Self-Advice Over M

M is being an asshole. He has for a while. I can offer blunt advice to others on reddit, but can’t seem to knock myself out of this one. So perhaps typing it out and reflecting may be helpful.

Ok, so I was clueless and didn’t click that he liked me for years.

  • He moved to Australia to study abroad in Sydney for a semester rather than go to university in his first semester, and ended up taking a gap year. I’m 80% sure the fact that I was studying here in Australia had a small but significant part of that choice. It’s not arrogance, it’s based on his actions, which point towards his intention of wanting to be closer to me.
  • I visited him, and we slept in the same bed, man that was uncomfortable. He made me pancakes in the morning from a website I showed him.
  • He later told me over Skype that he liked me. I was dating P and had no idea what to say other than, “Oh shit.” for a while. I didn’t have the balls to tell him then that I was dating someone.
  • We went to NYC together later that year in December. I used my points, and paid the surcharges. He suggested the hotel, and said it’d be cheaper if we shared a bed. I asked if it would be a problem for him since I didn’t want to be weird for him. He said he was ok, if I was ok. So he booked a single bed. I was the first one to kiss him and possibly the first one to give him a blowjob, but I’m not sure.
  • He’s given me gifts like books, buttons, a fox plushy (omg, just realised, was that like saying “I think you’re foxy”?!?!!?!!!), written me letters that are pages and pages… I had reciprocated and given him presents for his birthday and Christmas.
  • He texted me so much I got annoyed and barely responded.

 

Now the shoe is on the other foot. He barely responds to my texts and outright ignores others. We don’t Skype anymore. No more likes on IG.

I sometimes think of that night in NYC and fantasise that he’s fucking me. Maybe he’s just enamoured with his boyfriend.

What do I want? I want him to be my friend again. I want to have a friend I can text. P can’t be my best and only friend, as well as my boyfriend. That’s too much to expect of one person, and would be rather codependent I think.

Ok, I’m going to step away from this for a few hours, then read it as if it were someone else on reddit, telling me this. And I would say…..

You can’t make someone like you or be friends with you. To make a friend, you have to be a friend. And it’s rather inappropriate to have sexual fantasies about an ex when you’re dating someone.

I think if he’s invested so much time, effort and emotion and it didn’t pay out, it would be so frustrating to not have it returned. If he’s dating someone else who makes him happy, why would he respond to someone who didn’t respond to his affections?

You can keep trying, but don’t expect all that much. It might be best to just leave it. Look elsewhere for friends.

Huh. That was interesting.

Hindsight

They say hindsight is 20/20, perfect vision. Sometimes, I reflect on where my life could have gone differently. If I had gotten that hospital job like I wanted to badly, I might not have learned as much as I have about different pharmacy business models or seen the types of leadership approaches in action. This year, I debated whether to stay with my current course or to cut my losses (financially, time-wise, emotionally), apply to a different dental school, and start again. But despite the many daydreams and fan-fiction stories I’ve read, you can’t go back in time.

Really, if you could go back and change how you responded, you wouldn’t be the same person. You wouldn’t have learned the lessons you did, and the people around you would be shaped differently.

I went back to visit my old high school when I first came back home. It was great. A lot of the teachers recognised me. I got a hug from my old mentor. Maybe he’s getting soft in his old age, he was always a bit gruff and scary in high school. Before then, I’d always felt such mortification at recalling my high school experience and actions. It was impossible to give myself any slack. But going back this year, I finally gained some perspective when I saw those students and my teachers. As teachers, they were limited in what they could say and do. They had certain roles to play. I must have been painfully awkward.

But it’s ok now. It’s a bit pathetic, but I think I can finally stop beating myself up over some of the unbelievably stupid things I said and did.

~

And then today, a week later, I saw J. We went to elementary school together. We were good mates then, I suppose. I remember one year, there was a mime club. I had so much fun doing that with him. Then we both left for different private schools in Year 7. He went to an elitist school for the academically bright. I went to a French immersion school, elitist because they spoke French for nearly everything and all its students thought themselves the shit, myself included. We met sporadically over the years, and it wasn’t unpleasant or anything.

Now, J’s dad is an optician and owns a glasses shop. Our family has gone there for years to get our glasses, contacts and sunglasses. Today, J was in the shop. I knew that he’d applied to med school, hadn’t been accepted and had taken it hard. In my mind, I presumed he’d re-applied and gotten in. He was always so intelligent from all reports.

At first, I thought he was hanging around, visiting his Dad. Then it clicked that he was working. I pulled off my hat and was straightening my hair when he came out from the back. I didn’t recognise him. I dare say he’s become quite attractive. Mum said hello. He was rather stand-offish, to the point where I wasn’t even sure it was him. I waited till he left the front of the shop and asked Mum if that was, in fact, J. She replied in the affirmative. My first reaction was, “How rude.” But on some consideration, I thought it was a bit weird and sad actually, that he couldn’t interact normally with someone from his childhood.

When I was attending the French immersion school, I had my head up my ass and acted like I didn’t know friends from elementary school. But I like to think I pulled it out at some point.

On the drive home, Mum explained that there was tension in the family. The grandmother only likes J and blatantly favours him. She doesn’t get on with J’s father, and vice versa. J’s sister resents the favouritism, and said, “That’s why J didn’t get into med school.” (?too coddled, so no competitive edge?) Anyway, lots of friction. Oh, and the grandmother talks crazy shit to family friends. Hilarious and sad at the same time.

It sucks that he has such a massive chip on his shoulder. I’ll cut J some slack when I go pick up my new glasses. It’s Christmas. And he’s an old childhood friend. Besides, he’s really easy on the eyes now, so it’s not too hard. Poor J.

Oh shit.

On October 8, 2012, M told me he really liked me. I said, “Oh shit.” continuously. As in, “Oh. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.” and so on.

I deflected it, saying thank you, that it wasn’t practical, and that I wasn’t in a place emotionally where I could have a relationship (though not in so many words).

I couldn’t say, “Sorry, I have a quasi (ersatz?) relationship with the person I lost my virginity to a few days before my birthday. And you’re like a little brother to me.”

Note to self: November 10, 2011. It’s not pathetic that I wrote it down, is it? Nah. Well, maybe it is. Just a bit. Whatever.

I told P and mentioned the little brother thing as my reason. We agreed was difficult, then P related a couple of similar instances. I said I have a thing for redheads, but I’m not going to fuck up the friendship by fucking around.

I feel nothing romantic for M. I won’t lie and say I’m completely averse to messing around, but that would have innumerable consequences. With experience, I think I’ve become significantly more jaded and cynical.

Hunt the Racist

teddy bear w/ ornament

Image by blahmni via Flickr

I went to a party last night. It was for a fashion designer. I didn’t really want to go, but the stack of lectures notes wasn’t very appealing to be perfectly honest.

I went with Nineteen, who I’ve known for three years now. Eleven and One-six-three are close friends of Nineteen. Before the party, I’d met each of them once: on the street (Eleven, introduced by Nineteen) and over a dinner (One-six-three).

I spent 3 hours that morning with Nineteen, who agonised over what to get the aforementioned designer and birthday girl, One-six-three. One-six-three emphatically did not want vouchers, jewellery, or fashion books. Nineteen and Eleven got earrings anyway. At the party, One-six-three opened them, declared them gorgeous, and put them straight on. Girls.

I went as a teddy-bear hunter. I borrowed a old-man vest and safari hat with a teddy bear strapped on it from Eleven, threw on a collared white shirt and tan slacks and off I went. Pretty swashbuckling, but I could’ve done with a toy rifle.

Where’s the racism in that?

Well. For you, reader, I’ve transcribed a couple of choice conversation tidbits.

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At Eleven’s house, when we went to borrow the items for me from Eleven:

Eleven: I’m going as an Indian.

Me: A what? … a Native American?

Eleven: Yeah, an Indian.

Me: haha… you can’t say that. It’s kind of racist.

Nineteen: Oh well, I had someone come up to me and say … (mumbles), “Fuck you, you dumb white bitch.”

Me: Who?

Nineteen: Some aboriginal guy.

Me: Oh.

Eleven: See, you can’t call me racist!

Later at the party:

Eleven: I went to [Country Town X] on a nursing placement and came back more racist than before I left.

And even later:

Eleven: ..and then he accused me of being a racist!

Brisbane-boyfriend (of One-six-three): That’s stupid. We’re all descended from Africans.

Me: I’m …not going to claim I’m African. My point is that you’re using politically incorrect terms when you said Eskimo and Indian.

Brisbane-boyfriend: Well, my point is that it’s their fault if they’re offended by what you said.

Eleven: It’s all about context.

Me: You can’t use the n-word in a context where they wouldn’t beat you up if you said it to their face.

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I don’t see where you get off thinking you’re that so much better than me because you think you’re “less racist” than me. A sense of entitlement and abuse of the health system and its funding is not ok, regardless of your skin colour.