The Uneventful Life

The title of this post says it all. From now on, that is how most of my weekends will be like, so that I can spend time on the things that I am passionate about - books, shopping, painting and cooking. Note: boys are not included in the list. That's cause most gay boys in this city are more poisionous than the venom of the king-cobra and more bitter than the gile of a slaughtered deer. No need to involve myself in things that are unhealthy for me. And will cause me to live the remainder of my life in drama, misery and pain.

It was nice to go shopping today. After a LONG ass time. It feels nice to have money in your pocket and be able to spend it on things that can supposedly make you happy. Bought a pink and white checked shirt and an electric blue jacket from this chic outlet called MEXX, which recently opened its door in Georgetown. Not sure where exactly in Europe the brand originates from but I think it's either London or Germany. Will check on that later. I definitely saw some nice stuff. And it was nice to see that I could afford some of it.

It sucks living alone. And it sucks even more to realize that all the people that you know in a certain location are the people that you don't want to see anymore. Don't want to talk to or associate with in any way, shape or form. I hardly speak all day. The only time I say a word is on the streets; the occasional use of the word "excuse me" or "thank you". It's hard to take comfort in your loneliness when you're used to speaking and rambling all the time. Like in college; gossiping, bitching, squabbling. Participating in class. But if I had a choice, I'd rather be lonely than bitter. And maybe 'tis better this way. I tell myself all the time.

At this point on my life, I'm pretty certain that there is no boy out there for me. I've come to accept that. Let me tell you that I'm usually very optimistic in my life. In fact, I've survived the last eight years of my life by looking for the silver lining in every cloud. And telling myself that everything happens for a reason. And not to give up, and move on, and keep on going.

But life has also taught me to be realistic. And by virue of this well-earned lesson, I've come to conclude that there is never going to be a real-life manifestation of the man of my dreams. He will stay in my dreams, forever. Until he fades away one day, like a malodorous fart evanescing from an enclosed public restroom. There will be no real boyfriends. No fake boyfriends. No internet boyfriends. And I'm trying to learn to live with the reality of my abysmal love-life. It's hard though, especially when you still have the specter of the perfect boy in your implacable mind. The mind, the most unrelenting part of the human body, always thinking, always imagining. Imagining the perfect person who is out there looking for me as much as I am for him. Imagining beauty in a form that can only be seen by me, and is made only to be cherished by my senses. Imagining this person who wants to understand me, wanting to know the little things about me. Imagining loving and being loved.

Imagining a happy ending to solitude.