Wednesday, 27 June 2018

Who wants to be Carrie Bradshaw?

Let me break down the last few months for you: First up, the only television shows I've been consuming are Love Island Australia (If you're from Australia and haven't seen an episode you're probably lying.  Also, Erin is my favourite) and Sex and the City.  And then on top of that, the last eight weeks of my life have been spent learning about conception and babies.  Do you see a common theme here?  Basically, all I've really been conditioned to be thinking about, I guess, are love and sex and boys.

But to be honest, this has got me thinking, when haven't I been obsessing over some boy?  Since I was 15, I've always spent my moments of mental down time daydreaming about someone.  I've always let them be what I was most excited for in my week, or month, or whenever I would next see them.  That's not to say it was constant unhealthy obsessive crushes.  In fact, it was more like 2-3-5 crushes all at the same time.  It was just constant flirtation with the idea of what could be.  What my break down is, is perhaps I was bored and had nothing better to think about than boys.  Maybe that's just a me thing, or maybe it's not.

Watching Sex and the City I hear Carrie Bradshaw and her friends talk about their boyfriends all the time.  They're always thinking about them, having their lives revolve around them.  I even remember in one episode Carrie saying to Mr. Big, "You're all I think about.  Everyday."  I mean, come on girls, surely there's more to life than finding a boyfriend.  But then, these women are all relatively successfully living their dream.  Carrie's a glamorous writer who goes to glamorous parties all the time.  Miranda's a successful lawyer in the most traditional sense.  Yet both women still obsess over their loneliness.  Are all women like this?

And it's not as simple as curing your loneliness by finding a boyfriend.  We can't just find a boyfriend.  We have to overanalyse, especially at 18.  Those successful either found love on Tinder or were "tuning" for months and months.  You think people are dating, but instead they describe it as "getting there", of which I do approve.  But "getting there" or even before "getting there", there are a million thoughts running through your head, and through your mouth over brunch with a girlfriend, about whether he's right.

Do I actually like him or do I like the attention?

Is it lust or is it love?

Do I see myself marrying him one day or is it just for fun?  Because if it's just for fun, I shouldn't be wasting my time.

Is he too wholesome?

Do I want to hoe around instead?  I mean, this is the age for it.

Never put all your eggs in one basket, unless you're dating him.

Dating him would mean foregoing the attention of other boys.

Being single is just part of my identity, though.

Am I too young to be considerate of someone else?

In our final lecture of the semester, we learnt that while boys may think with their *****, girls are turned on with love and affection.  Girls inherently, scientifically, want a boy who will kiss them on the forehead, who will pull them in close while walking on the sidewalk, who will offer their jacket or buy them flowers, just because they care.  Scientifically, girls just want a boy who actually cares.  So what does this mean, socially?  Does this mean that girls feel lonelier than boys when single?  Does this mean that girls care more?  Does this mean that while boys may enjoy that sneaky kiss in the club, girls, in actuality, do not enjoy it at all, and are potentially only enjoying it as a social construct?  So maybe girls are thinking about boyfriends more than boys are thinking about girlfriends, which isn't such a good arrangement if you ask me.

But here I am, always having been seen as the future "forever alone career woman", whether by myself or my Facebook meme tagging friends.  When you're feeling independent (or defensive) there's something empowering about saying you're work focused, that you don't have time for relationships or children or family (even though of course I'd love to have this white picket fence dream become a reality.  This is why that lecture about your eggs drying out at 35 scared me, and every other girl in the room, so much).  Throughout the final years of high school, whether out of fear or self-preservation, my motto was always "cute boys will distract you from that 99 final mark".  And while I don't actually want to be the "forever alone career woman", it'd be nice to stop thinking about boys all the time.  They really are distracting.

So, no.  I don't know about you, but I don't want to be Carrie Bradshaw.  There's something pathetic about thinking about boys all the time, and I firmly believe that the right person will hang out with you and care enough to kiss you on the forehead and pull you close just because he wants to.  But then again, I'm 18 and Carrie's hitting the egg freezing 35.  I have time.


ALSO SIDE NOTE: I changed my blog name back.  I think I have a soft spot for nostalgia and continuing this blog exactly as was when I made it at 15.

Saturday, 2 June 2018

Thoughts: It's been a while, but let's talk about the past

Last night I said I was a passive agreer.  I was just telling some anecdotal story I'd told a million times that day, about how some guy took a second cookie and the girl next to me was like "oh my gosh, he took a second cookie?  How rude." and I was like "Yeah, gosh, how rude." - you know, passively agreeing.  And then like 20 seconds later I took a second cookie and this girl looked at me like "what the fuck."  Anyway, so I had said I was a passive agreer, and then this girl who had just walked into my room said, "to be honest, I think you're passive everything."  She was so right.

Hence, the renaming of this blog.
I hope you can all still find it :) or not :)

So, the last time I posted was September last year, apparently.  Back then I hadn't experienced anything.  But skip forward a few months and we reach December 31st: the last time I wrote.  Typing those letters b l o g g e r into google for the first time in ages, I stumbled across a little draft I never knew I never finished:

I'm at a brown coffee table painting my nails silver for the new year, probably running late for work, wondering why I'm writing on the blog I haven't set eyes on in 3 months.  I thought I'd said an unplanned goodbye already, but the new year has always been the most thoughtful time of year for me, and for the last three new years, I've done my reflecting here.  Perhaps this blog is in the cards for 2018 after all.

Looking back on 2017, it was a lot.  In all my medicine interviews I kept getting asked the question "What are you most proud of from the last two years?" and while I gave them all some lame answer about how I was proud of my academic achievements, which they so did not want to hear, in reality, I think my answer is "the person I have become".  Having finished school, being so comfortable with the network of people I've built around me, being confident, feeling pretty, knowing what I want, feeling ready for so much more... that's how I'm ending 2017.

And tonight I will not be getting drunk, or making out with strangers on the street at midnight.  Instead I will be in a pretty white restaurant with family and friends, and we'll eat, maybe go outside and dance with the strangers on the street, and at exactly midnight we will watch the fireworks.  I love that exact moment -- what you were doing at midnight.  Although, now that I'm writing this, I'm not sure why it's so significant.  Perhaps it's supposed to be that changeover moment where you transition into that person you want to be, who from that moment on will not be eating chocolate and will instead go to the gym.  Or perhaps it's a moment of celebration, saying goodbye and thank you to the year that has just passed.  I like the former, personally.

And now we're here: 2018.  It's a Saturday night and for some reason, the moment I closed my embryology notes, the people yelling outside my dorm window decided to shut up.  Oh well.  Too late.  I'm here now.  I'm here and I'm thinking about home -- not Sydney home (and Sydney is now home), but my other home.

The other home is a figment of my imagination now.  It's still there, standing, with my mum and my dad and my sister.  The snapchat maps still show me who's at the mall, and who's at home, and who's at the gym.  But, there's one tiny difference this weekend.  On that map is a boy from my classes, visiting those malls and a 10 minute drive away from my friends.  It's wrong.  It's weird.  It's a reminder that things are not the same and never will be.  Seeing him there, out of place, makes me homesick.  I think about what it would be like if I were there.  Well, I wouldn't be running late for work, and I don't even know where my nail polish is kept now.  My friends are now all doing different things.  I can't even picture their lives, even when they tell me all about it.  That home doesn't exist anymore.

Today, for the first time since I was simultaneously hungover and in the middle of a fever, I spent the whole day in my room.  The plan was to study, like old times, at my desk, in my room, alone.  This time though, I felt irrationally lonely.  It's all these small things that used to be so normal for me, that take me back to the night before I left, when I cried and cried and I didn't know why, because I should've been so excited for the big future I'd always dreamed of only a day away.  And it really is like living a dream, but sometimes I need to sit here and mourn what I don't have anymore.

I'm low-key in love with my sadness.