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.

Massage Dreams...

Many thoughts have gone through my head when I’ve lain on a massage table. Most of them have revolved around the temperature of the room, whether the airconditioning needed tweaking, if I should or shouldn’t have waxed before the massage, if there were any hidden cameras in the room, if the masseur would get any better looking with dimmer lighting, etc. But never have I thought about how much I miss a person’s touch on my naked body.

As I lay there with melancholic strains of violin music wafting through the inconspicuous speakers, I sensed each goose-bump as it awakened to the almost forgotten sensation of another texture of skin. The masseur’s strong fingers worked on my muscles and sinews oblivious to the fact that his every stroke reminded me of the others who had touched me in exactly the same place entirely differently.

I remembered conversations about tattoos that we would get together that would mean something for the rest of our lives. Forgotten scars from overheated motorcycle exhaust pipes didn’t even tingle but the memory of that evening, the fear as we raced for our lives (we thought) to reach home, was evident in the slight up-tick of my heartbeat even today. The slope where my neck meets my shoulder prickled with awareness of the fact that I had dedicated it to him because only he seemed to know what to do with it…

I closed my eyes and felt my body become a detailed map of my life under the skillful fingers of a stranger. My sore arm muscles took me to our days of playing hooky from work just so we could chase each other around the house playing tag. I remembered how you wrestled me to the floor while I laughed helplessly. And then, how I wasn’t laughing any more. If someone had been recording audio, all they would have heard would have been soft whispers and the rustling of sheets. And the crackle of tin foil as we unwrapped left-over meatloaf that my mother had sent across.

Hands rubbing the soles of my feet brought to mind sloppily applied red nail polish because you were blindfolded and I was bored. My stomach muscles used to ache almost constantly because we laughed uncontrollably about everything. I’ve forgotten what your eyes look like but I remember how you laughed. More than anything, I remember the laughs.

Sitting in the sauna room where I can’t see my fingers in front of my face, I feel the heat as it struggles through my epidermis to start warming my long-frozen insides. I wonder if this is what it will feel like when I let another you walk into my life, when I let another you decode the secrets of my body and let you leave a mark on it as well. I wonder if this is what it will feel like to be… loved again..

A Question of Time

Mommy, what is the Future?
A false promise by Tomorrow
What about the Past?
The only currency of Yesterday
Are they not real mommy?
Did they not live?
They lived my darling
They sang and they danced
And feasted on the Present
Staking their claim on all of Today's plans

Do you miss having a Tomorrow mommy?
Do you want your Yesterday back?
I waited for Tomorrow, but it wasn't what I was promised
And Yesterday has become pale with grief
For what could never have been

The Future scares me mommy
And the Past makes me cry..
They're nothing my sweet baby
Just ghost stories that Today tells
Hoping that someone will notice
In the midst of our crazy game of catch-up
The lone Storyteller at this cozy campfire.

The Grown Ups are Talking...

It’s the new year and I’m back to wondering what the hell is going on with me or the people around me. I guess some things don’t (and shouldn’t?) change.

First, there’s some history. Over the last few weeks, I have gotten feedback that I’m overreacting to things, taking them too personally, sometimes even to the extent of friends wondering if I’m secretly crushing on the object of my ire. It was pissing me off because in the process of psychoanalyzing “why” I’m saying something, “what” I was saying was getting lost in communication.

The things I was overreacting to? Just everyday stuff.

Kosta and I and a few other people had made plans to watch a film together. Despite trying to get the few people to commit to a time and a place, it wasn’t working out thanks to everyone’s crazy schedules. The only thing that kept getting cemented stronger, in the face of all our failed attempts (and the fact that by now most other people had already seen the film and weren’t keen to do it again), was that we would see the film together.

And then Kosta went and saw the film alone. He didn’t tell any of us that he had. And when I wanted to make another plan for the same film, he said he wasn’t available – because of work or some such. Now here’s the thing that pissed me off. If I hadn’t found out – from another friend – that he had already seen the film, I would have continued to shelve my plans because I’d have waited for him to be a part of the group.

So the twin-pronged issue was that not only was watching the film more important for him than watching it with me and others, but also the fact that I’d kept my plans on hold meant little to him. As he said, “You’re just pissed because I didn’t give this one plan as much importance as you did.” Yes, that’s exactly right. If someone I consider a friend doesn’t give me as much importance as I give him, then there’s an unflattering readjustment required in the friendship equation. And that’s annoying because it makes me feel stupid about over-committing to a relationship.

Then there was Alex whom the last time I communicated with was at a weird yet fun evening with another friend, Tee. We were all playing mini-snooker and, amidst drinks and laughter, decided to ruin each others’ games by using all possible tricks of distraction. One time, things got a little out of hand and Tee crossed a line (or so I thought) and tried to kiss me. The reason that was strange was because we were just friends, he was married and everyone knew about my weird limbo-relationship with Alex.

In any case, when I backed off and asked Alex, “Tee just tried to kiss me. Should I be worried?” Alex said, “Well, you were trying to make him horny right?” And just like that, I became – not his friend, not his weird-relationship-girl, not the person who needed to be reassured but ‘the girl who asked for it.’

That really hurt. Over the next two weeks, I silently pulled back from him after letting him know that he had said something unforgivable. In the two months since, he hasn’t asked me even once why I’ve disappeared from his life or if there's something that can be done to fix things. He has asked our common friends a few times, to the extent that they’re trying to patch things up between us (like in junior high) – but never once has he attempted to breach the wall. And I’m pissed off about that. I’m pissed that he hasn’t had the balls to ask me a question the answer to which he may not like, but may save a friendship. I’m pissed that he picked passivity over actively fighting for me. And when I discovered that he had “unfriended” me on Facebook, I was pissed (and really amused) to discover that he was in fact a 12 year old girl living inside a 40 year old body.

(As for Tee, he and I had a grown-up conversation about that evening. Turns out that I was probably mistaken and that it was never his intention to strange me out and that he was sorry if he had. He even added me on Facebook. Yay.)

Then there was Aztec, the boy-turned-man with whom I've been friends for the better part of six years. During this time, I've gotten to know him as a sensitive person whose personality has been tempered by facing gruesome life realities at a very young age. Dealing with a chronic weight problem, watching his father die, living with a mom who's an extremely accomplished thespian have had an impact. After a recent brief and confused period of transition between us, where we both grappled with the "Could we be lovers?" question and came up empty, things have fortunately gone back to normal.

Except for one detail.

Every now and then, I find him to be unnecessarily sarcastic or patronizing to me. It's usually among others, even among friends, and often unprovoked. The other day, he went on about how people (some of them are my friends) are offering him unpaid jobs and how he goes for meetings and spends hours with them knowing that nothing is going to come of it. He was extremely irritable about it and I told him to just say no, and to certainly not factor in my friendships with these people into his decisions. His response: "Right, and you know everything right? Why don't you tell me what this is really about."

Erm... I thought I just did..

And amidst all the nonsense with friends, I have a showdown with Mom at the end of a week-long holiday. The crux of the issue? I recently discovered that she is a control freak who tries to control how I behave by emotionally blackmailing me with the possibility that she will have hurt feelings. Okay, I get it.. all mothers do that. It's a required lesson in the mom handbook. But the thing is - because I see this happening, I have developed a strange immunity to it. Earlier when she would burst into tears while yelling at me for some reason, my heart would break and I would be determined to do anything that prevents tears. Today, I see it as something she does whenever she is faced with a direct emotional confrontation. And boom! the hold of emotional blackmail hold gone.

But now, given that I'm bored by the tears and wait for her to finish (10 seconds) before I continue with my point, my mother's next strategy is to dismiss everything I'm saying because "You're being so immature!" or "you're clearly dealing with a lot of unresolved issues and taking it out on me" or "what is all this really about?"

And I feel like screaming, "Can't you hear me? I'm telling you what this is all about!" I'm exhausted.

I'm tired of dealing with grown-ups who think that being adult means they have to be right. I'm tired of armchair psychoanalysts who believe they've read / heard / seen enough to deal with the "real problem" and how my spoken words are merely a foil for deeper issues. And I'm particularly tired of friends taking those calls because it's disrespectful, patronizing and reveals more lack of trust in the fact that I could really be an adult who does know what she wants. They're better than that and it's disappointing when they don't act it.

But right now, I want a hug from someone who gets it... and isn't trying to repair me.

On This Last Night...

I want to spend this last post of this year doing something different.

I don’t want to think about how well or badly this year has gone, which of my dreams have been fulfilled, which ones have been modified, I don’t want to imagine what the next year will look like, and whether I’m on the right path…

I don’t want to do any of that.

Instead, I want to think about why it is that I’ve become the kind of person who’s very happy spending the annual countdown solo.

For many years, I’ve harbored the secret suspicion that I’m somewhat of a high-functioning sociopath. The truth is, more often than not, I prefer my own company. I don’t need make up to impress me, no cute but sexy dress, I don’t need to be the bright yet confused cutie who laughs easily, I don’t need to be the girl who fakes a connection or tap-dances around the fact that you’re crushing on her… I can just be the girl who likes her glass of wine, enjoys watching action films and isn’t always funny or profound.

Sitting here on my couch, watching the Mission Impossible series on mute, while sending new year messages to the maybe 12 people whom I do give a damn about, I’m shocked to discover that I don’t miss having them around right now. This night used to be so important for me; I was among the millions who believed that how I spent this evening would cast its glow on the rest of the year. And that is why I used to insist on spending it with friends, in a loud boisterous party with plenty of food and drink. Looking at my life I realize that my normal days are filled with the warm fuzzy feelings one gets from friendships, lived around tables littered with the remnants of delicious meals, interesting cocktails and fun gossip.

My year, it seems, is a lot more than what I end up doing on its last night.

I don’t feel the need to kiss someone at the stroke of 12. This year there is someone in the wings, waiting for even the tiniest hint of encouragement for him to take the plunge. I’m flattered because he’s genuinely nice, truly interesting and interested… But I’m not there yet, and probably won’t be (who knows?) but I don’t feel the need to sink my hook in deeper by making him think otherwise. I’m happy to know that he’s having a good time wherever he is and that I can sleep when I want to.

Will a real person to dance with be better than dancing solo to my own tune? Certainly. I think. It’s been so long since that happened that I’m no longer sure what the big deal is. Is the dream of ‘meeting new and interesting people’ and having the ‘start of a beautiful relationship’ still an attractive one? Oh yes. But is it supposed to happen only on a magical new year’s eve and no other night of the year? I don’t necessarily buy THAT anymore.

And one major lesson of this year? That it’s all really going to be okay. Families will grow and rebuild, broken hearts will mend, friends will increase, work will be enjoyed and bank balances will somehow always have enough to take care of travel and shopping needs.

What else can you possibly want?

You and Kids?? Really?

I am sick and tired of people telling me that they can't imagine me having a kid. Close family and vague acquaintances alike seem to agree on this one thing. My point is, you may think so but do you have to say it? Do I say things like "I can't imagine anyone wanting to sleep with you?" Aloud?

Sure, I have never shown much inclination towards being gooey about kids, or even straying too close to their baby-smelling nappies but that doesn’t mean that I can’t raise one. The weird part is, I get along fairly well with kids. I come up with outlandish games to play, I tell stories about Magic Frying Pans and I respect them as real human beings who probably have more going on in their heads than I have had in a while. I treat kids as people I can learn things of value from and that surely beats having kids because "Oooo! they're cho chweet!"

But let’s be honest - it’s hugely expensive to have kids. Even if you don’t take the cost of diapers into account, the cost to your physical and mental well-being is probably in the multi-figures. But that’s not the only thing. When it comes to kids, you have to come face-to-face with the possibility that you may NOT know it all, that you may be wrong about some of your fundamental beliefs, and that there’s an information sponge in your immediate environment who will absorb everything you say and do without any filters. And all of that may lead to the creation of a chauvinistic serial killer with no other skills apart from drawing crayon stick figures on walls.

That said, if there was a system of giving licenses to people who should be allowed to have kids, I would think I'd qualify. That’s because my kids - adopted and otherwise - will grow up to be independent thinking, self-sufficient individuals with a robust sense of the ridiculous. From an early age, they’ll understand that food comprises of things found in the refrigerator, that most things they see on television is a lie and without words like ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’, nothing gets done including the laundry.

But they'll also know how to take the temperature of the room, how to laugh easily and they'll discover that the answer to the question "why?" isn't always "because I said so” and that they could see variations like “Go, look it up” or even “why not?” They may have a terrible sense of fashion and will probably develop a taste for coffee early in their life and quite likely have a room that looks like a pig sty, but they'll also be able to appreciate the whimsy of Pollock as well as the social commentary of Banksy, be able to understand what Irony means and not be ashamed of the pleasure their bodies give them.

I won't be the "cool" parent because I have no intention of winning them over to "my side". But I'll be an awesome parent because apart from giving them continuous lessons in what Respect and Integrity mean, I'll be more interested in what they're learning than if they washed their hands. They will learn to think about what they want, why they want it and ask for it fearlessly. They will appreciate that the rejection of their demand isn't a rejection of their self.

There will be boundaries - what time they get home, whom they go out with, if there's any kind of alcohol consumption, etc - but it'll be to watch them struggle against their chains to fire up their latent spark, the spark that will allow them to burn through any obstacles they face later in life.

And among the books, music and laughter there will be hugging and kisses and lots of affection. Because that kid will be mine and no matter what it does, it'll be hard not to love watching it grow up, make mistakes and struggle to find a way to laugh about them.

It’s true that I don’t particularly want to be a parent. I’m also smart enough to know that it’s a two-person job. And those are just some of the reasons why I'd vote for me being a good one for it. Everyone else can go screw themselves.