June 16th, 2014

happy girl

(no subject)

Perhaps I should have made a more concerted effort - or just a real effort - to avoid falling in love with a foreigner. Maybe I should have just been 100% rational about this from the beginning. There is certainly something to be said about learning a lesson or two from what I went through previously, dating someone who isn't from my country; and there is therefore quite a bit to be said about how I failed to learn the said lessons. If I had been governed by reason and logic and facts, if I had done what I said I wanted to do after finally breaking up with Arnaud, then I wouldn't find myself in this position right now: literally this position, sitting here at 11.59pm, typing this entry, feeling once again like I am messing everything up; like I can't do anything right; like I acted irresponsibly by taking a gamble and wagering the burgeoning expectations of future, continuing happiness, based on the happy giddiness of the shiny, brand-new present, on which reliance has been placed by two people who let their feelings make their choices.

I didn't want a long-distance relationship. I didn't want to find myself in a situation where my relationship played a significant factor in my decision-making with regard to what to do next. I didn't want my relationship to be affected, maybe even broken up, by my inability to find employment in a place where we can see each other on a regular basis.

Yet, here I am, in love with a Dutch guy who lives in Amsterdam. But there was no preventing this. I can make grand proclamations about not letting my feelings make my choices for me, but I have always been governed by my feelings despite my valiant efforts to convince myself to the contrary. He made me happy from the start. I enjoyed being with him. I was disproportionately excited to see him. I felt incredibly comfortable with him in a really short amount of time, and we opened up to each other in that same amount of time. Things escalated, but they felt right. At which point was I supposed to have told myself to stop before it progressed any further? The truth is, I knew the risks involved. I knew the risks, but I didn't care. It felt good; I was happy; and I fell in love with him.

He brought up the subject of what I would do after my internship ends; eventually, the conversation took a sour turn, as it inevitably would. Here is why: I don't have any answers for him; I don't have it in me to be optimistic because I spent half a year trying in London and I failed miserably; and I hate that I am unable to give him the certainty that he wants. Sometimes, the optimism feels constricting even though I know it is supportiveness. I don't know what to tell him when he asks what he should do to help me. Simultaneously, my reluctance to talk about it (because it puts me in a bad mood) is unfair to him because he's in this relationship too; it affects his life too; and it's about his heart too.

I love him. There is no doubt about that. But (And?) because I love him, I hate that I have dragged him into this mess...my mess. It would be one thing if I can't sort out my own life but it's now another thing altogether that I have involved someone else in it. I wish I could giev him some certainty but I can't, and it stresses me out, and I'm just unbelievably fucking tired of having absolutely no direction in my life.

At such times, I wish I was stupid, or cared less, or had no passion, or could be content with a regular job that merely payed the bills. I can't stand being myself when I feel like my back is against the wall; because the way I see it, the only reason for that is because I am who I am. Impossibly flawed. Unreasonably demanding. Stubbornly refusing to settle. And for what? I don't even know anymore. I don't even know what I mean anymore when I say that I am 'ambitious'. What the fuck ambition do I have? What do I currently have to show for it? I get bored of something - a job - after a few months; what wouldn't I get bored of? I'm bored of myself. I'm bored of this entry. I'm fucking off to bed.