I am tired.
But I am happy.
My days are jammed with project meetings, discussions and rehearsals for an upcoming play. But they often leave me with a sense of fulfillment, and not dissatisfaction, regret and boredom. Sometimes the projects are daunting and seem impossible to do, but somehow completion finds its way, and I just know my group-mates and I will finish it, by hook or by crook.
These days I've been pondering about a rather important but very much nonexistent aspect of life, love.
I think I'm the last person people expect to give a shit about love. But truth is I just do. I've been giving a damn since I was a kid, since I learnt the concept of love. But somehow I just can never get round to it. It's almost as if people who need it most don't get it, and people who don't appreciate it lavish in an overload of it. I don't want to become asexual like some of my friends have. To me, at least, love, romance and sex are really big parts of my life, in the future if not now. 90% of my imagination and daydreams are made of those. If the supposed start of my search is 10 (the age I hit puberty), then I've been on a fruitless search for love for nearly a decade now. Frankly I'm shocked at how long I can wait. I'm mildly surprised I'm not already one of those promiscuous people often on the run from a hundred vengeful lovers.
Perhaps I'm such a control freak, I'm a control freak even to my own feelings and impulses.
Of course I'm not gonna become one of those who fuck around too much, or fuck around for the sake of fucking around. But I know faithfulness and loyalty do not come easily to me, especially when love and feelings are concerned. Perhaps it's because I know I can never be committed to just one person. Perhaps that's why I'm never meant to love.