summer night. 1:15 in the morning, or night, and we were dropped off by the organizer of the practica since he lives just a few blocks away. He's settled enough in this neighborhood to have a car here. I was tired, but still I wanted to chat with her. I offered tea and she accepted.
The story isn't so interesting. What I learned from it isn't that much more interesting either. It's about my struggle with not getting what I want, how to behave as a response, and dealing with the even more important point of friendship. Smaller realizations were that I can't be that Don Juan I imagined I could be. I just don't know her enough, and as such I don't have enough confidence that a Don Juan would with a stranger. We aren't such strangers; we're quite comfortable with each other, except when we see each other. There isn't usually a hug. But beyond that, for two strangers who had met only a couple of weeks ago, we are pretty close, we click pretty quickly. That might just be because of our flexible personalities.
I didn't know what to say. How to behave. I just told her whatever she told me last Monday didn't matter. What does that mean? She was more puzzled than I was. I wanted to say that when you like someone, it isn't conditioned on whether the other person likes you back. However, hopefully, if the other person doesn't, you soon will stop liking them. I couldn't figure out what I liked about her. But I was more preoccupied with the reiteration of the lack of reciprocation. She simply said that she couldn't control her feelings. It's true, even if that's an overused reason, it's that simple. At the given moment, no one can really control his feelings. We don't consciously choose whom to like romantically or not. There could be psychological reasons, but at the given moment, we don't control whom and when.
I tried not to be upset, but I couldn't help it. There was no reason to be upset. There was no surprise. But the ego is powerful, especially at 2 in the morning. And the next day I wanted to talk to her now that I was a little more awake, but she skirted the subject. In the safety of text messages, she told me that she was avoiding talking to me about it because it wasn't easy to do so, though she understood well how I wanted to talk about it. I understood well too that it was unnecessary to talk about "it", because there isn't anything to talk about. I understood that a rejected person's need to talk about the rejection is a way to find closure, find healing, immediately.
That too shall pass. My anxiety grew and I called one of my friends. She told me to stop hurting myself by jumping from one person to the next, to give myself some time to heal. And I felt better. I just needed to hear my own wisdom from someone else's mouth. There are only a few days left before she leaves and I might not see her again (though very untrue since the tango world is so close-knit). I could be grumpy and needy around her to make her pay me more attention to compensate for the hurt, or I can enjoy the time together with her as much as possible. Life is about enjoying the moment, and one of the worst things you can do is stop living for a moment because you've closed yourself inside a big dark box of your own self-pity and resentment.
So last night we met up at another milonga. I wasn't going go. I needed to recuperate from the lack of sleep that is contributing to my incessant coughing. It was also my childish way of convincing myself, and her, that she was the cause for my lack of sleep and that she was no longer worth it.
I took a long nap and woke up past 11PM, and the next thing I knew I was on the 7 train, meeting the city at midnight. When I saw her I wondered what I liked about her. I think she's very sexy and beautiful, but there was something else. Her mannerism, her artistic mind, the tranquility in her voice, in her gestures. That's another thing about life: learning some new personality, new way of behaving, moving, talking. If I just stop looking inward for pity and look outward with observing eyes, that would be better than meditation. Although she'd been dancing for only one year, her dances are very sexy.
So those are the reasons for which I like about her.
I am thinking about sculpting. It's a metaphor loosely borrowed from a line from that movie with Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson. I saw it in college. My metaphor is that each time we meet someone, we learned something new about ourselves through them by taking our experience with them to chip at the crass stone that is us. Without any experience in life, we are just a stone like all else. But it is the chisel of experience that shapes us, but each strike can be painful, and there is always the danger of breaking us into pieces. So that's how I see this and other experiences I have with a woman. It's painful, but the experience shapes me, and in this case helps me understand more what I like, what I find attractive. Discovering what attracts me is itself a step closer to understanding myself.
And even with the pain, it shall always pass. I will be sad to see her go. But that sadness will pass and leave behind indelible memories. This girl has gone through a lot of heartaches. Not like mine, her being an attractive woman. But still, a great deal of disappointments. But in the end, she is still open, optimistic, happy, glowing. She's still young, but that doesn't mean her experiences have aged her. I can learn from that. Learn from the Hebrew words on her wrist.
I am in the train now, thinking back. The train is making this very deep sound somewhere beneath us. It will pass. "This too shall pass," is the phrase tattooed in Hebrew on the left inner wrist of the girl staying at my place. It is based on a story with King Solomon who learned humility from this phrase. The sound shall pass. And so shall all the annoyances or hurts we encounter. We just need to have faith that this is so.
Nothing happened as I had imagined. There was no rain. There was no waiting beneath that awning of my apartment building. In fact, it was a nice, cool early summer night. 1:15 in the morning, or night, and we were dropped off by the organizer of the practica since he lives just a few blocks away. He's settled enough in this neighborhood to have a car here. I was tired, but still I wanted to chat with her. I offered tea and she accepted.
The story isn't so interesting. What I learned from it isn't that much more interesting either. It's about my struggle with not getting what I want, how to behave as a response, and dealing with the even more important point of friendship. Smaller realizations were that I can't be that Don Juan I imagined I could be. I just don't know her enough, and as such I don't have enough confidence that a Don Juan would with a stranger. We aren't such strangers; we're quite comfortable with each other, except when we see each other. There isn't usually a hug. But beyond that, for two strangers who had met only a couple of weeks ago, we are pretty close, we click pretty quickly. That might just be because of our flexible personalities.
I didn't know what to say. How to behave. I just told her whatever she told me last Monday didn't matter. What does that mean? She was more puzzled than I was. I wanted to say that when you like someone, it isn't conditioned on whether the other person likes you back. However, hopefully, if the other person doesn't, you soon will stop liking them. I couldn't figure out what I liked about her. But I was more preoccupied with the reiteration of the lack of reciprocation. She simply said that she couldn't control her feelings. It's true, even if that's an overused reason, it's that simple. At the given moment, no one can really control his feelings. We don't consciously choose whom to like romantically or not. There could be psychological reasons, but at the given moment, we don't control whom and when.
I tried not to be upset, but I couldn't help it. There was no reason to be upset. There was no surprise. But the ego is powerful, especially at 2 in the morning. And the next day I wanted to talk to her now that I was a little more awake, but she skirted the subject. In the safety of text messages, she told me that she was avoiding talking to me about it because it wasn't easy to do so, though she understood well how I wanted to talk about it. I understood well too that it was unnecessary to talk about "it", because there isn't anything to talk about. I understood that a rejected person's need to talk about the rejection is a way to find closure, find healing, immediately.
That too shall pass. My anxiety grew and I called one of my friends. She told me to stop hurting myself by jumping from one person to the next, to give myself some time to heal. And I felt better. I just needed to hear my own wisdom from someone else's mouth. There are only a few days left before she leaves and I might not see her again (though very untrue since the tango world is so close-knit). I could be grumpy and needy around her to make her pay me more attention to compensate for the hurt, or I can enjoy the time together with her as much as possible. Life is about enjoying the moment, and one of the worst things you can do is stop living for a moment because you've closed yourself inside a big dark box of your own self-pity and resentment.
So last night we met up at another milonga. I wasn't going go. I needed to recuperate from the lack of sleep that is contributing to my incessant coughing. It was also my childish way of convincing myself, and her, that she was the cause for my lack of sleep and that she was no longer worth it.
I took a long nap and woke up past 11PM, and the next thing I knew I was on the 7 train, meeting the city at midnight. When I saw her I wondered what I liked about her. I think she's very sexy and beautiful, but there was something else. Her mannerism, her artistic mind, the tranquility in her voice, in her gestures. That's another thing about life: learning some new personality, new way of behaving, moving, talking. If I just stop looking inward for pity and look outward with observing eyes, that would be better than meditation. Although she'd been dancing for only one year, her dances are very sexy.
So those are the reasons for which I like about her.
I am thinking about sculpting. It's a metaphor loosely borrowed from a line from that movie with Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson. I saw it in college. My metaphor is that each time we meet someone, we learned something new about ourselves through them by taking our experience with them to chip at the crass stone that is us. Without any experience in life, we are just a stone like all else. But it is the chisel of experience that shapes us, but each strike can be painful, and there is always the danger of breaking us into pieces. So that's how I see this and other experiences I have with a woman. It's painful, but the experience shapes me, and in this case helps me understand more what I like, what I find attractive. Discovering what attracts me is itself a step closer to understanding myself.
And even with the pain, it shall always pass. I will be sad to see her go. But that sadness will pass and leave behind indelible memories. This girl has gone through a lot of heartaches. Not like mine, her being an attractive woman. But still, a great deal of disappointments. But in the end, she is still open, optimistic, happy, glowing. She's still young, but that doesn't mean her experiences have aged her. I can learn from that. Learn from the Hebrew words on her wrist.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The History of Kiss
I was told that if I like a girl, I just have to try to kiss her.
And I wonder where all these voices come from. Voices of restraint. All just excuses to avoid rejection.
Last entry I made was so blurry. I was tired. It would have been all very unnecessary if I had tried to kiss the girl. But I was also very tired.
I am always tired. I wonder how I am supposed to kiss a girl if I am so tired. How do I become spontaneous if I am tired? Too tired to overcome those voices. Too tired to do the simple thing as a man: kiss the girl you like.
Perhaps a scenario, to feel the impact of those voices. It is drizzling. Or it has just stopped raining. We're both a little tired after returning from the milonga. Or the practica, as it is Tuesday. My building has an awning not typical of the area. It isn't interesting or beautiful, just that I don't see that style anywhere else. Under this uninteresting and unique awning, I hesitate a little. I start imagining, even then, not just now in the narrative, that I will ask her and she will say no. But really? Would she? Only twice in my life I have tried to kiss a girl. Just twice. Oh wait, three times. First time was on my way back to Switzerland, where I had a girlfriend. Yes, bad. How old was I? Twenty-four, I think. Thirteen years ago, really? I was in the car with my best friend, then, and we both felt something. Something from so many years of friendship with undertone of tension. I gave her a small kiss, on the lips, and she responded, before saying jokingly that she'd tell this to my girlfriend, whom she hadn't then contacted.
A kiss isn't like some commitment to do anything. I didn't know that.
Second time? In Thailand. In the darkness of a private bungalow. It was warm. The sweet smell and soothing sound of the tropical sea just a few feet away was in the humid air. And I asked my best friend, a different one, if I could kiss her. It was another culmination of years of tension in an otherwise platonic relationship. She warned me that if we kissed, I could never ask her of it again. Strange request, now that I think about it. And I didn't keep my "promise", nor did she stop me the next time a couple of years later. Funny how life works. I think there are rules. I try to obey what others ask of me, especially if they ask me to promise something. But life doesn't have nearly as many rules as we think, and even those rules aren't as strictly enforced as I sometimes dread them to be.
Again, the anti-rule: kissing is not step into commitment.
What is it, then? Just wanting to be close to someone you're attracted to.
The third time was not too long ago. I almost insisted on a kiss. The girl kept moving away, but not really. I say "not really" because she wasn't upset about it, and later, she told me she was amazed. Amazed? Because I am not like that. I am not the Don Juan that can risk a beating on the ego by doing what girls both desire and reject. But sometimes I am. Three times.
And so under this awning, just when we're about to open the door, I ask her. Or I imagine asking her. Those voices are clamoring. "It's not fair for her. She's your guest, now you make her feel trapped." "She's too young for you, what are you thinking?" "You're taking advantage of her." "It will be so awkward after she says no." "You're not grateful that she had helped you so much?" "What do you really want to come out of this? She's leaving in a few days."
Voices that have convinced themselves that a kiss is the biggest deal in the world. When did I stop relaxing about life? Before the first kiss in my life, I suppose.
So many voices, but now that I think about it, they reflect how I protect myself with respect to women. I want to be with them. I really do. I want to be with one, really. But instead of ripping my heart and soul out for them to see and perhaps pulverize with a rejection, I repeat the same pattern of being there for them, making them feel safe and comfortable, because that's the only way I know to buy me an entrance ticket to a woman's companionship and, less obvious, approval. In this case, a young woman finds herself in a stranger's apartment. She feels totally at ease here. I never sense much tension between us. Only time there might be some awkwardness is when I give her a hug. Is that the best I can do? A hug. I want to give her a hug as the most physical contact I want from her.
What about that other voice?
The lone voice: she's beautiful, are you insane? You're in a room with a gorgeous young woman, and you don't even ask for a kiss? It's not like you want to jump at her like what that former IMF head did with the maid. When you look at her, you can't help noticing her big, brown eyes, her sexy curls, that smile forever printed in your mind, and her voluptuous body. What are you doing just sitting there talking to her about the interior design of your new apartment? Where is the man in you?
Where is that man in me? If I don't see it, I don't think she can. I don't think others can. I make people around me feel comfortable, and that, according to my art buddy, is a major reason people like me. But the cost? The cost is simple and big: loss of manliness.
The subsequent cost is that loneliness and disconnectedness I feel so often, especially in the morning. I wake up still feeling spiteful. This morning I walked through the living room where she's sleeping, and I saw her peaceful face under those sexy curls. Where is that me that tried to kiss a girl I was very attracted to each of those three times?
There are too many rules set up for me. I can only be allowed to manifest my manhood under specific circumstances: if I am on an explicitly obvious "date"; if she is of a certain age within some predefined range that is safe from any scandal; if she's not a friend for a long time; if she doesn't depend on you in any way. And more. These rules have boxed in my expression as a man. I've always wondered why there are men who aren't as attractive as I am but still managed to smooth-talk their ways into a kiss. This girl, for example, had a fling with and in the end felt used by a guy that most of us don't think is attractive. (Another rule, don't kiss a girl that just had her heart broken. Gee!) But he is not like me at all, not really considerate, not trying to make anyone feel safe, can sometimes be really rude. But also, he walks with a lot of male confidence, he is funny in a way that is unique only to men, not just men biologically, but men who are in touch with their manliness.
All these rules just to avoid doing the obvious: putting myself out there, being a man that has a good chance of being rejected. So I hide behind these rules. It's easy to hide behind rules because they all sound so rational under some given circumstance.
I forgot about the fourth time. Not long ago. We were saying goodbye after a few weeks of adventure together. I knew she wasn't interested in me (not sure what that really means). But still, I gave her a hug, then I tried to kiss her. Do I really know what a rejection looks like? Like in the movies? The girl pushes me off? Screams? She turned her face away a little, but I insisted. I did? Amazing. And she let me kiss her.
Still, nothing happened afterward. Nothing in either direction. We were still friends. We never brought that up again. Why? Because it was just a kiss. Not some turning point where we would have to stop being friends or start dating. So dramatic I have made the world to justify my hiding behind all those rules. Until a certain point I had felt a little guilty trying to kiss her again after she turned her head a little away from me. But I got over that.
What makes a kiss a big deal isn't that it could tip the balance of a looming big future. For me, on a personal level, it represents how disconnected I am from doing what a man naturally wants to do when he finds a woman attractive. He wants to connect to her, show her boldly what his intentions are, and have the confidence to move on after that point, whatever happens. In this scenario, under the uninteresting awning on a misty, humid night, my heart would be racing, but that's not really because a woman was about to be assaulted with my lips, but because I am walking into the unknown. An unknown about myself, and it is scary as hell.
And I wonder where all these voices come from. Voices of restraint. All just excuses to avoid rejection.
Last entry I made was so blurry. I was tired. It would have been all very unnecessary if I had tried to kiss the girl. But I was also very tired.
I am always tired. I wonder how I am supposed to kiss a girl if I am so tired. How do I become spontaneous if I am tired? Too tired to overcome those voices. Too tired to do the simple thing as a man: kiss the girl you like.
Perhaps a scenario, to feel the impact of those voices. It is drizzling. Or it has just stopped raining. We're both a little tired after returning from the milonga. Or the practica, as it is Tuesday. My building has an awning not typical of the area. It isn't interesting or beautiful, just that I don't see that style anywhere else. Under this uninteresting and unique awning, I hesitate a little. I start imagining, even then, not just now in the narrative, that I will ask her and she will say no. But really? Would she? Only twice in my life I have tried to kiss a girl. Just twice. Oh wait, three times. First time was on my way back to Switzerland, where I had a girlfriend. Yes, bad. How old was I? Twenty-four, I think. Thirteen years ago, really? I was in the car with my best friend, then, and we both felt something. Something from so many years of friendship with undertone of tension. I gave her a small kiss, on the lips, and she responded, before saying jokingly that she'd tell this to my girlfriend, whom she hadn't then contacted.
A kiss isn't like some commitment to do anything. I didn't know that.
Second time? In Thailand. In the darkness of a private bungalow. It was warm. The sweet smell and soothing sound of the tropical sea just a few feet away was in the humid air. And I asked my best friend, a different one, if I could kiss her. It was another culmination of years of tension in an otherwise platonic relationship. She warned me that if we kissed, I could never ask her of it again. Strange request, now that I think about it. And I didn't keep my "promise", nor did she stop me the next time a couple of years later. Funny how life works. I think there are rules. I try to obey what others ask of me, especially if they ask me to promise something. But life doesn't have nearly as many rules as we think, and even those rules aren't as strictly enforced as I sometimes dread them to be.
Again, the anti-rule: kissing is not step into commitment.
What is it, then? Just wanting to be close to someone you're attracted to.
The third time was not too long ago. I almost insisted on a kiss. The girl kept moving away, but not really. I say "not really" because she wasn't upset about it, and later, she told me she was amazed. Amazed? Because I am not like that. I am not the Don Juan that can risk a beating on the ego by doing what girls both desire and reject. But sometimes I am. Three times.
And so under this awning, just when we're about to open the door, I ask her. Or I imagine asking her. Those voices are clamoring. "It's not fair for her. She's your guest, now you make her feel trapped." "She's too young for you, what are you thinking?" "You're taking advantage of her." "It will be so awkward after she says no." "You're not grateful that she had helped you so much?" "What do you really want to come out of this? She's leaving in a few days."
Voices that have convinced themselves that a kiss is the biggest deal in the world. When did I stop relaxing about life? Before the first kiss in my life, I suppose.
So many voices, but now that I think about it, they reflect how I protect myself with respect to women. I want to be with them. I really do. I want to be with one, really. But instead of ripping my heart and soul out for them to see and perhaps pulverize with a rejection, I repeat the same pattern of being there for them, making them feel safe and comfortable, because that's the only way I know to buy me an entrance ticket to a woman's companionship and, less obvious, approval. In this case, a young woman finds herself in a stranger's apartment. She feels totally at ease here. I never sense much tension between us. Only time there might be some awkwardness is when I give her a hug. Is that the best I can do? A hug. I want to give her a hug as the most physical contact I want from her.
What about that other voice?
The lone voice: she's beautiful, are you insane? You're in a room with a gorgeous young woman, and you don't even ask for a kiss? It's not like you want to jump at her like what that former IMF head did with the maid. When you look at her, you can't help noticing her big, brown eyes, her sexy curls, that smile forever printed in your mind, and her voluptuous body. What are you doing just sitting there talking to her about the interior design of your new apartment? Where is the man in you?
Where is that man in me? If I don't see it, I don't think she can. I don't think others can. I make people around me feel comfortable, and that, according to my art buddy, is a major reason people like me. But the cost? The cost is simple and big: loss of manliness.
The subsequent cost is that loneliness and disconnectedness I feel so often, especially in the morning. I wake up still feeling spiteful. This morning I walked through the living room where she's sleeping, and I saw her peaceful face under those sexy curls. Where is that me that tried to kiss a girl I was very attracted to each of those three times?
There are too many rules set up for me. I can only be allowed to manifest my manhood under specific circumstances: if I am on an explicitly obvious "date"; if she is of a certain age within some predefined range that is safe from any scandal; if she's not a friend for a long time; if she doesn't depend on you in any way. And more. These rules have boxed in my expression as a man. I've always wondered why there are men who aren't as attractive as I am but still managed to smooth-talk their ways into a kiss. This girl, for example, had a fling with and in the end felt used by a guy that most of us don't think is attractive. (Another rule, don't kiss a girl that just had her heart broken. Gee!) But he is not like me at all, not really considerate, not trying to make anyone feel safe, can sometimes be really rude. But also, he walks with a lot of male confidence, he is funny in a way that is unique only to men, not just men biologically, but men who are in touch with their manliness.
All these rules just to avoid doing the obvious: putting myself out there, being a man that has a good chance of being rejected. So I hide behind these rules. It's easy to hide behind rules because they all sound so rational under some given circumstance.
I forgot about the fourth time. Not long ago. We were saying goodbye after a few weeks of adventure together. I knew she wasn't interested in me (not sure what that really means). But still, I gave her a hug, then I tried to kiss her. Do I really know what a rejection looks like? Like in the movies? The girl pushes me off? Screams? She turned her face away a little, but I insisted. I did? Amazing. And she let me kiss her.
Still, nothing happened afterward. Nothing in either direction. We were still friends. We never brought that up again. Why? Because it was just a kiss. Not some turning point where we would have to stop being friends or start dating. So dramatic I have made the world to justify my hiding behind all those rules. Until a certain point I had felt a little guilty trying to kiss her again after she turned her head a little away from me. But I got over that.
What makes a kiss a big deal isn't that it could tip the balance of a looming big future. For me, on a personal level, it represents how disconnected I am from doing what a man naturally wants to do when he finds a woman attractive. He wants to connect to her, show her boldly what his intentions are, and have the confidence to move on after that point, whatever happens. In this scenario, under the uninteresting awning on a misty, humid night, my heart would be racing, but that's not really because a woman was about to be assaulted with my lips, but because I am walking into the unknown. An unknown about myself, and it is scary as hell.
Monday, May 23, 2011
What it means to want someone
Sometimes when I find myself asking simple questions I wonder how deep a hole I have dug myself in life to make it so complicated.
What does it mean to want someone?
If I find a woman attractive, I want to date her, call her my girlfriend, why? And if she refuses, I get all upset and don't want to have anything to do with her, the question begs again: why?
This girl is helping me with decorating my apartment. She is also going beyond any obligation to help me get this desk up to my apartment. Yes, I bought a desk that doesn't fit inside the elevator and unlikely to fit through the apartment door. She is determined to make that happen. We also spend a lot of time together talking. Going to places. I am introducing her to the New York City tango scene. Why can't I just enjoy what is happening?
See, the answer to my simple question isn't easy to reach, not just me, I don't think. I think the answer has to do with a desire to be affirmed that I am good enough of a man. When a woman says no, then I question myself. Maybe there's something missing in the manliness part of me. I start to doubt myself. I start to play games to change the answer to a "Yes" because I have given up hopes that being myself would ever produce a "Yes."
Of course, in attraction, there's also the biological part to it. But then again, what I want isn't just to sleep with the girl I like and that's it. I attach a lot of fantasies to the realization of a "Yes" answer. Fantasies of us being together, making daily decisions, etc. That is a clear sign that I am not just looking to conquer her body.
These are my dreamy thoughts and I must go to bed so I can get up early to drive down to New Haven for my art friend's graduation.
What does it mean to want someone?
If I find a woman attractive, I want to date her, call her my girlfriend, why? And if she refuses, I get all upset and don't want to have anything to do with her, the question begs again: why?
This girl is helping me with decorating my apartment. She is also going beyond any obligation to help me get this desk up to my apartment. Yes, I bought a desk that doesn't fit inside the elevator and unlikely to fit through the apartment door. She is determined to make that happen. We also spend a lot of time together talking. Going to places. I am introducing her to the New York City tango scene. Why can't I just enjoy what is happening?
See, the answer to my simple question isn't easy to reach, not just me, I don't think. I think the answer has to do with a desire to be affirmed that I am good enough of a man. When a woman says no, then I question myself. Maybe there's something missing in the manliness part of me. I start to doubt myself. I start to play games to change the answer to a "Yes" because I have given up hopes that being myself would ever produce a "Yes."
Of course, in attraction, there's also the biological part to it. But then again, what I want isn't just to sleep with the girl I like and that's it. I attach a lot of fantasies to the realization of a "Yes" answer. Fantasies of us being together, making daily decisions, etc. That is a clear sign that I am not just looking to conquer her body.
These are my dreamy thoughts and I must go to bed so I can get up early to drive down to New Haven for my art friend's graduation.
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