Questions...

Shall I just jump him, and then see where the cards fall and what, if anything, either of us does about the future, including keeping/abandoning the friendship?

Will this phase of "who am I, where am I going?" ever end? Will I be satisfied with the answers?

Is appreciating a person sufficient substitute for not loving them? Particularly if they love you?

Is not appreciating a person enough reason to leave them? Even if they love you?

Is being a 'mama's boy' more often than being 'my man' a deal breaker?

What does it take to cut up an ex-boyfriend into 300 pieces before packing him up in a bag and strolling out with a big smile? Do guys worry about things like that when they callously mess with their girlfriends?

How does the American populace choose the right American idol and not the right President?

How many of us would dump our current spouses never to look back in the event of a 'one-time-only-no-repurcussions-guaranteed' offer? For all those who raised their hands, what are the repurcussions, the fear of which keeps us together? Is fear a good enough reason to be married?

Would you give up your high-powered career if it meant having a person worthy of you in your life who loves you unendingly, passionately, completely?

Would you give up a person you love if it meant having your career reach dizzying heights of success and fame?

Will starting a new story/post/screenplay ever get easier? Or will I always look for things to do just to delay facing the blinking cursor on a screen?

Sigh.

"You Want Men?" the Universe Laughed

I've been spending a little time thinking about what would make my perfect man - the Mr. Right, if you will. And I think the Universe has pretty much had enough of me whining about it and has chosen to throw a few men in my direction. In the process, the Universe has proven that it has a sick sense of humor.

Let me explain, I know you're holding your breath.

You know what they say about dams bursting? Well, the dam kind of creaked a bit with Vinnie. He's a few years younger than I, inexperienced in the matters of love and heartbreak, and was 'pursuing me' (his words, not mine) from a different city. He was cute, totally my type physically, and spontaneous and fun. For him, this was leap-first-ask-questions-later territory, which is so refreshing in these days of over-mentalisation of everything. Wish I'd kissed him the last (and only) time I saw him. He wishes it too. But distance, and not just the physical kind, keeps me hands-off.

(Why, you ask? Cuz he's a child!!! What's wrong with you readers, have you no morals???)

Then there was Tappa, sweet, adorable, super-bright, affectionate, wannabe-husband-daddy... absolutely wonderful. He makes me feel soft and sweet. Except for almost negligible chemistry from my side, there was no reason for me not to get it on with him. That, and the fact thatI've been kissed better.

Which brings me to Steve. If there was a poll on recent kisses I've shared, he would rate among the top three. But that could also be because I haven't been kissed in a while. That aside, the one time he did kiss me, I was knee-wobbled surprised. And in these days of my fallen standards, that itself would have been enough. That is, if he'd learnt to keep his mouth shut, and let the "tall, brooding" thing weave its magic. I mean it, that boy is an idiot, and proves it everytime he opens his mouth to speak. I read recently that the female sex organ is the brain. Obviously, that piece of information has bypassed him entirely. Pity.

And then ofcourse there's Kosta. He appeals to my sex organ allright. But I'm getting to my wit's end trying to figure out how the hell to snog him. He's totally unapproachable (sexually speaking). And what's worse, he keeps dropping these heavy innuendo-laden bricks around me, but just not when I'm physically in front of him. Oh no, at that time we discuss the world and it's problems and potential solutions. He drives me nut-job wild.

(PS: If Kosta did drop those bricks when I'm in front of him, I'd probably be all tongue-tied and gawky about it. I'm the equivalent of a clutz in a China shop when it comes to 'moments'. Sigh. That's another post, though.)

But what proves irrevocably that the Universe is perverse is this: put these guys together in one package - the youthful passion, the soft affection, the extremely masculine 'you're mine, wench!' attitude and the total mental stimulation - there will be my perfect person.

So I'm wondering, does anyone know the legal position on five-somes (absolutely no pun intended!)?

"He loves me, he loves me not...."

He was pretentious, spoke with an accent that had come from few years in USA, and had stayed put over the last eight years he had been back in the country. He held onto that accent, as if he was holding on to that part of his life that held the most promise. But i didn't really mind. He was someone i could laugh with, despite his accent.

But when one starts to tick off "despite this" and "inspite of that", the relationship is doomed before it starts. There are just too many things that one needs to overlook to actually get down to the long arduous process of falling in love. And it is a process.

A friend of mine once told me, "Falling in love is not a feeling, it's a decision." At the time, i scoffed at him, pitied him for his total lack of awareness of the best thing in the world. Two years and several still-born attempts later, I'm inclined to agree with him.

So i decided to fall in love with the at-heart-American. I wasn't doing much else with my life anyway, and he was nice. And then the oddest thing happened - he intrigued me. It's odd because I don't find that happening too often. Normally I'm quick to peg people into certain slots. And they usually don't bother trying to escape from it. But with him, there was something different.

For one, he was quite sexy in a completely hands-off manner. Tall, lean and totally my type. But additionally, he was almost ascetic - the virgin. I was afraid to touch him because I was terrified he would crumble with shock. And yet, I know that he had had his lovers, some whom he had left crushed, and others who had trampled him on their way out. In fact, it could very well be this improbable combination of being fascinated and yet compelled to run away fast that made me stand rooted.

He never made a single move on me. We talked about it - not about making a move on me specifically, but about sex in general - and it was a hugely academic discussion. We could very well have been discussing .... the weather. Oh! And the verbosity of it all. Words one wouldn't normally use in conversation came up all the time. My rusty vocabulary got a new shine, my dumbed-down sentence formation got a new life, and I finally understood a statement I'd been struggling with from the time I was 12 - "Words conceal instead of reveal" - it was the subject of a debate competition. For example, after hours of speaking with him, I still didn't know the answer to my basic question - is he into me or what?

So I started stretching the boundaries. Little by little, I added a bit of the outrageously flirtatious into conversations which he surprisingly responded to in kind, but with an added edge of indulgence. I invited him out to dark cubbyholes which play loud throbbing music and totally suitable for a bit of sin. But, instead of him being the odd one out in that place, he made the whole place odd. I really liked that about him.

It is also one of the first few things that I know will infuriate me endlessly in a longer-than-few-weeks relationship. Other things would include the accent and the verbosity, the annoying way he licks his lips when introspective, his huge phobia of commitment to anything, his shaky career footing, etc etc. That said, I like him, despite myself. THAT, I think, is the biggest problem. After all, how long can liking someone 'despite' myself work?

Oh! And I still don't know if he's into me. The fact that he could be imagining some other woman (or man, yes there IS that tragic possibility too) while I'm plucking petals off some unsuspecting flower is a little disturbing. Actually, just plucking petals off is disturbing enough.