Somewhere during or shortly after university I really started to realize who I liked the most: myself.
I had liked someone in high-school, but due to selfishness and tunnel vision, I slowly stopped being friends with them once I got to university. There was also the “I’m a mature person now” thing – although that person was catching up on how many drunken nights he missed in high school. I’d identify myself at this point like a less-driven version of Adam Goldberg’s character in Dazed and Confused: a verbose self-described misanthrope who just WANTS TO DANCE.
In university, there was someone whom I was infatuated with the idea of being with. At the time, hyperactive and still saying things about which I had no idea, and, consequent of the aforementioned and other things and to quote Peter Sellers, I’d be quite impossible to live with. Or that was the reason that I prevented myself from pursuing her: her significant involvement with Christ was definitely the bigger red flag.
Tonight, I went on something that didn’t initially feel like a date, but seemed to evolve into one. There’s a woman who lives on my floor with whom I’ve shared the extended occasional bump-in conversations, as well as time in the sauna. I’ve asked her to watch a movie with me for the past couple weeks. Constantly busy, she couldn’t find time. Last week, while visiting a neighbour’s apartment, I saw her in a room from which I’d eventually be kicked out while its occupant closed the door with her still in it as he told me he was “going to sleep” – although I’d hear her laughter from my room in the opposite corner of the building minutes later, assuming she soon left.
With some haste and minimal hope last night, I asked her if she wanted to see Boyhood, a movie I’ve been very long anticipating. She agreed, and surprisingly stuck to her agreement today. We met about 15 minutes before the film starts (including trailers), and our small discussion eventually evolved after the film at coffee – which she suggested to have afterwards. She was teary-eyed at the end of the movie by the way; her reaction makes me feel good that she was that engrossed by it.
During our exchange over late-night caffeine, we had a good time: we discussed where we’ve travelled, complimented how the other’s lives is interesting, what my plans were for the near future. If it bares repeating, I’m as pleased as punch having seen a great movie with who seemed like a great person. Her shirt is quite nice but oh my god what is that top on top of it? This question crept into my head while I had a great time. It almost diverted my eyes to her chest area where it hung, but then stopped it because 1) I didn’t want to think about it, 2) look like that guy.
Even in the best of times, my mind has seemed to want to be with nobody. It has been way worse before and told myself women flirting with me is just them being weird. But even when there’s no confusion, or at least no urgent curiosity as to what this is, it still goes there.
Luckily, we vaguely discuss the prospect of visiting Stockholm or Tallinn because they’re nearby, neither of us have recently been there, and I mentioned I have a free ticket for a trip to each from work. When we split to go to our respective rooms, she happily says, “we should do this again!” a remark that generates an immediate fist-pump when my privacy-ensuring door closes without wondering how much of a bummer being stuck with a bunch of drunken Finns on a ferry would be.