On Texting and the Value of Deadlines

“No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone.” 
-Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness


I think I've figured out why a plethora of these entries always seem to have a sad or angry undertone. For the past few days I've had a couple of things to write about, but I kept pushing the actual business of writing back. Until today, that is, and only because some incident left me in a foul mood. As a result, the good or interesting things that happened to me in the past week won't be conveyed in such a way--instead, it will likely come across as if life in general has been crappy in the past two weeks. Which simply isn't the case. Perhaps I should give myself deadlines, but then again, that would compromise the therapeutic value writing has for me. 

So, what's new? Work has been interesting, and please try to move away from the negative connotation that word so often holds. 90 percent of what I do usually involves football (the European variant), and the past tweek or so has been different, hence interesting. I've written on cricket, golf, cycling, sepak takraw (really), wushu (again, really), rugby sevens, fantasy football, Philippines basketball, horse racing, and of course footy. As difficult as it can be to balance all those things, it's nice to broaden your horizons in such a way. So yeah, interesting is good. I like it.

Last week's entry followed me for a couple of days, as apparently the entire world suddenly decided to read it. I half expected my father to comment on my "massive revelation" of not having had intercourse for a year (he did), and perhaps a friend or two. I did not anticipate my parents' friends or complete random strangers on the internet to not just read it, but actually address me on it. Sex sells, as they say. Without resorting to details or language inappropriate for these pages, this past week has been interesting on that level as well. Good lord, I do appear to be fond of that word today.

One of my best friends was accepted into an American university this week, and I am proud to say I helped out in my own little way. Obviously, the man was accepted on his merit, and my contributions were tiny and restricted to translating and streamlining his letter of motivation. Wannes, I'm proud of you buddy. Give them hell, and I'll see you somewhere on the Eastern seaboard in a couple of months.Hopefully I'll see you before that, but you catch my drift.

I'm checking out a couple of flats tomorrow (although not the flat I wanted, but more on that later), but to be honest, I'm really not looking forward to it. I loved the idea of getting a place with a friend of mine, but that plan unfortunately fell through in a hurry. It was mostly my fault--due to work, I scarcely had the time to aid in the search, and when we found a place that was suitable and available, I didn't like it enough to say 'yes.' It was a selfish decision--I want my next home to be perfect enough for me to call it a home, and that flat simply wasn't it. We could have lived there, and it probably would have been great. At the same time, I realise I need my own space, and perhaps this will all be for the best.

Now, onto the crappy stuff and the reason I picked today, out of all days, to sit down behind my desk and start typing. The flat I was supposed to check out was cosy, modern, spacious, remarkably affordable (my budget is relativey large, but still) and in a prime location. I called up the landlady and set an appointment, and we agreed we'd contact each other on Tuesday to confirm said appointment (tomorrow). After several phone calls and voice mails, I finally got word from the nice lady with the message she was in Italy and wouldn't be back until Friday. 

Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't bother me all that much. These were not normal circumstances, however. You see: Two weeks ago I met this nice, attractive young lady with a great sense of humour who told me she would text me and then proceeded not to (quick update on that front: After not speaking to her for days I let my common decency get the better of me and wished her a happy birthday. She replied to every single person doing that in person, except for me. I'm assuming she may have read my blog). 

The same thing happened to me on four different occasions in the past week. Now, over the course of the past 25 years or so, I've come to accept the fact that people have normal lives with social and professional obligations, and as a result, their schedules may not always suit mine (it took me some time. Part of me still believes I'm the lead character in The Truman Show). Armed with this knowledge, I find it easy to deal with people cancelling on plans or shooting down certain proposals. 

What I have difficulty with, however, is people telling me they'll call or text and then not actually call or text. It's frustrating from a practical perspective, as it greatly hinders me in my attempts to balance a schedule which is already fairly tight. More importantly, and this may just be a minor personality flaw of mine, but I take it as an enormous insult. As if somehow I leave such a fleeting impression the implied promise you will contact me is forgotten in an instance. And frankly, I'm sick and tired of running after people who apparently care so little for me they can't be bothered to remember we were in the middle of making plans.

If all of this sounds like quite the overreaction, I'm sorry. It's a personal thing--I just really don't do well with people telling me they'll do something and proceeding not to do it. I'm sure a therapist would trace this back to my parents making me promises and not keeping them in the past, and he'd be full of it--all parents do so. Promises that go unkept are the very hallmark of our society. 

God, all of this is making it sound like I'm extremely ticked-off at a handful of people--I'm not. Seriously. Except for the landlady. That flat really was quite special. How hard can it be to just let someone know you'll be in Italy? It's common ******* decency. All of this is making it really hard not to just pack up my bags and go back to London. The fact I still don't have a place to live means I could theoretically do it, and like a splinter, the thought keeps creeping further and further into my brain. I have two consecutive days off in October, and I'm thinking of just booking a ticket and taking a two-day trip to the Big Smoke, just to get away from it all for a few hours and see the city again. The fact our local radio station keeps playing West End Girls three times per day isn't helping, either.

So, what else is new? I've finally finished season 8 of Dexter, and my friends were right: That is one unsatisfying finale. Today happens to mark the 10-year anniversary of the pilot episode of LOST, which means I may have to do another run. I also finally finished Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and it was well worth the read. 

Right, that's it for now. Have a good one guys. 


Song of the Day: Childish Gambino - Zealots of Stockholm
(My MP3 player is kind of messed up, and for some reason, this is always the second song of my playlists. So, walking down the streets of the West End, this song always popped up. Try to listen to the whole thing).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rdQSP7Dhck

On Abstinence and the Promise of True Love

“Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart.” 

“Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.” 

-Charles Dickens

Hey guys,

Today's blogpost is going to get weird. I'm just going to come out and say it, before I get started. I didn't intend to write down what I'm about to tell you, but in light of recent events, I might as well. I promise it'll make some sense in the end (I suppose). It's a little embarrassing, but those usually make for the best stories. Just bear with me.

I earned my 12th Panda Point today. Yes, you read that right—I've officially gone one whole year without sex.  For those of you who don't know what Panda Points are: It's an incredibly juvenile system I learned about back when I was still a surf coach. You get one point for every month you go without doing the no-pants dance (one week if you're in college) and once you hit 12 points, you have to throw a Panda-party. Which means your friends invite a bunch of attractive, willing women and you dress up as a panda—everyone at the party knows you're "it," guaranteeing your dry spell comes to an end that night. Please, for the love of God, don't throw me a Panda-party.

This is officially the longest I've ever gone without sex since I lost my virginity. It's not that I used to be a massive playboy (to my knowledge, I've never slept with more than one girl in the span of a week), but let's just say that I got around. I was a surfcoach, and a bit of a celebrity. In general, it was easy.

What started as something that just sort of happened turned into a conscious choice not to have sex for a year after a couple of months (I think about a month into my London adventure). It just felt right, after everything that had happened in the past two years. I have a tendency to fall in love far too quickly, only to realise I had it all wrong. One year of no hanky-panky made sense. It helped that I hardly dated, either in London or Belgium, and in total, I only had to decline specific requests for fornication on two occasions (you may remember the Tinder-incident). Sure, I still joked about sex and one-night stands constantly (I think I asked Elise to set me up with her hot friend about a million times), but I actually took it pretty serious near the end. I think on some level I figured that after an entire year, I'd actually "save myself" for something special, as ridiculous and juvenile as that may sound. I mean, there were times I would have jumped just about anyone. But now, 12 months later, I actually feel great. I'm glad I decided on this celibacy-thing.

Now, why am I telling you all of this? I'm sure you see where this is going. Yes, I met someone. Sort of. I'm not going to go into details regarding who she is or what happened. All I'll say is that for a very short time, she was able to brighten my day like no one has for a long time. In light of what you just read in the paragraphs above, that was kind of a big deal for me. Not on a sexual level—I just hadn't been this intrigued by a woman in a long time.

In the past year, I went on one real, actual date with a real, actual woman. And she was really great and really awesome, and then she stopped being all of that and became a distant b*tch for no reason. Like, literally. She went to bed texting me to ask whether I wanted to see her again soon, and then she woke up and gave me the whole "I seriously couldn't care less what happens to you-"treatment women appear to be so fond of. Ladies, in the future: Guys like to know what happened or what they did wrong. If you don't like us, tell us. Seriously. We can take it. And if we f*cked up in any way, we'd appreciate the opportunity to learn from our mistakes. We're just as lost and insecure as you are.

But I digress.

I've spent the past two weeks desperately trying to convince myself I didn't make a horrible mistake leaving London. Life goes on for all of us. I work, talk to my friends and am generally a productive member of society. But if I'm being completely honest, I'm not fine. At all. Most of the time I'm too busy with work and generally surviving to worry about it, but once the lights go out and I try to get some sleep, I realise I'm seriously not okay. We all feel like this sometimes—I'm not worried. This is not a cry for help, in any way. I knew the whole process of coming home and readapting was going to be hard, and I was right. It is hard, and there are days where I have to stop myself from booking the first ticket back to London and telling all of you to go f*ck yourself (I'm very sorry for typing that). I'm not going to—I made my choice, for better or for worse. And most of the time I'm glad I did.

And then I met this girl, and for a brief time, everything made sense. She was funny and witty and mad as a balloon, to quote Douglas Adams, and as far as physical appearances go... Well, no. I'm not going to go into that. That'd be rude. She was cute, let's leave it at that. Use your imagination.

Nothing happened. It was all extremely early and very casual, but it was fun. And because I hadn't had fun like that in such a long time, I did what I always do, and what I hadn't done in years—I grew way too fond of this girl way too soon. And what happened next is, sadly, all too predictable.

She asked whether she could see me this week (several times, very keenly), set a date, wished me good night and never texted me back. The days went by without a response (though she had time to engage in other virtual activities, confirming she had in fact read my messages and nothing terrible had happened that would warrant complete and utter silence) and that was that. I don't know what it is—maybe women google me and find a list of reasons to get as far away from me as possible. I don't know.

I'm over it. Today was a sh*t day I mainly spent glancing at my phone and cruising my Facebook page, but it passed and I'm over it. It's okay. She was really cool and really pretty and that's it. This won't keep me up at night for the rest of the week, I don't feel the inclination to listen to sappy music and wonder "WHY DOESN'T SHE LOVE ME??" All of this, this entire entry isn't about her. Because there are thousands of girls just like her out there. I've felt this way before, I've felt way, way worse and I'll probably feel like this again. It's something we all go through, and in this case, because it was literally the briefest of things, it hardly registered. No, this isn't about her. It's about me.

I love the idea that after everything that's happened, it's still possible for me to come across someone who can sweep me off my feet in the shortest amount of time, and make me forget that I really, really hate the situation I'm in. I've always known that to be the case—according to all of those Hollywood films and fairy tales, there's plenty of fish in the sea and we each find our happiness, sooner or later. I'm a romantic and a pessimist. I want to believe in love and happiness, but I've convinced myself it's not for me anymore. The latter part simply isn't true—nothing is final, except death and late-stage syphilis. If there was ever a time for me to believe I'll be happy with someone again, it's today. If only they'll stop running away. I need to google myself.

So let me take this opportunity to address this woman, knowing she will never read these words (because I made the mistake of making my opinion known to someone who was not waiting to hear it post-whateverthef*ckwentdown before, and it only leads to pain and misery, for all parties involved). If you're lacking in the y-chromosome department, feel free to pretend like these words, in some variation and by me or any of my fellow men, were once directed at you, without you ever knowing it:

"I'm sure you have your reasons for deciding against seeing me, and that's fine. As much as I would love to know why you're not talking to me anymore, you don't owe me anything. It's the year 2014—a woman shouldn't have to explain why she doesn't like a guy, or isn't into a guy. She just isn't. And that's okay. I wish you the very best, because I know you and I will never speak to each other again. Not because I'm bitter or angry, but because that's how the world works. So please, whatever happens next—be happy, and find whatever it is you're looking for.

But you're missing out. I'm a really nice guy, trying to find his way in a world that is cold and heartless, and I'm having trouble doing it on my own. I don't need someone who will carry my luggage for me—all I need is someone who will put her hand on my shoulder and tell me it's not that heavy. I'm funny, smart, reasonably good-looking and the sweetest boy you'll ever meet. And there is nothing I want more than to make you happy, and help you with your luggage. I don't care if there's plenty—I'll carry it for you, because I've gotten used to it by now.

Sure, I have my defects. We all do. I'm short, neurotic, far too emotional and as f*cked up a person as you'll ever meet, probably. I'll go crazy from time to time and I live in a perpetual fear of the most ridiculous things. I can't make up my mind and I always wonder whether I've made the right choices. There will be days where you can't stand me.

But I'm worth it, because I promise I will love you more than any man ever will. I know I can't make that promise, because I don't know these other men, but I'm still going to make it. I'm not waiting for love to find me—believe me, if you knew me at all, you'd know it's more or less the opposite. But I have so much love to give. I have seen the world and all its beauty, and to this day, I've yet to see something more beautiful than the eyes of a woman who is deeply and madly in love with me. I'm only 25 years old, but I've already lived a lifetime. Somewhere along the way I got lost, and I need your help before it's too late. Because I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on. I need your help, but I swear it'll be worth your while. Because if you help me find my way again, I know I'll make you happier than any man ever could.

You're walking away now, and that's fine. You've made your choice, and you chose poorly. You're making a mistake. You made the wrong choice."

Boy, that got real. I told you this was going to be a weird entry.

This is usually the part where I tell you about the Song of the Day, but as luck would have it, I've really gotten into this one song this week and it happens to be a really depressing post-break-up anthem. I want to stress this has nothing to do with my current mood (very foul today, but I'll be good tomorrow) and I got into this song before I even met her. So, I'm going to leave you with two songs this week, just to balance things out. 

Song 1: A Great Big World - Say Something (the original version, which I think is way better than the one they did with Christina Aguilera): 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVgixOjGhVU

Song 2: Alvvays - Archie, Marry Me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGRhaFx1Zpw

On Frustrations and First World Problems

“We shall now seek that which we shall not find” 
-Thomas Malory


Hey guys,

It's been a frustrating two weeks since I last wrote you, and I don't expect this to be a particularly long entry. I've been putting off writing for the simple reason I have little to say, though you shouldn't take that as something terrible or sad. It's just been a dull two weeks :)

The appartement-hunt is going dreadful. We never heard back from the landlady of the first place (I called at least five times. She never once picked up the phone or answered any of my texts. Which I find quite rude) and checked out a new place a few days ago, but I'm not feeling it. I'm not just looking for a place to stay, but a place I can call home for the foreseeable future. I have no intention of committing to a three-year contract unless I'm sure I've found the place where I want to start adulthood. We'll just see how it plays out.

While that's going on, I can't help but think of how I had a decent place in London. I really miss walking the streets of the city, and getting lost in the sheer magnitude of it all. Belgium is so goddamn small. I'm hoping to be back at some point in October, maybe for a couple of days. Just to get a feel of the place, and see some old friends again, you know?

God, I'm making it sound as if I'm depressed or something. I'm not--I just had a couple of rough days. It happens.

It doesn't help that I missed arguably the best two weeks of surf in Belgium's history. While I was working and looking for a place to live, friends were having the time off their lives as the North Sea delivered days upon days of incredible surf. Don't get me wrong, I love my job. But I haven't surfed in such a long time, and with the summer now officially over, this is the first time I didn't head down to the Basque Country and live that perfect beachboy-life since I graduated high school. 

I loved being a surf coach, and I loved surfing. I made so many great friends on the road, but with surfing really the only thing that connected us, it's weird not hearing from them for such a long time. My boards have been sitting idly in my garage, waiting for me to handle them once more. You just can't explain what it's like, paddling out amidst the chaos and sheer violence of Mother Nature and finding peace in the most unlikely of places. I haven't felt that peaceful in a long time. 

My dad got back from holiday and brought me a watch (I'd asked for one), a nice Fauxlex that broke down within hours of me first putting it on. Now, I want to specify this is the first watch I've ever broken in my life (this is an inside joke) and it was in no way my fault: I didn't touch anything, the button you use to change the time just suddenly wasn't there anymore. It's a shame, though. As fake as it was, it was a really nice watch (the Daytona, in case you were interested. This one, with a brown leather strap).

On to the good news--football is back! Oregon are playing Michigan State this weekend and the NFL started on Thursday, so this weekend is going to be awesome. I've also only got two days of recapping the World Equestrian Games left, and I couldn't be happier that event is only held every four years. I've found a lead on the pair of shoes I've been eyeing for this winter (Matt Smith's boots of his first season playing the Doctor, because they have massive heels and I'll look taller) and I have some free time coming up later this month, giving me a chance to see some old friends again.

Not every entry in this blog needs to have some major life lesson, or a relevation I came to in a drunken haze. Life isn't the third season of One Tree Hill. On many levels, all of the things we go through are roughly the same, and the more you converse about these topics with people, the more you come to the realisation we're not so different. But if you're looking for some deeper meaning (and 11 minutes of pure comedy), allow Tim Minchin to share some wisdom with you (because he's Tim f*cking Minchin, that's why):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoEezZD71sc

And if you want to read the funiest thing I read today, here's the White House's response to a petition that called on the American government to build a Death Star (yes, they actually went there): 
https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/response/isnt-petition-response-youre-looking

As for me, I'll just leave you with the Song of the Day: Gorillaz - Feel Good Inc (which is a ******* amazing track that I hadn't listened to in ages):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pls_luhVdAw