Hope Dies Last

A year ago today, in this very minute, I was getting ready to go on this date.

It was –and still is– the best first date of my entire life.

Sometimes, I cannot reconcile the two men; the man who was on that date with me, and the man who eventually broke up with me. How could they be the same person? Sometimes, I cannot reconcile the two points; how could a beginning with that much potential have such a pedestrian ending?

But, today, is not the day to re-question all of that. The answers are as unknowable to me as the date of my next best date.

All I can do today is read back on that day and take comfort in the knowledge that a year ago last week I had no inkling that my life was about to change. I didn’t know that on that next Tuesday, my hair would be straight and my heart would be skewed to happy. I couldn’t imagine that I was about to experience the elusiveness of a reciprocated crush.

It’s kind of like the way I feel now, today, this very minute: I have no idea what will happen tomorrow.

And I like it.

I read all your comments and I read all your emails and most of the time they make me smile so broadly that all you would see, if you could see, is gum and teeth. My real, spontaneous smile is dorky. But sometimes, your comments and your emails, make me sad. Because you, and you and you relate to some of the more painful seconds of my life.I hate that.

No matter our combined experiences, I grip onto hope because I have no other choice.  Hope has saved me from becoming stone hard, and cynical.  Sometimes, hope has tortured me and keeps me back; thinking of situations long past their expiration date. Very rarely, hope eludes me. And when it does, when I can no longer see or hear or feel hope, when I am no longer able to find inspiration, I read some words that a friend once penned with me in mind:

Hope fades.

It seeps through every crack until it doesn’t have enough to glow, and I know
that you’re tired. I see the blinds come over your eyes when you’re through with
looking out for that night-light you can keep in your pocket all the time.
Don’t put down that red lip-stick, don’t you dare. You need to draw
eyes to your lips because that is where people see your sunrising soul-
through your wise words and quirky quips,
the quick curve of your smile.

Hope fades, but it never dies.
You taught me that.

I will never put down that red lip-stick. (OK, maybe I will. But only to replace it with my pink one): don’t you dare put it down either.

Share with me, what inspires you to hold out for hope?

Recently, I was told that I come across as a bit of a man-hater. Had I been on my game I would have responded, ‘Man-hater? Pah! I’m a people-hater!’ Alas, I was tired, a little disoriented and what with the ex-lover sitting at the next table and all–a lot defensive. My mock outrage felt scripted.

‘What? No. Way. I. love. men?’

Admittedly, men do piss me off more often than not. But there is one little attribute that most men possess, that I not only love and admire, but also envy — their simplicity. I wish I could be simple. I wish my brain worked that way. However, as hard as I try, I will never go from A to  B without a maze of torturous thought. I like men because they manage to reign me in and balance me out.

Take for example the way I processed my last break-up.

I spent some time with a man that made me believe in men again and then he put an end to it. It was a short conversation and no explanation was given other than ‘It’s over. Let’s be friends.’ My mind screamed, why won’t he give me a reason? Why won’t he talk to me? I was told, early on, by a man that: “It is over. He just wants to be kind now.”

I just want him to be honest.

I would sit with my girlfriend’s in the first few weeks after the demise and we would discuss it all; in every excruciating detail. When I was alone, it was my mind.

I just want him to tell me what I did wrong.

I believed my thoughts could be  retroactive. If only I had done this, if only I had done that, it would have worked out. But pretty soon, someone would tell me that I did nothing wrong and that he is an idiot.

I just want him to feel regret.

My life went on and I met many men; some of them even gave me a little bit of attention.

I just want him to see how other men see me.

Time trickled by and I forgot the colour of his eyes.  I cooled down, I understood, I didn’t blame. I just kinda missed him.

I just want him to talk to me.

But he didn’t for his own reasons. And so, gracefully,  I forced myself to move on.

I just want him to be happy.

It was, of course,  only partly true. I wanted him to be happy as long as I was happy too. But he moved on and fell in love and I didn’t. This turn of events left me unmoved but gave me the motivation to get over it.

I just want him to have never existed in the first place.

Months later, I bumped into him and he looked at me in a way that he shouldn’t look at me. And he touched my arm and then said, ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t touch you.’ It was confusing. So I began to talk and talk and talk again. I got angry. How dare he? Who does he think he is? How can he treat me in this way? Then I realized that I never meant a thing to him and that he doesn’t think about me and that it is indeed over (it had been from the day it was actually over) and there is no drama here, no profound explanation for the end, no out of the ordinary experience. It was an ending just like all those other endings and the only sure thing about all endings is that they’re a preclude to a beginning. And so finally, ten months later, my delayed thoughts aligned with his.

I just want him to be kind.

I don’t hate men. I adore them. I love their simplicity. I want them in my life, I need them in my life because when I let them, they make me simple too.

I’ve been carrying some baggage lately. I worked hard to get it because I spent the entire winter eating my weight in nuts and lollipops. As a result, I haven’t been in the mood to go shopping for Kyla Roma’s Six Months/Six Dresses challenge. But, I am still taking part because a) I’m not a quitter and b) I’ve got plenty of dresses already.

May’s Dress [Left]

I bought this dress two summer’s ago on sale from a small boutique in Athens. Since then, I’ve worn it a handful of times, most notably on my first date with my most recent ex. When I took it out to wear again at the end of May, all the memories came rushing back. This dress reminds me of all that potential I felt back then and I felt sad in it all day. (Hence the ridiculously solemn face in the picture) I chose to wear it again in June for a cocktail party and thankfully all the memories attached to it are beginning to fade.  Now, when I look at it it is not my First Date Dress but the dress that made a certain gentleman ask a certain bride-to-be about me. Now, it’s my Who is that Girl Dress.

June’s Dress [Right]

I bought this purple, silk dress on sale from Donna Karan three years ago. The first time I wore it was this past Friday to a wedding. So, it technically does count as a ‘new’ dress. (If I bend the rules slightly). While, I have always loved the colour purple I don’t wear it an awful lot because I don’t understand what colours match with it. The internet suggested gold or silver which I vetoed immediately because I thought it was boring and expected. Instead, I chose a blue-green peep toe. The wedding itself was beautiful. The food was exceptional (Mushroom risotto? Yum), the music was fun (We danced all night!) and the mood was merry. But it was the location that reminded me of the reason I love living in the southern suburbs of Athens: the ubiquitous, yet silent presence of that sea.

But back to my earlier, more important point. Do you name your dresses too?

I doubt this list needs an introduction. But secret single behaviours are those quirky, weird, embarrassing habits we all develop after living alone for some time. These are some of mine.

• Watch a time-wasting show (like One Tree Hill) and pluck the stray hairs on my legs. (I feel the same satisfaction as I did at my university graduation when I find and have to remove an ingrown).

• Eat Chinese takeout in bed while testing my celebrity knowledge on People.com

• Pretend to have a captivated audience when I cook.

• Channel Taylor Swift in her You Belong With Me video and do goofy dances in my bedroom (Hairbrush as microphone is a MUST)

• Rearrange something in one room of my house every week

• Without fail, check the progress of my eye wrinkles in the bathroom mirror after a shower. (Smile. Solemn face. Smile. Solemn Face. Smile. Solemn Face.)

• Secretly love, watch and cry during every movie set in a high school ever. (Do you have any favourites you can recommend?)

• Take obnoxious self-portraits on my Mac before going out.

• Facebook stalk until my hand is numb.

• Facebook stalk until I am convinced that every single person on earth is living a much better life than I am.

• Ask my cat questions. (For example, ‘Do you think he’s going to call? OK, fine. If you think he’s going to call, just sit there staring at me.’

What are your secret single behaviours?