Category Archives: Love

Thoughts on Weekend

I’ve been meaning to see the film Weekend for a few years now and I just finished watching it. It’s a 2011 British film about two men who meet at a bar on a Friday night and share a profound weekend that stays with them.

The most intriguing aspect of the whole film was its dedication to realism. It almost feels like a documentary. The blueprint for 2013’s Blue Is the Warmest ColourThere is zero romanticized melodrama. No Hollywood shimmer. No love-lorn filters, no soundtrack, or any music to tie it all together. It’s all in the organic performances, the direction, the editing. (I would say the writing, but the actor said most of it ended up being improvised.) It’s as if someone decided to record their entire life with a camera and just happened to capture this one beautiful weekend with a man they had just met. It feels like real life captured on film. Even Blue had low key radiant cinematic vibes.

It raised a lot of questions for me as a gay, hopeless romantic. I identified with both characters’ personality wise. I’m confident, crass, and open in the way Glen was, but I’m also shy, romantic, and I have self doubts like Russell. I keep my private life private mostly because I’ve always been single.

When they first made eye contact with each other at the bar, Glen dropped his gaze and went to the bathroom. Russell followed him there. When I saw that, I thought “That’s me. That’s exactly what I do.” But not quite. It becomes evident that Russell followed Glen to pursue a hook up. I don’t follow men to the bathroom. I don’t follow men in the club hoping to hookup. I follow men because I want to initiate conversation with them and get to know them. When I see someone who catches my eye, I ponder the possibilities of their curiosity for me. I like to follow and see what happens, hoping they see my value. Maybe one of us would be brave enough to start speaking with the other.

Seeing how swiftly their relationship manifested over the course of a single weekend made me wonder if I would ever experience anything similar in my adult life. I know it’s not something I can muster, rather something I would have to experience and stumble into. Like Russell, I want to be in love. I want to be in a relationship. I believe standing up and proclaiming my love for a man is a radical act of love and a “fuck you” to naysayers.

I’m 24 years old, wondering why love is so elusive. I don’t go on dates because I’m not asked on any. In my experience, it never works out when I initiate and ask a guy out. Typically, the guys who make me want to initiate, are the ones I feel are out of my league— guys I feel like I need to prove myself to. It’s a subtle chase and overspending of energy, rather than a balance of mutual interest. When I’m asked out, there’s a comfort in knowing they’re interested enough in me to make the first move and see what else there might be.

I’ve been trying to stay in my own lane, work on myself, and just let it happen when it’s supposed to. But I still struggle with letting go. I’m slowly learning the art of patience, which to me means no more swiping, no more texting, no more making the first move. Move along and let him come to me. Weekend is a stunning film that shows how unexpectedly powerful a connection can be, even for just one weekend. Thank you for the beauty.

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4.8.07

I do things deliberately. Some things that I do don’t make sense. But I like to imagine that there’s someone who does. Someone like you. I am lost oftentimes in the universe of understanding myself with my past and tracing where the energies have transferred. Rediscovering that I am not lost. Although alone, I have friends. People who finally understand the eccentricities of my fiery crackling character. But that doesn’t take away the loneliness. Of missing what it would feel like now to have your arms around me after all these years or your lips on mine. Your lips on mine. After all these years. Have you not forgotten me? Have you not found a new love? Maybe a husband. A wife. Something that isn’t me nor what I was meant to be for you. Or maybe.

Four years ago, they cursed our hearts and called us young.
Saying we don’t know what love is.
Love is me watching you, watching me.
Love is laughter over and over again.
It is the deep gratitude for your shelter and your rescue, as it is the ever flowing of tears.
Love is not uncertainty.
It is wild and reckless and sure of itself.
Love is not a flower.
Love is not a word.
Love is all encompassing.
Love is absolute but simple, beautiful, and dangerous.
We are never fully prepared for its touch.
Love is why I love you, to show you it exists.

8 years ago on this day was the happiest day of my life.
Here is the truth.

Single Life So Real

It’s hard not to care when it’s something I’ve never had. I’ve never been touched, or loved, or kissed by someone who meant it. Who wanted to feel what it was truly like to see inside me. Never looked at like I was the most brilliant person to ever enter their atmosphere. I never had anyone step into my own and break me down, introducing me to the purest version of myself. Behind the makeup, behind the pretty, behind the weirdness, behind the ugly.

I’ve navigated through different channels in search of this one thing. The tragedy is that I’m 23 with no history of a physical genuine affection. Just “likes” on Instagram or compliments on social media. But at this age I am wise enough to know that the path to something real is not this vacuous. It is not designable. I cannot devise a plan for a man to fall for me no matter how many dates I ask him on, or however many pieces of myself I show him. It has been and will always remain a mystery. And no matter how many times I tell myself or feel as close to the reality that I am not as in love with love as I was, something reminds me again that I am. It’s in the message of a song or a photographic moment that transports me into the crystal vaults of my heaven and cotton daydreams of lying in bed with the perfect man God intended for me all along.

Candied fevers of love line the recesses of my fantasies. I sway to the beat of lovers unloved. I carry my weight in skin tight jeans. Hold me dearly if you already know how. My gaze is radiant in the sunlight as I ponder once upon a dream. My limbs are seashells on waves of sand, but the ocean is where I want to be. Lilac lovers, I’m a lilac lover too, looking for the one on the streets of France. But the one who looks is never found when all he does is roam around. If you stay in the place where you should be, he will find you there eventually. Not virtually, OkCupid, Grindr, or Tindr. I want to hear from him that I’m “mine.” If you don’t get what I mean, never mind. I’m only waiting to be found, but I’m not waiting anymore. Not for the men who want skin then leave to the door. I mean more and I’m everything, and through him I’m adored. Crown me, I’m a king; immortalize me with a ring. Beating white heart, I write the lyrics that you sing. For serenades that cascade queer Valentine understanding.

Happy Valentine’s Day to me and to all the single individuals out there right now, especially those who have never found love. Today means nothing, and even if I had a boyfriend I wouldn’t care about it as much. But the single life remains real and I remain the realest single bitch alive.