It was all going so well; my life I mean. It’s strange how the most trivial of events can open up the door to emotions and broken dreams you’ve kept so well hidden.
That’s the trouble with holidays. There’s too much time to slow down and think. Time to mull things over; over and over. It’s a festive season. I am surrounded by laughter, warmth, rich colours and family… and through all of this, it hits me, cutting deep—the stark realisation of how alone I really am. So much time past, so many things changed, yet the severity of loneliness still eats at my insides.
I get all tense and begin to hyperventilate. I calm down, forcing myself to take deep breaths reminding myself there are many other fish in the sea.
And then I look around. Look around to see other senior grad students, my immediate selection pool, all in their mid-to-late 20s. It then hits me again, harder than before—I’m too late. Anyone whose beauty makes my heart skip a beat, who finds my dry sense of humour funny—laughing sexily at my tentative attempts, whose eyes light up in excitement when they’re talking to me, who’s passionate about the same things I am, who listens to me—really getting me, who’s informed and conversant enough to hold profound conversations we enjoy so much, whose dynamic nature inspires me out of my reserved shell, whose talent never fails to wow me… has found someone else.
I get tense again, and even more short of breath.
Update: I just got invited to another (strikingly attractive) woman’s wedding this evening. Well, whoopideedoo.
And so begins a true reversion to this journal to its roots.