On a separate day (I think):
These conversations took place in April of 2014. At that time, I was still not entirely sure what to do with my life. I was in The Hague, interning at the ICTY, mostly certain that I wanted to apply to do a PhD. But I don't think I was sure yet.
The second image is prescient, but that's not exactly it. My comment - 'Wait till I get a PhD from Cambridge' - came from a place of blind hope. I knew that my LSE results were good enough to make the first cut, but I'm not sure if I was ever confident, at any point between graduating from the LSE and seriously considering the PhD and the day before I was accepted, that I would get in. Cambridge has always been an unattainable Holy Grail, no thanks to the two prior rejections I suffered. In a way, it was kind of a case of wanting what I couldn't have, which elevated the institution to an unthinkingly special status in my mind. As a result, when I thought about possibly getting a PhD, the first institution that sprang to mind was Cambridge, even if I was half-joking about it.
I'm glad that I won't have to joke about this anymore.
I am really tired right now. I am physically tired from playing tennis in the haze (I have to play before I fly back to the land of shitty weather and force myself to endure the said shitty weather all in the name of a Cambridge degree), and I am also emotionally tired.
I think I am resigned to letting time take its course. I have no other option but to trust that this constant melancholy that sometimes morphs into sadness which then puts me in a morose mood will be lifted in time to come. The extent to which I continue to be hung up on G is as inexplicable as the picture of his equations that he sent me a couple of days ago; and it is even more hurtful than the double check marks that remain grey for the duration of half a day, and then some.
Why am I doing this to myself? It is time to stop this bullshit. I need to stop thinking about Sentosa Sunday, his professed feelings for me, the connection that we had and how amazing it was - I need to stop thinking about all this and re-orientate my thoughts. I need to start thinking, He doesn't care enough. He doesn't miss me enough. He doesn't like me enough.
I want him out of my head. I need him exorcised from my heart. At this rate, I may not even wish him happy birthday when I land in the UK. It is simply ridiculous, unbecoming, downright stupid, how I continue to be affected by
I am tired. I am off to bed.