The Biggest Weirdo

This story about coming to terms with the fact that I am a dysfunctional moron who has been doing it all wrong is a clichéd narrative but a potent one. I’d fallen in love so many times that I was beginning to suspect that I was not falling in love at all, but doing something much more ordinary: falling. Just falling.

My epiphany relies on a logic so foreign, I still feel a little bit disoriented. Taking a deep dive into my shadow was no stroll in the park but seems to always unearth gold. It’s scary to think how little I understood about what drove my attachments and motivated my relationships prior to this. And even scarier to discover how much I’d underestimated the effect we can have on another human being.

The question of how and more importantly why there are such great discrepancies in the way we see, experience and respond to the world and each other continues to plague me. I’d always had a vague awareness that I was doing it a little funny – seeing things from a very skewed perspective, rushing through experiences without being fully present or engaged, and reacting in very bizarre and extreme ways.

In my quest for answers, I’ve turned to Math equations, theories on personality types, our own self-perception, and even ideas about reincarnation. My tired mind insists that it’s outlandish for a person to have his or her paradigm shaken and reframed twice daily, but it’s been said in the bible that there is no rest for the wicked so we trudged on. And slowly but surely, the pieces seem to be coming together.

In an effort to not be dramatic, I will be frank: Ainsworth and Bowlby’s Attachment Theory is a long but worthwhile read, particularly if you find yourself unable to connect with other human beings in a healthy and balanced way.

The longing for emotional connectedness is the most powerful drive in each and every one of us. It’s a survival drive, a primary instinct, and a basic human need. No man is an island and a stable, loving relationship is rumoured to be the absolute cornerstone of human happiness, personal fulfillment, and general well-being.

Our interaction with others is an intricate dance of connection and disconnection, wired in our brains to be recognized as safety and danger. Our brain interprets disconnection from those we depend on as a threat, and the ways in which we deal with these moments of distress are governed by our attachment style, which according to the theory is shaped by the bond we shared with our first caregiver.

Even though I’d been blessed with what could only be described as a blissful and easy childhood, I’ve still somehow managed to blossom into a full-fledged weirdo, prone – desperate, even – to forming fantasy bonds instead of developing truly intimate and trusting relationships.

Perhaps the endless teasing about being picked up from the dustbin or being called an ‘accident baby’ gave me the absurd idea of overcompensating as a means to prove my worth. Perhaps having been made the butt of one too many jokes laid the groundwork for a lifetime of idealizing others while belittling myself. What I’m learning is that my tendency to give too much of myself, which I’d always thought of as pretty darn noble, comes from a dark, dark place of unworthiness and a desire to please others for validation.

But wait, there’s more. Such as my need for constant touch and reassurance, my preoccupation with monitoring my partner’s emotions and jumping to catastrophic conclusions the moment I sense a change, my immense fear of losing the attention or affection of my partner, blah blah blah. I’m just a weirdo, basically.

N-E-way, I’m struggling to ignore my bleak reality now that it’s become apparent.

Some days I’m convinced that it’s too difficult, that I’m doomed to grow old with nine cats and then be buried with only forgetfulness when I die. But other days I feel inspired and determined to process and unlearn my fears – of being unworthy, of rejection, of abandonment – despite how deep they may seem to run. The more I grow, the smaller everything and everyone else seems.

Just Be Dumb

Just be dumb while you're young. Cuz you can. And cuz it makes mathematical sense. 

Hello again. Did you miss me?

Rhetorical question.

I’ve been hit with some cold, hard truths in the last couple of months and as patron saint of disillusioned and neurotic weirdos everywhere, it only feels right that they are shared with the sisterhood of the single. I’m leaving out some of the more obvious lessons here because, like please, just do yourself a favour and ditch anyone who isn’t treating you with 100,000% respect. I sincerely hope some of these small but significant lessons I’ve had to learn the hard (ha ha, pun!) way, which I will try to bequeath to you over the coming weeks/months – depending on my commitment to typing on the keyboard – can lighten your load and help ease some of those dating woes.

But first, I'd like to address something that's been grinding my gears. After subjecting an unsuspecting friend to yet another one of my longwinded rants when yet another man had driven me into the pit of despair – this happens every other day – the advice doled out was that "perhaps if this doesn't work out, you could actually try not to always be on the look out for something? I dunno. Just be. Instead of always actively meeting new guys even if it's to just hang. Just be. Things could still happen in ordinary situations."

I would take a (metaphorical) bullet for this girl, but I swear 2 G. "Just be." LOL. Whut? (I love you, Bel. I do.)

We’re told to adopt a go-getter attitude in order to get what we want from life, but ironically encouraged to stay uneducated and let romance be our guide when it comes to our love life. Is it just me or do we value people who take initiative and put in hard work to succeed in life, but prefer to leave things up to chance and/or divine intervention and/or magic when it comes to love?

This approach bewilders me because even when I use the rational side of my brain to do the math, the number of years we stick with our spouse comes up to be much longer than those we spend at our jobs. Please suspend all opinions on divorce because “till death do us part.” And I mean, “it’s a known fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for life. You can actually see old lobster couples walking around their tank, holding claws.” #fact #Buffay

If I – hypothetically speaking, of course – charted out a detailed plan of action to find a life partner, logged my progress, and organized data about my dates in a spreadsheet – which I most definitely do not do because I have zero knowledge of working Excel, ok?????? – by society’s standards, I’m A) an over-rational robot, B) desperate, C) way too concerned about this, and D) a huge weirdo.

Then comes the stigma associated with intelligently expanding our search for potential partners. Or, simply expanding our search because sometimes it’s more fun to do things unintelligently, such as loitering around bars and creating an OkCupid profile.

In a study on what governs our dating choices more, our preferences or current opportunities, opportunities wins hands down – our dating choices are “98% a response to market conditions and just 2% immutable desires.” This implies that our intentions to date tall, short, fat, thin, blonde, brunette, European, Asian, professional, clerical, educated, uneducated people are largely determined by what’s on offer that fateful night.

Despite such compelling evidence, most of us still believe that the respectable way to meet our life partner is by sheer dumb luck, at work, bumping into them randomly in the cheese section of the supermarket, or being introduced to them from within our little pool. If like me, all your friends are girls because you went to a single-sex convent school for most of your life, you prefer not to shit where you eat and work in an industry dominated by women and gays anyway, your mom picks up the groceries so you rarely have to spend more than 5 minutes at the supermarket, you’ve already dated your schoolmate’s brother, your neighbour, and your best friend’s boyfriends’s best friend, U R FCKD.

That’s not to say I think chasing your dream job is the same as chasing your dream life partner is the same as a dog chasing its tail. Oh, wait – it is. That’s exactly what I’m saying. #pointless. No, of course not. All I’m saying – or rather, all I’m asking – is that why are so many of us so ready to just go with the flow, comfortable with relying on fate, and crossing our fingers while hoping for the best when we are capable beings who can totally and SHOULD TOTALLY play an active role in all aspects of our own lives? Whether it's about an ice-cream cone, a career opportunity, a prospective life partner, next season's hottest handbag...

I dunno. I kinda like getting exactly what I want.

And going after what I want seems to exponentially increase the likelihood of me actually getting what I want. As compared to “just being,” which I’m not entirely sure encompasses what specifically. Even when I fall short of what I’d set out to achieve, usually the fact that I’d tried gives me repose (and several anecdotes). Conveniently ignoring the fact that I’m a lil restless piece of shit as it works against the argument I’m trying to make right now, all I know is fear keeps us safe. But sometimes it holds us back. To quote a certain Canadian athlete, "you miss 100% of the shots you don't take." So you do the math and work that one out. 

Peter Pan: The True First Avenger

Ain’t nobody got time for that, except him. The boy least likely to – not the English pop duo (I mean, they could if they wanted to, I guess) – is going to change the world. Slowly, but surely.

Since we’re all BFFs here, I’m going to take this opportunity to admit something vaguely mortifying. If there’s anything I’ve learnt about being single, it’s that this world isn’t meant to be experienced alone. No doubt I can polish off an entire pan of seafood paella meant for two by myself, someone still needs to cook it! To a certain extent, it helps having 1,782 Facebook friends – that’s kind of how I got you to read this blog thing in the first place anyway. No man is an island after all.

I’m not saying people in relationships lead better lives or are happier than those not in relationships; what I’m saying is that we were made to love. (This sounds like something God would say. If you wanna pull a quote from the Bible, now is the time. LOL! Laugh out loud. Lots of love. Whatever.) We can love anything and everything, really, but if we find one thing – preferably a person – that we really, really love, everything just becomes a bit more magical. And difficult. But magical, nonetheless.

With that cat out of the bag, it should come as no surprise that my purpose for dating in the first place is to be in a relationship that hopefully leads to marriage. This stance seriously disturbs and freaks people out, more often than not, to the point of defecating in their pants. I just want someone who wants to hang out all the time and thinks I’m the best person in the world and wants to have sex with only me. (And then marry me one day.) FUCK SAKE, IS THAT ASKING FOR TOO MUCH?

Back in 1970, men typically got married at 24 and women at 22. Today, the average age at which people wed is 32 for men and 30 for women, with an increasing number of us deciding not to marry at all. BUT, BEB??!?!?!

Back in 1970, the average life expectancy was about 70. Today, if you’ve managed to escape mass shootings in elementary school, you’re likely to live to a ripe old age of about 200. Unless a white cop shoots you for being an unarmed black person, or your passenger plane vanishes without a trace/gets blown out of the sky by rebels, then you’re back to being dead at a relatively young age.

The longevity megatrend has a rippling effect shaking many sectors of the economy and aspects of our lives, which we are not fully aware of just yet. Could the Peter Pan syndrome be a result of longer life expectancy? Wise men say only fools rush in; would it be a sin then, to extend our time for exploration, adventure and discovery beyond the recommendations of our forefathers?

When my mother got out of college, she had three options: she could become a secretary, a secretary, or a secretary. My life is vastly different. I was brought up with a sense of unbounded possibility and was told there was nothing in this world that I couldn’t do. I had – or rather, still have (Peter Pan complex, y’know?) – the chance to go to university, which I didn’t; I’ll let you know in a few years how that’s worked out for me.

I’ve basically been handed on a silver platter, a myriad of opportunities and an invigorating freedom that my mom could only imagine. But so often I am spoilt for choice to the point of paralysis – touché. I have the world at my feet and numerous doors wide open before me, but not even the slightest clue as to which direction to step in.

We were promised everything growing up. And that’s exactly what we’ve been served. But it’s a rude awakening and a real dilemma, having just realized that there’s only so much our hands can hold. (There’s always a catch, innit? Those fucking pricks.) We’re suffocated by choice, responsibility, and our insecurities; we’re terrified of taking risks, because settling on one thing implies forgoing so many other things. #opportunitycost. We’re bent on putting off big decisions like investing in our own place, picking a career and falling in love, for however long the world will allow us to. Omg, is it just me or do we actually kinda suck?

But then again, a drawn-out chapter of experimentation and introspection may not be such an outrageous idea in the book of life for our generation, who will have to address and solve many of the environmental, social, and economic problems bequeathed to us by previous generations – thanks a lot, by the way. I mean, I don't even remember asking to be born in the first place.

Children are esteemed for their imagination, candour, and high spirits. And it strikes me that these are the precise qualities we need to get ahead in this age of agility. Perhaps the traditional benchmarks of adulthood are gradually losing its relevance today. Orange is the new black, is it not? Get with it already – Peter Pan may just be on the brink of curing Ebola.

Forever Young

It’s the latest trend to live in the past and in your parents' basement. Are you doing it too? Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, what are they feeding you? Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, it’s not your fault…

We postpone commitment and shudder at the thought of responsibility. “The Peter Pan Generation,” they’ll say. “Inheriting your mess since the ‘80s!” we’ll retort without missing a beat. Our society is full of lost boys and girls, known as Millennials or Generation Y, who’re being accused of not wanting to grow up.

The economy being total shit today is often cited as the biggest stumbling block obstructing our road to adulthood. Taking the first step towards maturity – securing a job, buying a house, settling down with a partner – has become harder than before. A growing number of adults (myself included) don’t move out of their parents’ home to save on the colossal deposits now required to buy a property. (I just really love my parents a lot, ok??????)

In 2012, it was reported that 32% of Britons aged 25-40 are living with their parents, where the pressure to grow up can be so easily tuned out with a simple flick of the TV remote. Not having to worry about putting a roof over my head and having someone else take care of all the cooking and cleaning has definitely bred an inertia in me, that seems to defy Newton’s first law.

However, inflated property prices, recession and economic depression are not circumstances unique to our times – our attitude of taking the easy way out and making excuses is. While I think we’re just being really smart and practical about it, sociologists – who are obviously Baby Boomers – believe there are much bigger psychological factors at play here. They’re claiming that the root of the ‘infantalisation’ of today’s adults can be attributed to a fear of growing up.

We’re apparently scared to think of ourselves as adults, especially when hardly any good seems to come with being a grownup – apart from the cheap thrill of purchasing cigarettes and alcohol with our own ID. The media’s glamorization of teenage years more than any other life stage has placed most of our cultural values with youth. And the further we move away from it (ie: grow up), the more jittery and tense we become, they’ve observed.

Most of us spend our entire childhood looking forward to this period of sleepovers, acne and snogging, which – as it happens – passes in a blink of an eye. Only 5% of our lives take place in high school, working on the assumption we live to be 80 years old. (Live long and prosper, you guys. We got diz!) It’s only natural to feel somewhat crestfallen when the curtain comes down.

Considering the number of TV shows and films devoted to high school drama or coming-of-age plots, which cater to our fixation on reliving the good old days, it’s hard to deny this phenomenon. IT’S HAPPENING! AHHHHHHHHHHASDKJHSDFKJ!!!!!! Another trend indicative of this desire to escape adulthood is the growing popularity of books and entertainment aimed at children and teenagers (such as Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Twilight, Frozen, computer games) among adults.

Some of us are completely immune to this line of thought, though. Not likely the cocky captain of the football team, who peaked in high school where he was once adored as a hero, but now wastes away working the cash register at a 7-Eleven as he reminisces his glory days. But a strong contender is the nerd, who had an unfortunate high school experience and would never consider going back because he’s become the CEO of a TNC today, certain that what's about to happen will only be rosier than what's already happened.

It seems riding it out at the bottom of the high school food chain may have its silver lining after all. While some of us are too busy feeling nostalgic for the past and afraid of what the future might hold, the rest of us know that there’s only one way things could go from here – up and forward. (Is that two ways?)