A match made in France?

In my first year of college, I went on a traveling Janterm, where we spent two weeks studying French in Cannes, and doing tours to the nearby towns and famous spots, and one week in Paris, exploring as we wished.  During the first two weeks, while a group of us were on a city bus, I noticed a French kid about our age.  He was sitting in a seat, on the left side of the bus, somewhat near the front, listening to music with headphones on.  I was curious what music he had playing.  I also thought he was cute.  Therefore, I wanted to talk to him.  The easiest thing for me to say to him was to ask him to what music he was listening.  I fought constantly with the insides of my brain and the fluttering of my stomach, and at last, I believe, he got off the bus.  Or else, we got off the bus.  I really don’t remember. However, I remember making eye contact with him at least once, if not a few times while we were all riding  the bus.

Well, I was incredibly disappointed that I had not spoken with the boy, though not entirely surprised at myself – even today, I have to psych myself up for odd situations like that.  However, I usually succeed in making the interaction nowadays, whereas at the time, I did not.

But this tale does not end sadly.  At least, not yet.

I believe that it was that same night, or perhaps the following – but I really think it was that same night – that a group of us decided to go to a nightclub in the town.  Some of the older guys who were working at the dormitory where we were all studying offered to take us to some cool bar and club.  We all happily agreed.  Well, some of the girls and guys and I agreed, but not everyone.

So, a small band of foreigners temporary living in Cannes so they could study French headed to a nice bar for a while, and then to a dance club later on that night.  On the way, I learned that a Romanian speaker can understand other romance languages rather easily.  (Fun Fact: This was my first interaction with someone being able to understand another language that is similar to his/her own, without necessarily being able to speak that language.  Of course, I can now do that with various languages myself, but it was a fun start to the concept for me.)

The bar was fun and interesting, and we didn’t have to check our coats, but we did have to buy drinks to compensate for having not checked our coats, and we had to deal with a huge pile of coats, which we were somewhat hiding in the corner.  However, I need not say much more about the bar.  Rather, anything more.  The club is the important one, you see. 

First off, the club was huge and, really, quite an awesome dance club.  I was amazed at the environment, as well as the clientele.  People danced by themselves or with a friend or with friends, and it didn’t matter which they did.  There were no circles forming awkwardly, or anything like that.  People weren’t doing official or formal dances of any kind, though.  They were just free dancing, having a wonderful time, doing their own things to the music.  I happily joined in in this type of merriment, while being amazed that on one side of me could be a 17-year-old, and on the other side of me could be a 40-year-old – no one cared how old anyone else was.

In short, I loved the club, and I loved dancing in it.

And, while I enjoyed dancing in it, I saw a familiar head.  When he turned and saw me, we looked in each other’s eyes, and there was this sort of understanding.  We both knew that we had seen each other that day.  We both knew that we had not talked to one another.  And it felt as though we both knew that I at least had wanted to talk to him.  This time, however, it seemed quite clear that he wanted to talk to me, as well.  Shortly after seeing one another, he was dancing in front of me, with me.  We held hands as we danced with one another, and we danced without holding hands, too.  

Even though I could manage French rather well at that time, he never got to find out this fact, because he addressed me in English.  It was somewhat iffy English, but adorable, and I loved that he was trying and that he knew we had all been speaking English on the bus.  He had been listening to music, of course, but he clearly had been paying enough attention to us nonetheless.

I don’t remember how long we danced or how we started dancing with one another, but I remember that it was absolutely wonderful.  At some point later in the evening, a couple of the girls who were with me told me I needed to give him a way to contact me.  I didn’t have a phone, of course, but one of the girls had just gotten one that day, because she was staying for the whole semester.  So, we wrote my full name and her phone number on a piece of paper.  In the French conjugation of the verb to want, I couldn’t remember if the you form ended in an or a t.  So, instead of saying, “If you want,” I wrote, “If one wants,” which, in French, can also be read as, “If we want.”  (Si on veut.)

I handed him the paper and I said goodbye and rushed out with my friends.  I don’t even remember what I said to him, or if I even said anything to him as I gave him the paper.  I just know that I gave it to him.

I spent several hours throughout the following months searching a particular page on Facebook.  It was the page for the club where we had been dancing.  I was scouring the faces and names of all the people who had liked the page, looking for this guy.  I used to know his first name.  I honestly couldn’t tell you what it was now, though.  I do remember his eyes, though… those gray-blue, yet bright eyes.  But I searched long and hard for his Facebook, to no avail.

He never called.

Or, at least, if he did, it was after I had left, and my friend with the phone never told me.

I am reminded of all of this, because today, for the second time in my life, I gave a piece of paper with my name and contact info on it to a guy.  (My full name and LINE ID, to be exact.)  He has already contacted me.

Post-a-day 2017

Dating Mr. Perfect, or Being Perfect?

Today, I met someone who has lived so far what I consider to be an awesome life – one which I quite envy.  While the specific locations were different than my own desired locations, the situations all beautifully aligned with a growing-up that I at least want for my own children, since I didn’t have it for myself.

In an odd way, I was grateful to find that this person had a girlfriend, and so was unavailable for consideration.  Why is that, exactly? Well, a good chunk is the usual part of just wanting to be friends with an awesome person, without the hassle of dating potential getting in the way at any point, as is usual when meeting awesome guys. (for me, anyway)  However, upon further inquiry, I discovered within myself something surprising.  I wouldn’t want to date him, because he is so awesome.

See, as I was thinking about all of these things he has done and all of the accomplishments he has (and how there are likely plenty more of which I have currently heard nothing), I noticed that, if he were available, I wouldn’t actually want to date him.  With all of his awesome background and talents and such, I would feel so below him in a daring situation, so to speak.  As friends, I’m okay with his awesomeness.  But not in dating.

What’s with that, huh?

I have begun to see that, perhaps – just perhaps – I not only do not want to date someone superior to me, but I want to date someone to whom I feel superior.  If I were to date someone who had done all the awesome things I have done in my life, it would take away a huge portion of my pride from my uniqueness of experiences and talents.  Does that mean, then, that I am actually looking for someone to whom I look down, despite my conviction that I want to be able to respect my partner in a somewhat-looking-up-to sort of way?

This then leads me to a question of whether this 1) is something I actually want for my future partner, and 2) is playing a role in my having been unable to find someone.

I feel almost as if a whole section of my perspective and being has just been shattered, and sh**’s about to get real, you know?  It is time for some true and genuine reflection on an area of myself I never even understood to exist.  Yockers, this’ll be interesting, for sure!
Post-a-day 2017

A taste of my own medicine

At a beach in Okinawa one Sunday morning, I noticed a solo western culture guy arrive with a look of curiosity and interest in the various groups of people already at the beach.

A short while later, as I was playing down at the water’s edge with some of the guys (that is, some of the friends with whom I was at the beach), I noticed the same solo guy attempting to be casual quite near to us, though, in my eyes, totally trying to make contact with us somehow.

“You can talk to us,” I said, smiling.

“Huh?”

I repeated, we chuckled, and I asked his name.  I gave him my own first name, and brought him to the guys, sharing with them the fact that he, too, was Canadian (which I am not, but most of the guys are).

At the end of the beach hangout, I mostly was the only one who talked much with this guy, but I knew he was vacationing solo for a month+, and it was clear that the communication and interaction were appreciated on his end.  So, I learned a little bit about his educational background and aspirations, and told him how we were all in the JET Programme in the same prefecture as one another, and that I lived near Tokyo.  Beyond that, I told him almost nothing of myself.  Some impressions of living and working in Japan, yes, but no facts or figures about me and my life.

When we said our goodbyes, I wished him well on his travels and for his future.  We exchanged no contact information.

A few hours later, when I diddled with my Facebook, I saw that I had a friend request from him.

Wowzer.

Kind of freaky, right?  I checked with my group, and none of them had talked to him when I hadn’t been present, and none of them was friends with him on Facebook.

I was amazed at the feat.  Though, I suppose I could have been weirded out, it was only flattering to me, really.  How many times have I gone through what has sometimes been hours of researching, just to find someone (usually a guy) online?  People regularly tell me that I am a fabulous stalker (and that I fortunately use it for good, rather than evil), I am so good at it.  I meet a guy in a bar, having learned only his first name, and I can find him online, supposing he has some kind of Internet presence.  But that is also part of why I am so careful about what I share about myself with people I don’t know – so they don’t easily find me online , if I don’t want them to find me.

However, my skills of stalking and research led me quite quickly to a way this guy could have found me.  I won’t give away all my secrets, but it has to do with photos allowing you to tag locations on various social networks – I think he found me because of the photo I took at the beach, and then put online.  Clever, clever boy.  Or perhaps he was just lucky.  I still haven’t asked.  😛

But, I must say, it was, albeit a bit weird and freaky, quite exciting having a taste of my own medicine used on me – the stalker is stalked!  Sort of, anyway.  😛
Post-a-day 2017

The Fear of Openness and Intimacy

It is often terrifying to be open with people regarding very intimate things.  Usually, though, the result of the openness is absolutely wonderful, often beyond expectations.

Tonight, after months of nervous waiting and somewhat avoidance, I finally asked a friend about something that had been driving me absolutely crazy, – it even played a decent role in my depression – and the resulting conversation was beautiful.  Rather than the worst happening, and losing the foundations on which our friendship stood, as I had somehow feared, it feels now as though we are closer than ever, and ready for most any terrain (as opposed to just being on steady ground, where any change in the land would send everything rocking to a tumble and crumble).  And, at long last, I am free of that dragging, straining haul of thoughts that had hassled me for so long.  I have a headache, and I feel like I might have a fever, and yet I am in an easy happiness as I am going to bed right now.  Life is sometimes terrifying, and that’s okay.  Sometimes it just makes the next bit even better for the struggle it took to arrive there.  So is tonight. 🙂
Post-a-day 2017