Dancing with myself

I don’t really remember a time when I was single single. There were little pocket romances here and there in between the big love affairs. This time: cab lights off, blinders on.

Yes, I consider this as a sacrifice. I am a true blue romantic. I had my first love at 15 and I’ve never looked back. Some were glorious, others unfortunate. It didn’t matter; I loved falling in love and falling out of it; it seemed like a consequence worthy of its price. The heady first few days of a budding romance to the long and painful last days: those became the center of my world.

I decided early this year that as I worked on my book, I would go on an emboygo. Not even a date with anyone. No crushes, even with movie stars. No more boys! I’m a love junkie, and it’s said that it takes 28 days to kick a habit. I think I’m on a good streak here.

So now, without the disturbance of boys, I have quickly realized how I’ve been selling myself short. Not just the quality of men, but my quality of life.

I used to be a fan of long-distance relationships, I got to do my own thing and I enjoyed the ultra-swoony reunions. Of course, it was shit in the middle, time difference, fights, missing each other terribly, drunk dialing, and the list goes on. The past two years were filled with those. It became ridiculous to the point where I would be in Manila for five days to see my dad then fly back to London. This back and forth thing was exhausting; my skin was in a terrible state and I was always in a bad mood due to a purgatorial brand of jet lag. My main topic of conversation with friends was how many miles they had.

Now I’ve decided to stay put for a while until summer starts in the UK and work on my book and my other projects. While doing that I’ve decided to go on a juice cleanse, learn to eat only salad and do the downward dog with my Milo every morning.

I am having a love affair with myself.

Iam also rediscovering my girlfriends. My friends joke that I disappear every time I fall in love. Which is partly true: love has brought me to India and to Europe. Skype became my friend and despite all this I never learned any other language. I’m doing salon days, which I used to hate. I just saw primping as a chore. Girly lunches which I used to find a little fey for my taste. Mostly, most of my friends now have children.

Seeing this metamorphosis with my friends made me reassess what I really wanted to do with my life. I had my dream projects down and this gives me a wonderful feeling. I went through a career block, something common to people who peak early in their careers and suddenly you feel like a failure as time goes by. I call this the Pulp Fiction moment, when the best work you did was on your first try. I was able to travel and finish these projects (and the others in the pipeline) without having to deal with “wru” SMS messages. Sweet, sweet freedom! I have to admit I have a soft spot for needy men, so I have chosen my own destruction.

I get to go to our country home alone with my dog and write. No one pouting or stamping their feet because I’m not hugging them enough. When I travel, I just stick to my friends and the pressure of trying to scan for a potential mate disappears. It’s just so much fun to have fun. Plus I get to do my chicken dance.

The time I have with my family now is so precious. My mom of course is worried that I’ll fall into that trap of being single forever. As she always says to me, “You’re too modern.”

I have to question why all my relationships have failed. Most of them were very complicated but edifying at the same time. But mostly I think I failed because I didn’t know what I wanted. This is the time I need to date myself and learn more about myself.

You know that line “It’s not you, it’s me”? Yes, it is me.

So from my mommy friends to my more career-inclined bitches, I’m beginning to see what I want for myself. How I can make myself happy and proud. Then maybe when I do switch the cab lights on again: I’ll find love and not fall.