Full Alert! It's the Friend Zone!!

Here’s a little secret – women don’t want to put men in the friend zone any more than men want to be there. And the only thing that decides which men are friends and which ones aren’t is the level of chemistry – the ‘spark’ – that is generated when two people meet. Tell any single woman about an absolutely great guy who is funny, smart, quirky, gets the jokes, has a nice voice, is single and straight, that woman is already thinking about what you look like and how you kiss. And if you show up, looking presentable and smelling nice, and she discovers that all she’s heard about you is almost true, you’re home free. Knowing that, why do so many guys NOT make that tiny bit of effort to pull them through to atleast close to the finishing line? Our imaginations have already done a lot of the work.. But just... like... a little help?

To be clear, I like men who have the ability to not only make my brains quiver with excitement, but also my loins jump in anticipation. They’re BOTH important. One without the other will never work on the longish-term scale of things. 

I get that it’s hard enough to engage me at an intellectual level – you have to know the right movie and book references, you have to be able to chat easily and without aggravation and all of the fun stuff – but if you’ve got me there, that’s 71% of the job done. Well done you! If this was a round of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, you’d be just two steps short of being one for the long haul. But whether that long haul is going to be with me as a friend or as a sex-kitten depends entirely on how the remaining 29% pans out. And that 29% needs you to bring your A-game to the table. Come on! 

I’ve recently gone out with a couple of people - semi-blind dates, if you will. At first go – the run-up to the “date” – it’s so much fun. The jokes are spot on, the conversations are meaningful. And finally, there’s the “Let’s meet” moment. Now, I’ve never had a problem meeting strangers. Compound fun conversations with my almost-vice for new people, and the stage is set for all sorts of mayhem. Except for one thing. BOTH of them – let’s call them Tweedledum and Tweedledee - show up as if they’re attending the losers’ party, wearing pins that say, “Yawn! What’s the point?” And then I show up. Without going into conceit territory, I know I make an impact.

Tweedledum, after months of chasing me up on Facebook, finally asks me out for a movie – Avengers. This is a particularly fun thing because T’dum works in the movie industry, has in fact worked with some of the people who have worked on the film. All very exciting, particularly if you’re in the business. I land up, casual chic, to meet a guy who’s in gym sweats. No, not the street-wear gym sweats, but the “I just left my gym 10 minutes ago and didn’t shower” kind of gym sweats. His gym, and the movie theatre, are 15 minutes away from his house. But instead, it’s like he wanted me to see the worst of him – the kind of stuff women hope men they like will never discover about them, this chap brought it all to the first meeting. And, after the movie, where we chatted about stories, filmmaking and everything we love about it, he didn’t walk me to my car in the deserted basement parking lot. Instead he said, “So, I’ll leave you here (in the elevator) because otherwise, I’ll have to go through the whole security bag check and everything.” Points dropped from 71% to 43% in the space of 50 real-time minutes. And as we all know, that kind of drop in the market is unrecoverable. 

Tweedledee, in comparison, was not so awful. The conversation continued to be free-flowing, and easy. But has anyone ever noticed the awkward way slightly clumsy guys try and make physical contact when there’s no road to help you cross, no steps to help you down? It’s a poke on the arm, or this really weird hand tapping on shoulder thing. Well, T’dee was exactly like that. With unkempt messy hair (no, not the sexy bed-head we all love) that desperately needed renewed acquaintanceship with a pair of scissors, ill-fitting jeans and too-tight to be comfortable plaid shirt, his chances seemed slim. And the final stroke was one-sided gushing. He ended the evening with “You look really pretty... I feel like an ogre next to you... I mean, you’re so pretty that, if this wasn’t the first time we were meeting, I’d definitely be doing more than just shaking your hand when I say goodbye.” Sweet, huh? Not. Because – ewww! – would I want more than a handshake from you after this first meeting? Shudder. So I smiled, acknowledged the compliment, and then said, “That’s sweet, but you assume way too much.”

Yes, deep down, under layers of patience and humour and kindness (yes, it's there even if you don't see it in this post), I am shallow. But I’m not looking for Ryan Gosling (No, wait. I AM looking for Ryan Gosling, but I’m working on the realistic probability that I may not get him. Lots of issues – he’s in LA, I’m in India. Long distance, as we all know, can be a bitch. Also, can never really trust actors – you never know when they’re performing for the imaginary cameras, and when they’re being real people. Those kind of pesky things. Moving on.) And more importantly, I’m not going to compare every guy I meet with Ryan Gosling, or even his look-alike. But I am interested in meeting men who can make my knees just a little weak. Luckily for most people out there, many women are more into what’s in a man’s head than outside it. But really, that particular trait does not make us completely blind.

So there I am, with one more potential sexual mate pushed closer and more firmly into friend zone. The really irritating part of it is that guy read my interest correctly. He knows I was into him. Maybe that’s the reason he figured that the 29% was already in the bag and decided to bring his much-hidden sloth to the party. But after last night, he’ll always wonder why he doesn’t feel that vibe coming off me anymore. He’ll try harder, he’ll stay in touch more often, he’ll send me beautiful poetry in texts, he’ll assume that he just needs to give me space to come to terms with this whole new feeling of being in love. He’ll try to fix me, assume that my fear of being abandoned is what has made me recoil from him, and he’ll assure me that he’s not going anywhere. It’ll all be very sweet and desperate. 

And me? I’ll just slowly back away, meet him but more often in groups, chat with him as easily but about spark-neutral subjects. I’ll ask him about whether he’s seeing someone and then tell him that I’ve got the perfect person to set him up with. Because he is a wonderful person, and deserves love. And then, one morning, he’ll wake up to get a call from me about some other guy whom I went out for dinner with and really liked. And how I want us all to meet together, so he can judge if that guy is really good, or if my hormones are making my decisions for me. And then it’ll dawn on him that he’s my friend. And nothing more.

Unless... 

Like Bryan Adams, I too will try anything twice. I’m acutely aware that first times are fraught with too many pitfalls – pitfalls of expectation, of the general weirdness of meeting a stranger, of the pressure to quickly sift through multiple inputs to make sense of it all. The second time, everyone is more prepared and you can genuinely gauge if your knees are shaking because of excitement or boredom. So, with a certain amount of trepidation, I schedule another meeting, this time at a club. There will be dancing, drinking and all sorts of hedonistic opportunities. And yet, if after all this, he can’t bring his A-game to the table, maybe he just needs to be sitting at the kiddie table and leave dating to the grown ups.. 

It’s not pretty. It’s bloody, messy and often cruel. But it’s real.

Intimate Strangers

We write beautiful words to each other, sometimes whisper them softly and let the tenuous electronic connection between us give it meaning and tonality. Every digitally created alphabet carries weight and an incredible lightness that keeps me intrigued. And somewhere in the midst of the words you say and the ones I hear, you slowly get added to my collection of the best moments I have.

You have no flaws, or atleast, you have no flaws that I can’t overlook. Everything you say – the idiom you use, the exclamations of surprise, even the long silences – all add up to create your perfection. You have humor, courage, a snarkiness that’s surprisingly becoming when it’s not directed at me or anyone I love. You even have a smile that melts the inside of my bones, makes me want to be funny so I see more of it. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know the color of your eyes, because I know they smile before your lips know they have to catch up.

You live just far enough away to be anyone I want you to be. You live close enough to be real in a way that few have been before you. I carry you around in my pocket, available at the stroke of a few keys, a quick “Tell me a secret!” or an extended “Tell me your story”. I’m speechless when you agree to both and disappoint on neither.

All these molecules of laughter, a growing trust, an intangible togetherness and you say, “We’re friends” when we could pass each other on the street and not know that the other was within touching distance. It doesn’t matter. None of it does. I won't let it.

So what if you're your best only as a figment of my imagination?

In a Battlefield, Screams go Unheard...

Those same battles, often fought

The adversary undefined

The blood on the soil turns blue

A salute to friends lost

You move from arena to battlefield

Gladiators in the art of love

Raging against the immovable

Passionate for something unholdable

The fields become crimson, the faces stained with pain

Their quest unparalleled

Our fates aeons ago sealed

It’s time to move on, a higher cliff, a different view

Change the visage, drive your heart

Into believing again

In the indifferent stars which shine

On the war, if not on you

I, Dreamer in Absentia

We breathe poetry, in a world where stab wounds are the norm
We build bridges in places where fires destroy all
We love deeply, even in the moments before we take the fall
All for the final puzzle piece where one size doesn't fit all...

Today, while reading a book and having a solo lunch, I realized that I missed myself. Not in the sense of 'I don't know who I am' , but in the tangible sense of perceiving a complete human being. I miss having another perspective, someone who sees how you walk, or what the back of your head looks like. Someone who will be able to tell you in detail about all you can't see about yourself, someone who can watch you sideways.

My perspective is uni-dimensional. There's only so much of myself I can know. It's not self-esteem I'm talking about.. it's more like... even the silver on the back of the mirror needs someone to stand in front of its shiny side, to let it know of its true nature.Yeah, like that.

I miss that.

Monday Brings the Blues...

Life just sucked today.

A TV show I was pitching for tanked without a whimper. An animation film I was looking forward to making died without so much as a last few meaningful words. My editor of a potential book hasn't got back to me about a chapter I wrote (and in my current frame of mind, it was a crappy chapter and everyone hates me). And then, as the icing from Hell on a cake of brimstone, my mother says, "Maybe you should give up all this media thing and come stay with me."

Yep, I had the 'our daughter lives in the room above the garage' moment. Crap.

The thing is, she tapped right into the core of my fears - what if I'm really not good enough? In an industry that's spilling over with mediocrity and some flashes of real genius, what if I'm one of those that needs to be shunted out, for the greater good? What if... what if... what if I'm the wrong person in the right place at the right time?

Aaaarrrrrrggghh!

On the bright side, I also ran for 20 minutes straight. Okay, it doesn't sound like much but you have to understand that I'm not a runner at all and I haven't been to the gym in months... Sure, I collapsed, and it's nowhere near the 21kms of the marathon I dream of getting through some day, but it was a start.

And a couple of total strangers made me laugh today. More on that later, even if it is to differentiate the experiences as being portentous or merely noteworthy.

So not a total disaster. I have been given two days to mope by my friends. I better get down to it.

No Goodbyes..

Remember all those teary goodbyes we say to so many people - the breakups, the heartbreaks, the fuck-offs (someone cried then too, you know) - and we swear to ourselves that we will never see them again? Yeah, don't bother. Next time some person looks you in the eye, and tells you that this is the last time you'll see them, just smile and say, 'We'll see." Because honestly, you will be seeing them again. And it won't be such a bad thing.

This week has seen the exes crawling out of the woodwork. Everytime I see or hear from one of them, I'm transported back to the time when lots of tears and anger and resentment were the prime features of the relationship. At some point or the other, each one of them has told me (or has been told by me) that this was the 'last time'. I wish time travel was a reality right now because then I'd take a short trip down memory lane to point and laugh obnoxiously at the people we were. Maybe even sell popcorn for the show.

But here's the thing. Even though I'm amused by the antics, and expect nothing of any real meaning to come through except maybe nostalgia and some laughs, I'm really glad that those doors are still open. It makes it easier, for instance, to be in a coffee shop and have two exes in the immediate neighborhood, while you prepare to meet the third. It feels good to remember that there was a time that you put yourself out there fearlessly, and while your tastes did veer to the highly dysfunctional, it also veered to the talented and the bright. And ofcourse, you see how wrong they are for the person they turned you into.

But because they came back, and they always will, you realize that you weren't horribly wrong to choose them, and even though there were times when you hated each other, there was real love there too. Maybe someday you'll even realize that, because there are no cut-off dates, whom you choose has less to do with how long they'll stay in your life (though extra points should go to those who last longer than a hail mary), and more to do with how they'll change you.

And hopefully, the next time you feel your heart race, you'll remember to factor this in.

Seems doubtful.

Coffee Moments

Is it love when you bump into the ex-object of your affection/betrayal/complicated friendship after years of no-contact-for-reasons-everyone-knows, and you realize just how much you still miss them? Or is it merely a weird hook thing where you only want what you can’t have.

I bumped into Mark today. We were at an incredibly dull event, both of us doing our civic duty, armed with our respective weapons against mass boredom. Things have been awkward between us for years, thanks to all the shit that happened, and I was expecting just another perfunctory ‘Hey, what’s up… ok, take care” kind of 30-second conversation which has become our default interaction whenever common friends, loud music nights and other circumstances have thrown us together. After that, we would have the freedom to avoid each other by diving headlong into our books, no harm no foul.

Imagine my surprise then, when he actually asked me to have coffee with him. Coffee implied going somewhere else, just the two of us, and being forced to chat with each other across the table, atleast for the amount of time it takes to finish a mocha. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but this is a HUGE deal. In that half hour, we kinda-sorta caught up with each others’ latest projects (work), discussed the state of Indian television and film, and ofcourse, the weather. As we carefully tap-danced around each others minefields, I caught myself thinking, "This isn't how it used to be...but atleast it’s something."

Would he have sought me out had we not been forced to stay in a boring place, doing boring things? If his girlfriend had any intention of showing up? Had any of his other friends been there to get coffee with him? Doubt it. That’s what makes me pathetic, because when it comes to him, I suppose I’ll take what I can get. But my heart soared as we laughed together, and just for a moment, I got a glimpse of who we could have been.

Then, at the end of the three hours (three hours?? Yes, he also chose to stand with me in an interminably long line, and we smiled and shared amused glances with each other throughout. Yes, it counts), as we awkwardly hugged goodbye, all I wondered was – was this the start of a new chapter in a friendship or just the end of a brief truce?

All I know that I miss my friend, and I hope he can find his way back to me someday. Love, and all that it means, is just background noise.

Pep Talk to An Exhausted Party Girl...

There's a party, a bunch of people
Call them friends if you like
An open bar, food to eat
and the DJ plays the time of our lives

It's Saturday, past ten in the p.m.
Whatcha doin' girl, don't you want to be in it?
The rollercoaster of an awesome time
Is promising you a good, good night innit?

So jump baby jump
With your glitter and your heels
Reach for your sadness

Through the fugue of alcoholic dreams

Leave it behind, your day or your week
Nobody cares girl, as long as you leap
Keep the smile loose, keep your body tight
You know what they say doll, Holly Go light..

Did you miss me today?

You missed me today
 A name without a face
A tale without an end
Just another question hanging in mid-air

Do you dance?
Or are you the marionette
Attached to strings

Do you stumble
Along the thin line
of truth and lies

Do you laugh
At the cosmic joke
that plays every day

Do you crumble
With the sound in your head
of their cries

'Cuz we're the left-over remains
 Of a Time that knew better
But we didn't move a finger
To change the beat of its drum.

Since you missed me today
We weren't ever quite done
So just wait in the wings
While I wonder if you're the One.

What Plans May Be...

When I was a child, I was asked which caste I belonged to. I was clueless. When I was asked what my Army officer father’s first name was, I said “Captain” because for as long as I’d known, everyone called him Captain XYZ. When I was later quizzed about his rank, I was confused and said, “I don’t know… must be first or second… he’s quite intelligent.” I was 5 or 6 years old, and that was just the start of an upbringing that didn’t strictly enforce adherence to social convention. 

When I was growing up, I didn’t dream of a perfect wedding or of a Prince Charming who would meet, fall helplessly in love and ride off with me into a sunset. I certainly didn’t think about having kids or raising a family. I was in fact too busy dreaming of being a truckdriver or a rockstar. Even as I hit adolescence, and fell in and out of ‘love’ at an alarming frequency with boys in my immediate friend circles, I knew that it was just a phase my brain and my hormones were going through (I was a precocious brat). At some point in my early 20s, when I finally hit my stride as a sexual being, I finally noticed the boy-men around me who wanted to get married and settle down to the job of starting their real lives and were completely thrown when I said No.

The truth is, while I understood that the marriage proposal was a very big thing, all I could think was – I don’t know who I am or what I want… how can I possibly promise myself to another person? (very ‘Runaway Bride’, as another friend keeps reminding me). And then I spent the next decade trying to figure those things out.

The thing is, even when I was really young, I knew that marriage couldn’t possibly just be what two people did when they got to a certain age, or to have kids. It seemed like too much trouble to go through to maintain a pre-determined schedule or for something that could technically be achieved without a signed piece of paper. But watching my parents laugh over grown-up jokes that I never understood, or cooking a meal together, or arguing about the merits of a fixed deposit over a bond, I knew it was definitely a special bond that two people forged because they decided to have fun together forever. 

Forever. That is important. Because families aren’t created or destroyed on paper with signatures, families (and this includes friends and soulmates – and the right person will understand that) are created with trust that you always have their back and that nothing will change that. The fulfillment of this promise doesn’t need a perfect person, just your kind of person. And finding that person takes a serious amount of looking. As a result, marriage wasn’t that high on the agenda as finding that very special kind of person whom you can laugh and cook and have fun with forever. In other words, Marriage was about being with someone with whom the quantum of joy created for everyone is way higher than the amount of misery tolerated. 

My last post inspired a lot of disbelief – from friends and strangers alike. Mostly, the outrage was directed at the vague notion of me ‘giving up’ Plan A - as they understood it – a monogamous, marital relationship governed by established standards of fidelity and security.  Often, the solution offered was to just suck it up, find ‘someone suitable’ and ‘take the plunge’, and not set unrealistic standards or be a coward about ‘losing control’.

The truth is, I don’t want just anyone ‘suitable’ with whom I ‘take the plunge’ and hope for the best.  Over the last decade, after having worked through the yo-yo of crushing heartbreak and soaring ecstasy, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I don’t ‘need’ a relationship, that I don’t ‘need’ someone to look after me, and I definitely don’t need to be needed. 

But I do ‘want’ a relationship with someone I’m convinced I can be joyous with for as much of forever as possible. In today’s day and age of easy procreation options, the de-stigmatization of singlehood or alternate relationship paradigms, I think that that joy is the only reason to attempt the long haul with that special someone.

(Maybe it'll all still go to shit, but at least the start point was conviction, not a "why not?" moment of apathy.)

In the absence of that conviction, there’s Plan B.

Plan B

There’s a long-running joke and it goes something like this: Every woman needs a man who can change the tyres of her car, can make love to her like a rockstar, can look after her when she’s ill, has enough money to leave her in his will. And she hopes they never meet each other.

Every person has a Plan A. Meet someone, fall in love, get married, have kids, be the cool grandparent with adoring families who all get together to do the chicken dance on every wedding anniversary.

But there are some sobering truths.

Many studies state categorically that 98% (I’m not kidding, that’s the real number) of married women routinely think about exiting their marriages. These marriages are typically to “good guys”, the earners, the keepers, the ones who don’t screw around, don’t do drugs, don’t beat up on the people who love them. Close on the heels of the guilt is the whispered admission, “I wish he’d just have an affair!” to give them the easy get-out-of-marriage-free card.

Then there are the men. In an article I read today, it became clear that men find themselves at the disadvantaged end of the spectrum when it comes to having an emotionally open conversation with women – incidentally, a critical requirement within relationships. Most of the guys I know think that women speak in some kind of code, and the pressure to ‘guess’ at the real meaning is just too much. “Why can’t they just chill out and stop being so angry all the time?” is a common thought about the significant woman around them. The easy cop out is agreeing, apologizing and hoping like hell they dodged a bullet.

So Plan A lately seems to be floundering on a global scale. The truth seems to be that marriages and relationships have anger and contempt built into them because they are tied in so deeply to the expectations we have of them. We want that one romantic relationship to have great sex, great conversations, great friendship, great intellectual stimulation, great sitting-silently-reading-different-books-while-lightly holding-hands intimacies, great social skills in awkward family situations, great dependability even in ER conditions, great understanding, etc. It’s a lot, and more often than not, people are living on a fraction of what they think they should be getting. It’s a good case for anger, disappointment or just plain disgust with how things aren’t.

And yet, the solution seems simple. Just like we go to different food groups to get the total nourishment we need, we should, and often do, go to different people to get our spirits the healthy dose of love we desire (along with an inordinate amount of guilt). It’s not ideal, but the ideal is fiction.

When I look around myself, I’m grateful to find that I have people who fulfill all my needs. I have women whom I trust with my emotions, I have men whom I trust with my sexuality, and both to cater to my intellectual needs. And in between those edges of my spectrum of human relationships, I have almost all the people I need to keep me... satisfied and interested. I love them all deeply, uniquely and for different reasons.

But here’s my reality. I’ve been voluntarily single for a long time and even though I enjoy physical intimacies, I’m through wanting to casually hook up any more. I know now that when I’m with someone, I want it to mean something. I want it to be real, I want to be sure that he’s as excited about seeing me as I him. I want to know that I can count on him to be there for me – a guarantee if you will. I want a real relationship otherwise it messes with my head - and that's not acceptable anymore.

But I don’t want to be the ball and chain intent on trying to live up to a relationship model that increasingly doesn’t seem to work. I want my own space and my own downtime to nourish myself as I will so I have something to give back to whoever happens to be in my life and deserving of my affection. And I want to do all this without dealing with the baggage of previous hurts that we all carry around as our personal insecurity blankets particularly when the word “SEX” shows up.

(Note: Need to apply to have “Sex” renamed as “cuddles” or just have it broadly acknowledged as physical demonstration of affection – more on that later. I think things may calm down a bit after that.)

A possible solution? Weekly cuddle schedules.

So here’s my question: How would a relationship chart with the following rules work?

a) Each cuddle partner is given one day of the week – say Monday.

b) The time starts from 2 pm on Monday till 12 noon on Tuesday.

c) During that time, the relationship can be about anything - movies, dinner, wild monkey sex, aches and pains and hospital trips, grocery shopping, get togethers with friends, arguments about which EPL team deserves to win, discussion about the state of humanity, etc. But each partner has to commit to that time to be spent with the other.

d) That day belongs to that partner regardless of whether the partner can make it or not. On the flip side, there will be no substitutions, no interchange of days.

e) Full disclosure and transparency in all dealings is essential.

f) Each partner will know that there are other partners on other days but no specifics can be divulged. There will be no conversations about comparisons – a courtesy extended to all partners.

g) Partners will be referred to as “friends” when in public. Labels are difficult to navigate.

h) Partners’ eligibility to the above relationship will depend entirely on them being “single”. Membership to the club will automatically cease when either partner finds someone they want to attempt Plan A with.

Everyone wants a Plan A. But as we grow older and find ourselves increasingly surrounded by the debris of failed relationships and broken spirits, maybe all we can cobble together is a Plan B from the remains of shattered dreams of anniversary chicken dances.

It has its flaws. But at least it’s something.

What I Would Tell My 26 Year Old Self

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I’ve lived and loved longer than you have at this stage and I have good and disappointing news. The good news is that you can eat whatever you want and it will not show. Those diet decisions can safely be left unaddressed for another few years when, yes, you will join a gym. You will end up being a girl who likes running on a treadmill, regardless of how disparagingly you speak of people who, “run in the same place just to keep up, and pay money to do it?! Are they stupid?” Yeah, that will be you soon.

You should get that second tattoo. I know you’re thinking about it but I wish you’d get it already before you get to where I am because I’m too paranoid and trust others less to do it right now. Trust me, the design you want is the right one, and you’ll regret it a little if you don’t. Don’t bother with the belly button piercing though- you'll be bored before it even has time to heal!

You’re not going to be a gypsy bartender, wandering the world with a backpack and a map. And that’s not awful because the only thing you liked about that picture was that it’s a picture, right? Don’t lie, I know you. Instead, you’ll be a storyteller, painting pictures using a thousand words. But here’s the deal - you won’t get there alone. Surprisingly, talent isn’t everything. I know you face trouble with people in authority and I have three words for you -- It’s. Not. Personal. Not everyone is trying to undermine you. Sometimes, they really don’t get it. And sometimes, neither do you. So start listening.

You’re beautiful. I know there are many people who’re telling you this these days and you don’t believe them because you don’t see yourself. You’re beautiful in a young, unbroken and enthusiastic kind of way that makes people want to sweep you up and protect you from the harsh spikes of inevitable disappointment. Enjoy this, and know that when they say they love you, they do mean it, but not in the way you’re thinking.

And now for the doozy.

I know Mom’s been trying to get you to ring the wedding bells. She’s telling you that unless you pick someone quick, all the good guys will be taken and then, in another ten years, all your friends will be married with kids and soon they’ll lose sight of you and all the promise you hold. I want to tell you something. She’s wrong. But not for the reasons you imagine.

Yes, all the good guys will be taken because they’re wonderful people who believe in the ever after. But in another few years, they’ll find you on Facebook and marvel at how gorgeous you are. They’ll wonder why they never had the courage to make something happen with you when they were younger and you spent your time secretly wondering how your first name would sound attached to their last. Then, they will regale you with stories of their marriage and kids and their divorce proceedings. Now, soon-to-be/recently separated/divorced they will ask you how you feel about being Friends With Benefits/casually hooking up / a quick grope after dinner. And just like that, many of the good guys will have turned into THAT guy.

But you have to understand something. Those very guys are around you right now. They are young and romantic and idealistic. They walk lighter without life’s inevitable baggage, and have the energy to make their existence follow the path that all the books and movies have promised them is true. Those are the guys who want to marry you now. Some of them are also the same guys who, in a few years as they troll through the profile pictures of their hot classmates from school, will wonder why the hell they got married so young. The truth is, Life will unfold and Shit will Happen for everyone and everyone will be changed for better or worse. Try not to judge too harshly-- the people you know today will be different tomorrow, as will you. And that's the beauty of it all.

So the good guys will always be there. When those good guys turn into THOSE guys, there will be other good guys who will turn up. But as you grow older, and deal with an increasing number of Those Guys, you’ll become much more discerning and find it harder to suspend disbelief. Your time and mental peace will become more important than watching the sun rise after a whole night spent talking with a stranger. You will finally have learned the art of looking after yourself – mentally and emotionally.

In the meanwhile, you’ll have dinners with your friends who did not desert you despite marriages and kids, and you’ll understand it’s because they need you too. You will understand why love is complicated and you’ll become kinder. You will watch your preconceived notions about right and wrong melt away into a relative space, you’ll learn to spend a lot of time alone and enjoy it, and you’ll finally understand that until the end credits roll, this life starring you will have many twists and turns and no one can know how it ends.

So breathe. It’s going to be alright.

The Other Guys

Sometimes, the only way you can go after things is when you're certain that failure will not destroy you. In fact, the "chase" is interesting because somewhere at the back of your mind, your exit routes that bypass heartache have been mapped out. It is the nonchalance that springs from not being particularly invested in the outcome that often gets misunderstood to be confidence. And that confidence can be a potent aphrodisiac.

Lately, I find myself struggling to separate interest from indifference when it comes to relationships. They are both dressed alike - in witty repartee and friendly and affectionate hugs. Enough movies and shows have been watched and How to Win Friends and Date Hotties books have been read to give everyone out there a blueprint of sorts to "get the one." And yet, amidst this barrage of information, more and more people are single.

If I look back at my life, at the various relationships I've had, there are a few things that strike a common chord. All the men were extremely bright, talented writer-directors, they kissed marvelously, and loved me in their unique often dysfunctional ways. And of course, none of them lasted in my life beyond the first year of intense all-consuming passion.

But here's where it gets interesting (For me, in any case). If I extend the same kind of scrutiny to my almost-relationships, the 'flings' if you will, I have to admit they lasted a lot longer (Hmm.. weird. Had not noticed that until I wrote it down). Again, the men were bright, talented, very tuned in to music (Again, had not noticed) and did not treat me like a porcelain doll in need of a passion fix. Since there were no words of 'love' bandied about, it turns out we could be nonchalantly confident about each other.

And that's what happened.

For someone who has often been accused of losing herself in relationships, I have to say that over the last 7 years, I have been in "flings" that have allowed me to be my own person. With neither of us ever being obligated or even desirous of being 'everything' for the other, it freed us to be who we are without judgement - independent adults. I have grown with my friends and increased my circle, focused on my work without distractions or pesky "take the day off na, baby!", had plenty of company for dinners and movies for two, and had some incredible cuddles along the way.

All this really happened without my knowledge. When I think of my professed romantic relationships, I remember extremes of sheer ecstacy and suffocating depression. But when it comes to the almost-relationships, I remember being... calm. Not the most romantic thing one can say but here's the clicher - I remain happy friends with all the flings but have barely spoken to any of the other category.

And I have to wonder - are my almost-relationships more normal and... functional? Because if that's true, then does it mean that relationships work only if peppered with a healthy dose of nonchalant confidence and not the all-consuming passion like Shakespeare and Enrique Iglesias would have us believe?

I'm confused.