A few conversations of late have caused me to reflect on what I want in a partner, and feel the urge to define it for my own purposes. I’ll always be an idealist, but there are some things that are incredibly important to me in a soul mate. I still believe that we have more that one potential partner, but the soul mate is the person we choose to spend the rest of our lives with. So here’s my indulgent pre-requisite list.
They would have to love life. Immerse themself in it, soak it up, grab it by its horns. This means they would take any opportunity be out and about experiencing the world, not only doing normal things but trying new places, constantly on the lookout for adventures. They wouldn’t be scared of action, they would just do things without having to talk about them before or validate their decisions.
They would know who they are and not be afraid to be themselves. They’d be painstakingly honest, always speaking their mind and showing their soul. They’d know that life is too short to worry about what other people think. They could be alone without feeling lonely, do things without needing someone by their side, act on their own free will.
They’d be a true individual, creative and intelligent. Their ideas would be original and they would love to discuss philosophical ideas and moral debates. They would follow their dreams.
They would play with me, teach me new things, show me places, challenge me. And let me do all the same back.
Seems like the perfect person. But I don’t want to ever have to compromise on what I want. I’d rather just be alone.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Guts.
Guts. Courage. Daring. Backbone. Fortitude. Audacity.
I have guts. I'll stand up for what I believe in. I take risks. I don't weigh up pros and cons. I do what I dream of. I'll tell a boy I love him. I'll question someones motives. I'm not afraid to tell them they're wrong. I inject more passion into all I do than most I meet.
But I rarely meet boys who have guts. The kind who tells me he loves me despite all else that's happening. The kind who will bare his soul. The kind who won't meld himself around what he thinks I want, what's cool. The kind who just is. The kind who will have fantasies and make them realities. Not just talk about them. What are dreams worth if a person doesn't at least try them out in action?
Tell me.
If you love me, lust me, tell me.
Have some courage.
Have some guts.
I have guts. I'll stand up for what I believe in. I take risks. I don't weigh up pros and cons. I do what I dream of. I'll tell a boy I love him. I'll question someones motives. I'm not afraid to tell them they're wrong. I inject more passion into all I do than most I meet.
But I rarely meet boys who have guts. The kind who tells me he loves me despite all else that's happening. The kind who will bare his soul. The kind who won't meld himself around what he thinks I want, what's cool. The kind who just is. The kind who will have fantasies and make them realities. Not just talk about them. What are dreams worth if a person doesn't at least try them out in action?
Tell me.
If you love me, lust me, tell me.
Have some courage.
Have some guts.
Friday, February 27, 2009
First Rain.
written 25/2/09
It's raining.
If it's not the first time this year, it's the first that I at least have noticed.
We're poised ever so gently on the cusp of autumn, where it'll only get more inclement as the days pass,
and I'm hit with the nostalgia that comes with the feeling and smell of the cold, moisture filled air.
It's amazing how by catching a brief scent, or being consumed by a feeling for just a second can remind
you of so much. Like how that person who just rushed past wore a cologne that smelt like an old romantic
interest, or how a grey sky makes you just want to lie on the floor and stare out the window into the fog,
or how a chilly breeze recalls early morning work commutes, wearing gloves and going on shuffled-playlist
adventures.
My day at work is being constantly interjected with images and emotions of the past winter, so much so
that I can't concentrate on much but my wandering memory. It's like all these little snippets are being put on fast
forward in my concious, like flicking through one of those old plastic picture viewing contraptions. Click click click.
They're changing and repeating, some kind of silly broken tape player with no purpose. And yet I feel different;
I'm zooming in and focusing.
I just don't know where I want to be. Why do I feel so much affinity with this past? Why do I want to
torture myself with these thoughts of a life that is clearly not mine anymore? I think I am hell bent on
destroying my happiness, or just creating drama. I'm happy now, right? I'm safe and sound in my little box and it's
just so damn comfortable. But I ache for more. Danger, passion, lust, adventure, spontaneity, deep thought.
I want someone to come along and sweep me off my feet, and to escape with me to wet dark streets in search
of nothing and everything. Why does it dissapear when you grow? Why is this Utopia only momentary, and then
becomes lost to duty and complacency?
But then you email me with your words that I'd missed, and the spark flickers again.
It's a smouldering ember for the moment, but who knows, with a little shake it may become a fire again. It's so fragile.
Please don't confuse this for a lack of love. I have plenty. But love needs to coexist with so, so much more.
I'm still learning how it all works. And still manifesting my own definitions in return.
It continues to rain.
And it's perfect.
It's raining.
If it's not the first time this year, it's the first that I at least have noticed.
We're poised ever so gently on the cusp of autumn, where it'll only get more inclement as the days pass,
and I'm hit with the nostalgia that comes with the feeling and smell of the cold, moisture filled air.
It's amazing how by catching a brief scent, or being consumed by a feeling for just a second can remind
you of so much. Like how that person who just rushed past wore a cologne that smelt like an old romantic
interest, or how a grey sky makes you just want to lie on the floor and stare out the window into the fog,
or how a chilly breeze recalls early morning work commutes, wearing gloves and going on shuffled-playlist
adventures.
My day at work is being constantly interjected with images and emotions of the past winter, so much so
that I can't concentrate on much but my wandering memory. It's like all these little snippets are being put on fast
forward in my concious, like flicking through one of those old plastic picture viewing contraptions. Click click click.
They're changing and repeating, some kind of silly broken tape player with no purpose. And yet I feel different;
I'm zooming in and focusing.
I just don't know where I want to be. Why do I feel so much affinity with this past? Why do I want to
torture myself with these thoughts of a life that is clearly not mine anymore? I think I am hell bent on
destroying my happiness, or just creating drama. I'm happy now, right? I'm safe and sound in my little box and it's
just so damn comfortable. But I ache for more. Danger, passion, lust, adventure, spontaneity, deep thought.
I want someone to come along and sweep me off my feet, and to escape with me to wet dark streets in search
of nothing and everything. Why does it dissapear when you grow? Why is this Utopia only momentary, and then
becomes lost to duty and complacency?
But then you email me with your words that I'd missed, and the spark flickers again.
It's a smouldering ember for the moment, but who knows, with a little shake it may become a fire again. It's so fragile.
Please don't confuse this for a lack of love. I have plenty. But love needs to coexist with so, so much more.
I'm still learning how it all works. And still manifesting my own definitions in return.
It continues to rain.
And it's perfect.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
A new year, a new way.
Yet another second, yet another day. Yet another year.
Here I see, here I breathe. Here I am.
And I find myself questioning my very existence. Here, yet again.
Like a wave from one side of the floor to the other, the christmas decorations are being pulled down from the ceiling at work today. One by one, thrown into a box to gather dust until the next festive season, when we'll get a little too merry and begin writing our next set (or should I say repeated set?) of resolutions.
The holiday passed far too quickly this year. Tree up, tree down, somewhere along the line a new year was rung in, and I forgot to resolve or resolute anything. My list remains blank and my focus fuzzy while the real recognition sets in - it *is* a fresh year, and I haven't vowed to make any changes. Yet.
People always make the same resolutions anyway - get rich, lose weight, find the love of your life without moving from the couch... but while these promises come into the world driven by passion and a veiled belief that they will come into fruition sooner rather than later, the reality is that we usually abandon them after a few days. The cake was too tempting, the work for the money too hard, and the lover non-existent.
So it is here when I feel cataclysmically compelled to define my goals to shape the year that I forget all together about making any resolutions per se. No, I am going to apply what I want to achieve to every pore of my being, and live on a one way path leading to my objective desires. I'm not promising I'll do something; I'm doing it. And if I'm not doing it right now, I will be.
It's my complete and utter belief in doing that will let me win the game, so I won't reach the end of another year without bringing upon change and upheaving my core at least a few times.
This year, I'm all about experience - I'll say yes as often as I can and enrich my life with enriching things. This year, I'm foraying into new ventures - uni, a typical uni job, french, dance, the musical and other unmapped islands.
It's the buried treasure I'm after. Yet another.
Here I see, here I breathe. Here I am.
And I find myself questioning my very existence. Here, yet again.
Like a wave from one side of the floor to the other, the christmas decorations are being pulled down from the ceiling at work today. One by one, thrown into a box to gather dust until the next festive season, when we'll get a little too merry and begin writing our next set (or should I say repeated set?) of resolutions.
The holiday passed far too quickly this year. Tree up, tree down, somewhere along the line a new year was rung in, and I forgot to resolve or resolute anything. My list remains blank and my focus fuzzy while the real recognition sets in - it *is* a fresh year, and I haven't vowed to make any changes. Yet.
People always make the same resolutions anyway - get rich, lose weight, find the love of your life without moving from the couch... but while these promises come into the world driven by passion and a veiled belief that they will come into fruition sooner rather than later, the reality is that we usually abandon them after a few days. The cake was too tempting, the work for the money too hard, and the lover non-existent.
So it is here when I feel cataclysmically compelled to define my goals to shape the year that I forget all together about making any resolutions per se. No, I am going to apply what I want to achieve to every pore of my being, and live on a one way path leading to my objective desires. I'm not promising I'll do something; I'm doing it. And if I'm not doing it right now, I will be.
It's my complete and utter belief in doing that will let me win the game, so I won't reach the end of another year without bringing upon change and upheaving my core at least a few times.
This year, I'm all about experience - I'll say yes as often as I can and enrich my life with enriching things. This year, I'm foraying into new ventures - uni, a typical uni job, french, dance, the musical and other unmapped islands.
It's the buried treasure I'm after. Yet another.
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