Solo Flight
The main story of yesterday's Sunday Inquirer Magazine--with Big Brother hunk Zanjoe Marudo on the cover--is about being single. I didn't read through the whole mag because I personally don't like jump pages. Give the reader a break, please.
I've been single for four and a half years. It's true what they say: one gets used to it, and that isn't exactly a terrible thing. In the past, I needed someone to complete me, until I realized that it was 1) selfish and 2) dumb, at least to me. If I really needed another warm body to complete me, I'd be a vampire.
I don't want to be a vampire. An emotional vampire, to be more specific. I remember being one of those and, though the thought of it is embarrassing, I don't want to wish it away. It allowed me to analyze in detail what went wrong inside me, to find out what needed fixing.
During one of my more dramatic phases, I had a conviction that I'd be spending the rest of my life alone. Call it the classic clicks of the defense mechanism, lathered by soap opera. But right now that conviction still rings true, shed of whatever garland of melodrama it had. I had asked myself, heck, what if the fairy tale decided not to come true? Better to be practical and prepared.
No hypocrisy here. I mean, I still jokingly whimper, "Nobody likes me," whenever a conversation train with friends steered toward the issue. I do have occasional bouts of loneliness, and I still think how nice it would be to have a special someone to do stuff with. If such a soul waltzes into my life and the two-way street is wide open, then great. Hopefully I'll be more prepared to do my share in making the relationship fruitful and lasting. The fairy tale still plays out pleasantly from within but, despite that, I'm enjoying being with myself. That's more important.
Image from capetownskies.com
The main story of yesterday's Sunday Inquirer Magazine--with Big Brother hunk Zanjoe Marudo on the cover--is about being single. I didn't read through the whole mag because I personally don't like jump pages. Give the reader a break, please.I've been single for four and a half years. It's true what they say: one gets used to it, and that isn't exactly a terrible thing. In the past, I needed someone to complete me, until I realized that it was 1) selfish and 2) dumb, at least to me. If I really needed another warm body to complete me, I'd be a vampire.
I don't want to be a vampire. An emotional vampire, to be more specific. I remember being one of those and, though the thought of it is embarrassing, I don't want to wish it away. It allowed me to analyze in detail what went wrong inside me, to find out what needed fixing.
During one of my more dramatic phases, I had a conviction that I'd be spending the rest of my life alone. Call it the classic clicks of the defense mechanism, lathered by soap opera. But right now that conviction still rings true, shed of whatever garland of melodrama it had. I had asked myself, heck, what if the fairy tale decided not to come true? Better to be practical and prepared.
No hypocrisy here. I mean, I still jokingly whimper, "Nobody likes me," whenever a conversation train with friends steered toward the issue. I do have occasional bouts of loneliness, and I still think how nice it would be to have a special someone to do stuff with. If such a soul waltzes into my life and the two-way street is wide open, then great. Hopefully I'll be more prepared to do my share in making the relationship fruitful and lasting. The fairy tale still plays out pleasantly from within but, despite that, I'm enjoying being with myself. That's more important.
Image from capetownskies.com
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