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Wednesday, November 30, 2016


what we are wearing: primark pyjamas & primark slippers


I’ve been very candid about my love life this year, and the determined lack of one last year too. I was single all of 2015, a required experience for me, I jumped from boy to boy for most of my twenties, falling in love with immature clumsiness to then wonder if I even knew what loving a man really was. I am still, as always, unsure if what I feel qualifies for ‘love’. We are sold such a picture perfect representation, which really is closer to science fiction than reality, either way it creates a haze. Truthfully, I find love hard. At worst it’s a weight, a responsibility I took on with a regrettable nonchalance. But that sentiment is typically fuelled by my rather frequent melancholy or often, my menstrual cycle, a montly phase in my life where all men are rather venomous. Ridiculous, I know. But I am a woman and while we are so many wonderful things, we are all surely ridiculous. It makes us far more interesting than men but it also is never a smooth ride. Now, I’d love to sit here and blab on about how ideal my relationship with my ideal boyfriend is in my ideal life. I’ve seen many a blogger raise their boyfriends to Disney prince level. It seems so one-sided to me, so lacking, but I’m like that, I always crave the whole story and not the summarized fairytale. I can watch a Pixar movie (with pizza) for that sort of simple gratification. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing negative to say about Enrique, quite the contrary, he is a remarkable human being and one I am honoured to share my pillows with. But we have had our problems, and we almost broke up for good a few weeks ago. So to sit here with him in these photos feels like a triumph in one way or another. We look happy because we are. It’s not forced at all because inexplicably when shoved together for the sake of a photoshoot, we become awkward andsuprisingly shy. You should see the outtakes, I have a mountain range of double chins and his facial expressions look like a stroke. Biba looked good in all of them, but she is blessed with a beauty we as a couple will never possess. Anyway, so yes the road of love can be rough, for me at least. I might be hard to love. I might make love too hard. I don’t know.  I do feel like a fool offering up relationship advice: those who can do, and those who can’t teach, rings true here. In fact, I predict my future to be closer to Lorelai Gilmore’s  than Kate Hudson romantic comedy. Regardless I will say this, this is what I’ve learnt this year: you are you and he is he. I too easily slide into a ‘we’. I have made sure that my life will be the same should Enrique leave or stay. Our lives don’t intertwine, they might run parallel but only because we push them to. Sleeping under the same roof provides the only pattern we have together. I have stumbled into the same old anxieties, the underlying problems that exist between us, of which I’d love to confess but will refrain for his sake. But I have started catching myself before I dive down into the mental hole that usually erupts later into an argument. We’ve had some epic ones. Life is manic but love should be calm. I simply decided to let the expectations, the plans and the infinite what ifs unravel and instead to  love with ease. So much melted away when I silenced my brain; my emotions tend to gallop past me but I’m learning how to rein tighter.  A relationship cannot be approached with the discipline that I fuel into my work or even the gym and that was a hard thing to accept. But how much better to simply just let things be. I am me and he is he.


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