wins the race
yeah, so here i go overanalyzing everything. it’s in my nature, so back off.
i feel so much external pressure in my life, you have no idea, and that spills over into my romantic endeavours as well. believe it or not, i arrived fresh [as a rose] and innocent [outwardly, at least] and chaste [rather than chased] to london less than four years ago. i was a pure romantic. i didn’t sleep around, i didn’t have one night stands, i still felt so incredibly nervous tiptoeing into a club.
if you read this blog, then you know how things have changed, obviously. but, deep down inside is this romantic version of eric, someone looking to settle down, someone looking for a partner to share life’s adventures with, someone to be ultimately comfortable with, someone who enriches my life as i enrich his.
i’m not complaining about the boys that i’ve dated in london… some of my best friends [atif, mark, jack] are my exes, and i have plenty of acquaintences that i’ve dated with whom i’m on at least amicable terms with. for me, dating in london is like competing in some bizarre gameshow, with entirely too many twists and turns, surprises and alternatives, where the grand prize always seems to fall out of my clutches.
rather than dissecting my current relationship, i’ve decided to focus my examination internally, upon my own strange desires.
the real reason i want a relationship is mentioned above… fear of loneliness, desire for companionship, someone to put on a pedastal and share life with. that’s my main motivating factor, coming from my heart, my mind and my groin.
the past week, though, i’ve snapped into a different mode, a mode of wanting to show off my prize to all of my friends, literally and figuratively. it’s a form of bragging, i suppose, but it’s also a form of insecurity. i know my friends want me to be happy, and are happy that i’m dating a lovely lad, but—in theory—i should be perfectly content in my new relationship without needing to parade him in front of my friends, literally [at parties and clubs] and figuratively [mentioning him on the phone, or in this blog].
sure, part of having a boyfriend means you get to elevate yourself to another status, another level… you get to dismiss potential suitors, you get to ditch your friends… hey eric, i’m throwing this amazing party on friday, do you wanna come? and i get to look down my nose and laugh it off, with a hint of pity, by smirking, oh, sounds lovely, yeah, but, umm… i have prior plans with my boyfriend… which is obviously not an apology insomuch as gloating.
the past few years have been a severe combination of borrowing and investing. sometimes investing heavily in work, sometimes slacking off. sometimes investing heavily in my reputation by schmoozing and building a name for myself, sometimes going into seclusion and riding out the wave. and, obviously, financially. but when it comes to relationships, it’s clear why each and every one has failed… in each case, i allowed myself to get bored.
i invented excuses. he’s too nice. he’s too posh. he’s too cute. he’s too demanding in bed. he’s too young. he’s too plain. his friends are weird.
from the sidelines, my friends [bless them] have watched the train wreck happen time after time after time… hell, even i’ve watched it happen from a distance. the reason for failure is obvious…
i never invest.
i never invest in relationships. or, at least, i haven’t in a while. [excuse me while my ego speaks for a second...] i, for the most part, have picked the easy prey, the beautiful young’uns who are easily impressed by my charms, my accent, whatever.
i think i’ve met an equal, or, even better, someone who compliments and challenges me. someone whose company i enjoy and with whom i haven’t tried to impress. 30 seconds after i started swooning over ben, darian cut me off to shake me and insist that i let ben see the real me.
it’s been a long time since i’ve kept it real, rather than playing a game. since i’ve just had fun with it rather than trying to impress. since i’ve made an effort, rather than watching everything derail into oblivion.