Saturday, April 16, 2016

Plane Tickets Like Granny Porn

like the facebookz I've faced two new concepts in the last year: being single in my 20s and always being within six months of skipping the country I'm in. What this means is that now every romantic affair I have, every kiss at a party, every two night stand, every classic graze of the hand I have at the vending machine as we both serendipitously reach to press E3 for that Snickers Bar is followed by the same two absurd conversations no matter the girl, no matter her nature, no matter the continent. It's like a doll with a string, pull it and it says one of two things: "but you're going in x months" and "what are we?"

But you're leaving in x months
To me, having a conversation which starts like this is akin to meandering around a ticking time bomb discussing how it will blow us up as opposed to trying to defuse the thing or enjoying our final moments before our impending doom. "Do you reckon the g-force will, like, propel our bodies across the room, will we just barbecue or is it going to tear us to shreds where we stand? Let's ponder this in silence for a moment or two while I sip this camomile." The second I hear the words leave a girl's mouth, the entire operation becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. We just ruin the moments we do have together by worrying about the moments we won't and the point becomes moot. It's a lot of chatting about how we won't be able to fuck any more, where "any more" becomes redundant. This line of questioning got to a point back in Sydney where my move to Denmark went from something I thought girls would find mysterious and attractive into this dirty little secret I hid under the mattress like granny porn.

The truth is that you can't have pain without pleasure, and vice versa. Without the sting of pain, we wouldn't know the delight in pleasure, we'd just be bored all the time. So, I tend to see tears at an airport as less of an emotional-anvil and more of an indication of how well we filled the preceding months, and I don't intend to fill them with redundant yacking. So if pain means fun, then I'll trade boredom for pain on any day of the week! If this last year has taught me anything it's to appreciate the time I have left with people, to be a little more economical with that time and to most importantly embrace the fact that it will bring both the most painful yet beautiful goodbyes. It's ying and yang, people!

What are we?
But there's another mantra that can really rattle my chain, because you know how you sometimes use words you can't exactly define when people ask you to, well since my break up I've been having things with people that I can't define, and believe me, that's way more frustrating. The question is the watermark of a woman who has grown weary of referring to me as this guy or that guy we spoke about to their friends and hope to shorten it or add a second part. "This guy I'm dating" or "that guy I told you I slept with" or just "boyfriend". And look, that all sounds lovely...but - and shoot me for saying this - but I'm leaving in six months! The only thing you should be labelling which will leave that soon is canned tomatoes in aisle seven, not a romantic affair!

Not only is it too chatty, but It's also entrapment with less sexy Zeta Jones and more old saggy balls Connery. Asking anybody you're involved with what you two are when one of them has an exit on the horizon is like forcing them to tell you that they're only in it to bang. There is no subtle or charming way to say that you just want to go with the flow but continue the romance. In fact, the more you talk about it, the more both of you realise just how much of a paradox you're in. So, before you ask this question, you might as well just take whatever it is you both have out the back and put a bullet in its brain; it'll achieve the same thing.

Let me ask, why can't it just be, you know, fun? This is coming from a dude who wants a relationship, who wants to date, who has eyes for wife-material, but it would be foolish of me to seriously seek out any of those things while I'm also applying for visas. I know this, she knows this, so why does she want me to spell it out? It's one hell of a buzz-kill.

 

To be perfectly honest, to say that none of this is my own doing would be a bit of a lie. I never quite got the hit it and quit it memo that all other guys seemed to have researched and studied like it's the cure to cancer. I always hang around after, which I trust is what opens me up to questions. It must seem like I want a relationship, while at the same time I'm leaving; makes no sense to people, but not completely inaccurate. I suppose I do want a relationship, I just don't want to talk about it. I can mull over, dissect, over-think, and over-analyse anything until I'm a nervous wreck, but that's not who I am at the moment. There comes a time when people just need to shut up and enjoy themselves. Ironically, I say that not because that's innately who I am or because I'm the proud owner of male genitalia, but because of the very reason they're asking these questions - because I'm out’ta here soon.

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