Getting over it

Doesn't it happen to everybody? Each time you end up getting heartbroken, you vow that this experience has made you tougher than you've ever been, has made you jaded, cynical and worldweary. You fancy that you've become a sophist - looking on with detached amusement at the world and not giving a rap about anyone in it - at least, not anyone in it who hasn't been part of your life yet. You chalk out grand plans to find happiness through making other parts of your life perfect - through living your dream, through finding self-fulfillment, through sheer self-indulgence. You say that love inside of you has withered and died. For a while, all of this is true.

I'd been into this mode for a few years now when I ran into someone who breezed in with all the familiarity of an old friend. Someone whom I got along with famously. Someone with whom I let my guard down and let myself be 16 again. Someone who made me forget that I had told myself that I wouldn't allow myself to care about someone without sizing them up for ages. Someone whom I started feeling real affection for though we'd known each other for just a few days. Hadn't met someone I liked quite as much in a long, long time. Meet too many pretentious, psuedo-intellectual types or beautiful airheads or super-sophist bitches or girls who still behave like they are in college - flirting and giggling. Was a pleasant surprise to meet someone who came across as a very genuine person - and very intelligent and stunningly beautiful to boot :-) Anybody still left wondering why I fell for her like a ton of bricks?

Life is too short and I've never wanted to waste any of my time socializing with people whom I can't get along well with. And all my friends know that I am really particular about people, the same way that I am particular about practically everything else ;-) So after about 20 mins of meeting someone I usually decide whether I'd like to see them again or not. But once I'm friends with someone, I really care about them. For me being friends with someone is impossible without real affection.

She says that I mistook "friendliness for deep affection". For me, friendliness is impossible without deep affection. Nodding acquiantances you may have no real affection for. But then again, you won't trade confidences with them. I opened up and confided in her like I'd never done with any of my friends - ever before. Think she did the same - though not to the same extent. She helped me sort out a lot of things I'd never spoken of or thought about in a long time. With her, I lost my air of cynicism and I even lost the carefully built up facade of sophistication and poise. Felt increadibly relaxed - like being a teenager again. Felt light. Rediscovered small pleasures like sharing a cigarette, conversation at a small cafe on the street over a cup of coffeee and long walks. Small wonder then that I had started seeing her as one of the most important people in my life.

I've never been the bohemian type. I can't stand crowds, noisy places or unclean bathrooms ;-) I'm very particular about food - fussy is a word that I'd prefer not to use, but maybe closer to the truth. Never really enjoyed slumming it. But while I was with her, I really didn't care. My lifestyle changed drastically. I started smoking again. She'd prefer the neighbourhood chai wallah to Barista. And though I couldn't stand milky, syrupy tea, I knew that she was not a Barista person. And on a student budget with uncertain future cashflows (ok - that is MBAspeak), can't say I blame her. She always insisted that we go strictly dutch. Should have known then that she didn't want any obligations and I was a mere acquaintance. Among my friends, money has always been a pretty vague thing. Dutching was according to 'what you can afford, you shell out and then if we fall short, then we'll divvy up the difference'. Because you can't have fun with everybody worrying about whether they could afford to splurge. And you can't choose your friends depending on whether they can afford to hang out at the same places you'd like to.

Well, even the strongest love will wither away and die if it isn't reciprocated. After I wrote her a really heartfelt letter explaining the way I felt about her, she didn't write back for about a week or more. Think that is when love started shrivelling up. Now I'm sure that I wouldn't bare my soul and offer it up to someone who wouldn't at least appreciate it - even if she doesn't accept it. Maybe she has heard words like these too many times and been disappointed later on to think them sincere. I hope that I never become (or have cause to be) that cynical. Well, I'd thought that now we'd got that out of the way, we could at least still be good friends because once someone has made it clear that it'll never be anything more, then isn't it easier to be friends? At least I believe it is. And even if love has died, affection won't for a long time - if ever.

ubergeek, the