Category Archives: Hopes

The Perfect Partner

Most people have an expectation of what their ideal partner would be like. Usually these notions are ideals imprinted through Disney childhoods or classic novelists, through parental impressions or media propaganda. Seldom does our idea of the ideal companion come from who we are and what we want, it is usually a combination of factors with our Ultimate Truth barely making the equation.

In my case, the few essential qualities selected have started to appear less like ideal characteristics and more like intentional confinement. The average person will have an idea of what it is they are seeking, a basic list of traits from which they will not be swayed, but the more intricate items will be overlooked when love comes their way. A few crooked teeth and a different career path are gladly forgotten when the Italian artist smiles as he sweeps the Russian-loving businesswomen off her feet, and yet I seem to have such an unrealistic outlook that I have started to recognise it for what it is on a subconscious level –an excuse masquerading as a standard.

So impossible is my list that it is dubious whether such a person could exist anywhere other than in ink and imagination. It starts with a desire for a specific eye color, which I am convinced my heart can only beat for. So staunch am I in my convictions that I have yet to envision anything other than that colour, and tell myself it is because the iris is the only physical asset that remains the same when all else changes. But then it is also his profession, refusing to believe I could be compatible with those in certain industries, and placing a biased belief on all men in certain sectors -thus completely ruling them out. But I take it a step further still by believing they must be native English speakers, for so strong is my need to explore and express with another that the thought of having a barrier between complete connection is instantly unsettling. Further still, and the man I am with needs to be in touch with his emotional side as stone cold logic would not bode with my fluctuating emotional current. In fact, not just an emotional side -there needs to be damage, and more moderate than mild. Plain down fucked up could be just the ticket. In addition to this he needs just the right mix of characteristics -lacking in one of the traits I deem most imperative is an immediate dismissal, as if I myself am not made of good intentions that never manifest. Most importantly we need to connect, a bond so strong it would feel as if it the comet that struck the earth and took out an entire damned species couldn’t compete. And on top of that, he’s got to…

He’s got to not exist, because if he exists I may let him in, and if I let him in he may stay, and if he stays I may get used to him being there, and if I get used to him being there he may go, and if he goes it may hurt… And if it hurts I’ll have to heal. Again.


I Am Going To Learn Dutch!

It is approaching midnight on a Tuesday and it is with unnecessary enthusiasm that I embrace this idea, as if windmills themselves have sent fairies on a one way flight of fancy straight to my susceptible self.
Well, of course I should learn Dutch. As a direct descendant of Dutch lineage, it only makes sense that I should begin my lessons on a Tuesday evening in the middle of July. And, after all, I am capable of speaking Afrikaans -it isn’t that much of a stepping stone required to bridge the gap. It’s not like Afrikaans is a derivative of Dutch, sufficient to aid me in communicating with the locals when I visit Amsterdam at the end of this year, no. Dutch is the way to go. 

It is this realisation that has my friend’s words from earlier this week dawning on me like the Planet of the Apes. “Do you know what you should do, Amy? Just start a blog. Every time you have an idea, make a decision or change your plans, blog it. That way you can stop telling me and I can just read it online. And after three months, you can look back over the posts and see how often you change your mind!”. As we were beside the ruins of a castle in the English countryside at the time, his words were as empty as the abandoned building behind us. If you place a ditzy dreamer in a landscape where her imagination can turn old ruins into new possibilities, naturally her mental chalice is going to overflow with imagery and illusions that will find her drunk with sentiment. And we have all heard of Dutch Courage… I succumb to the rush as I firmly believe I am capable of building my castles in the air, that I will follow the path I have forged in that moment with unwavering dedication. Besides, I do not know what state of indecision he refers to -perhaps the Massage Therapy course I longed to take earlier that year, but have abandoned in search of more sustainable dreams? Or could he be speaking of the way I changed the date of my plane ticket not once, but twice before finally returning to the UK? Is it my constant alteration of my intended field of employment, or the instability regarding a constant postcode? Or could it be how I cannot decide whether to visit Amsterdam whilst the summer still sheds a glimmer of the sun? Amsterdam! Oh, I really ought to learn Dutch…

And as my head drifts in the clouds, the reality of his words ground me with an undesired sobriety. I would be inclined to suggest he is right, but it is common knowledge (which he will sternly reinforce) that he is seldom wrong. And so it’s almost midnight on a Tuesday, and PERHAPS I will learn Dutch. But not tonight, as I sense a dreamer’s hangover approaching.  En er zijn geen koffie winkels in de buurt!