Disappointments

Eventually, the charm wears off. What I’m wondering is if it is actually possible to meet a guy who doesn’t, in the simplest, most basic ways, disappoint?

I’ve just turned 28. That’s 12 years of dating. And 12 years of disappointment – obviously with a few exceptions. I’m always surprised at each new heart break that I managed somehow to dig down and find the optimism to continue the search for love. And right now? I’m fucking tired. How deep does this well of optimism and hope run? When does the well run dry?

Obviously there are the break ups that aren’t really break ups because we weren’t really officially anything to each other. Although we have fun and there is some connection between us, we both know it’s not forever and so I’m not particularly concerned about how and when it ends. That said there is still a level of respect deserved, even within these casual liaisons.

And yet, I’m collating quite a list of incredibly bad behaviour I’ve experienced at the hands of men. Most recent case in point: happily cosy on his couch, when his ex announces she’s coming over. I’ve consulted several people on this and the 100% of those surveyed said it would not be out of line to suggest that the respectful, reasonable solution would involve him telling her, ever so politely, to fuck off. Instead of asking me to leave. Which, clearly put in my place, I did. He won’t have to ask me to leave again*.

If there is a silver lining to the array of bullshit I’ve experienced, it’s that despite a lack of respect some men have for me, I am learning to respect myself enough to say ‘you know what? That’s just fucked. And I don’t deserve to be treated like that’. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Unfortunately there are also the times when your heart gets involved and, let’s face it, the odds of this ending well aren’t high. And there is, sometimes, no one to blame when these things fall apart. There is a delicate balance of time and place and connection and desire for the same things. And, for me, it’s about meeting someone who I can commit to happily, to put away the rucksack (not entirely, obviously) and settle down with.

And somehow, even now when I feel like an old woman I’m so tired of dating, I still have hope.

* Unless he realises he has been a fuckwit and does something disgustingly romantic to make it up to me. In which case, I might take a few weeks to consider this possibility. Maybe.

Settling and resettling

Last week I arrived back in Dhaka after a two week surprise visit home. Where did those two weeks go? They seem to have raced by, creating a rip current of confusion, panic and isolation, but also love, new beginnings and finally (thankfully) acceptance and a readiness for the next chapter of my life to begin.

So much has changed at home and yet none of it seems to reflect the profound change in me. Except for that irrevocable shift that has happened within me, it almost felt as though I’d never left, like my life here in Bangladesh had not existed. Outside of Bangladesh and away from the people I’ve been sharing all this with, it felt as though this massively important thing I’ve done, am doing, didn’t exist.

I joked that the trip was my ‘baby-hugging tour of Queensland’, but really? It wasn’t far from the mark. And it’s not surprising really given my friends and I are now at that age. And it is exciting. And beautiful. And incredible. And being a parent is a gift. And I can see why it overtakes people’s lives. But all of a sudden the people I shared so much with are on a new adventure, one I’m not part of, not even close to being part of. I’m not saying we aren’t still great mates, that’ll never change, but maybe this is just that place in time when we take different paths. Maybe I’m not going to have the same sort of life - the married, settled down, couple of cute blonde-haired, blue-eyed kids life - I expected. But that’s okay too. And there is something exciting about living outside the box, following each opportunity and opening my heart to different people, places and experiences.

It has taken me the week I’ve been back in Dhaka to bring myself to write this post because I’m finding it quite hard to readjust. I’m missing the ease of Aussie life – I miss my car, being able to wear what I want, having great coffee at any time, having family and friends so close, the anonymity, the food, the cheese, the cake, the cute boys (my god, did I mention the cute boys?)...The list is endless really. But at home I missed the adventure of life here, I missed Clancy and LJ and Nat and all my friends here and the conversations that we have, that in no way revolve around babies or buying houses. We’re discussing the effectiveness and political clout of the UN (or lack thereof), the ways we cope with cultural differences and the horrors (young brides physically mutilated, sex work to survive, etc) and successes we see through our work, and the drive this inspires in us.

In just five weeks I leave Bangladesh. Five weeks I’d really love to enjoy every minute of. Five weeks to finish what I started at UNICEF, to mentally record all the madness and beauty of this country and its people, to soak up the best of the friendships I’ve formed here. Five weeks to say goodbye.

Just five weeks left in this place I love. With people I love. Doing work I love. Where everything, even the simplest, smallest things, are different from home. And for all of us, this momentum is creating some unease – what comes next? While part of me doesn’t want to leave all this behind, the promise and anticipation of the future, a new beginning, is calling me.