I am a fickle being. No, really, I am. Let me elaborate: One minute I’m lonely as fuck, craving and longing for the attention of a male suitor; someone to sweep me off my feet and eradicate that deep pit of fear I have about forever being left on the shelf (see previous blog The Irony Of Love); the next I’m content in being totally alone, drifting, taking things in, doing my own thing; being free and independent and liberated. I’ll reiterate a phrase I’ve used a lot recently – travelling does that to you.
No, seriously, it really does. And more than that, it’s helped me to put a few things into perspective…or maybe that’s just my age…or my impending age – the dreaded big 3-0. That scary age where youth and frivolousness disappear once you get over that slightly steep and scary hill that keeps getting closer and closer.
I think though, dear reader, dearest followers, that I may finally be content. Content with my current relationship status. Ok, ask me this in three – four weeks time and I’ll probably be wailing and sobbing into my porridge, despairing that I’ll never find ‘the one’ and snotting and snivelling over the fact that I’m destined to be left childless, alone and on the proverbial shelf for the rest of eternity, my only hope and last resort being to find a gay best friend who will turkey-baste his seaman into my cervix so both of us, rendered utterly incapable of pro-creating on our own by traditional and natural means will at last have something we both would like, albeit without the genuine romance and love we actually crave. But I digress.
I am actually very happy being on my own at the moment. The reason for this? People are beginning to piss me off (to quote an old friend of mine who shall remain nameless – Tony Gow: “I’m not the kind of person who likes to do things with people”. Now this isn’t strictly true on my part but it is akin to the way I’m feeling just now); and backpackers in particular are beginning to piss me off.
It’s the same mundane, false and superficial line of excruciating small-talk wherever I turn: “How long have you been travelling for? Where are you from? What do/did you do back home? How long are you staying in Australia for…blah fucking blah blah blah”. Fuck off. I’m over it. I’m far from over the whole travelling thing, hell no, I still want to wander and explore and see new places. And save for a few genuine friends I’ve made, and good connections I’ve forged with certain people, I’m either content now to travel alone, or at least do it with someone I’ve known for longer than all of 16 hours; someone who I can actually hold a deep and interesting conversation with (trust me, you know the kind of person when you meet them; it’s an instinctual thing).
Struggling to have a decent exchange of words with someone is beginning to take its toll, especially with the stereotypical backpacker, all of whom seem to be from the south of England (or Germany, or the Netherlands, but I have no problems with these people), are aged 18-24 and wouldn’t know decent music if I slapped them across the face with a wet, leather-bound hardback book full musical references from the past 60 years. Not to mention the ingrained air of superiority they seem to posses the minute they open their mouths, because they ‘come from somewhere in Buckinghamshire, have you heard of it?’ (of course I fucking have, I am familiar with the geography of the UK you know), and therefore automatically resign me and other northerners to the bin marked ‘common and uneducated’, but again, I digress.
As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by that massive north-south divide chip I have on my shoulder (and before you accuse me of being ‘southernist’ I am not, I happen to have plenty of friends from the south, but then again they happen not to be dicks, so there are some good ones out there), I am very, very ok with being alone at the moment. Silence and peace, and being at one with nature (sorry about the cliche), and actually getting the opportunity to read a few books and relax and write these blogs and do all the things I have been wanting to do for some time are THRILLING me! It’s as if I’ve found my own paradisal Mecca. I love it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d still love to be sharing these incredible experiences with someone else, preferably someone of the opposite sex who I happened to be quite interested in and with whom I wanted to forge a lasting and meaningful relationship full of memories; and I’d still launch myself head first into anything that momentarily might look like it would signify a potential lasting romance (only to probably be left strewn on the floor, a heartbroken mess, leading to the inevitable and insufferable phone calls and text messages to my mum and friends back home about how all blokes are the same), but in all seriousness, I think I am over the whole ‘woe is me’ part of this treacherous and unfathomable state of being that all those ‘conformists’ like to call ‘singledom at 30’, and I’m learning to look at my tragic relationship situation as comical; something I just have to deal with. And you know what? It’s pretty fucking awesome.
I’m happy with my own company at the moment. I enjoy laughing and chuckling to myself when observing the little idiosyncrasies of others that I find sadistically and wholeheartedly amusing; I can laugh at myself, more than I have ever been able to in the past; I love being able to finish a book in two days and feel a sense of accomplishment and good-deed doing upon leaving it for someone else in a random hostel’s book exchange; I’m pretty chuffed with the way I look just now – all my gym-going, sweating and damn hard work has paid off; and I’m really, really content to go without make-up and a hairbrush. And I genuinely do not give a fuck about what others think of me. It’s bloody brilliant.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to find love. I do (Jesus, if you knew me well, you’d know that that’s all I want. But I’m not stressing about it anymore. If it happens, it happens; if not, I’ll just carry on regardless), so if any of you guys out there were thinking of maybe, perhaps, giving it a shot and propositioning me or asking me on a date, please, still do…I’m not desperate or anything…promise! 😉
Chasing Amy-Lou 