And Then I Go And Spoil It All By Saying Something Stupid...

Curiosity killed the cat. Apparently. In my case it killed two relationships; one a few years ago that was definitely established that lasted years and one very recently that was budding (so I thought). Just how did my thirst for knowledge get the better of me? I asked a question - "Is everything ok?". Those that know me know I have a big mouth that can (and does) get me into trouble very occasionally because of my hastiness in opening it so at those times I should, without any doubt, keep it shut. But should I learn to keep schtum when I sense a problem?

Up until a few days ago I was hanging out with a boy who I get on amazingly with. The first time we met was a good while ago but we were reacquainted quite recently and hit it off. We started hanging out more, just the two of us, learning about each other, getting on wonderfully and having fun. There was the physical side too which we both enjoyed (I hope!) but, I think, the main attractions were the connection and how at ease we were in one another's company. Last weekend I invited him over for dinner (yes, my Mum was away) and had butterflies in my tummy before he arrived. I was also anxious that I'd misread all previous signals (and physical contact) and that we were just friends but my concerns were swept aside as soon as he arrived (so I thought). When he left the following afternoon I realised, for the first time in ages, I'd let my guard down and was completely relaxed with him, willingly letting myself become vulnerable - a positive sign. I even told a couple of my closest friends that I had a twinkle in my eye. A few days later I sent him a message making him an offer he couldn't refuse (so I thought). How wrong was I?! I received a rather cold response. This confused me massively as the previous few weeks had seen, erm, warm responses. And the weekend's encounter had left me feeling a little fuzzy inside. That's when I opened my big mouth and asked that fatal question via email as I'd spent way too long agonising over whether I should so it was too late to call, questioning my speedy reaction.

The following evening brought the 'phone call from him and I got the heave-ho. And though it was the softest, most sugar-coated, feather-lined drop I've ever experienced, it was rejection nevertheless. It seems I had misread the situation and the previous weeks' encounters. Rejection is my biggest fear. I've only ever experienced it twice - the first was the most devastating thing I've ever been through, a huge thud as my world crashed down around me and then having what felt like breeze blocks dropped on my heart. This was something that took me years to get over and instilled the fear of the r word in me forever more.

With rejection comes self-doubt (which brings insomnia as a companion). This isn't the greatest experience, it never is when your confidence takes a knock, is it? You see, I've never been rejected for anything apart from those two "relationships". I've never failed any exams, I passed my driving test first time and I've got every job I've ever been for. It's the mixture of rejection and the humiliation of being "dumped" that brings on the self-doubt. And humiliation is felt whether the world knows about the experience or just me and the boy (though I'm doing a splendid job of making that humiliation very public now!).

The "I don't see it working out" line also contributes. It's not a real explanation. Well, it is real because both the boys felt it but it's not enough of a reason for me to feel any justification for the self-doubt. I need to know EXACTLY what won't work out, however hurtful it may be, not so I can change his mind but so I can reconcile things in my mind - validation or eradication of the self-doubt. Otherwise I automatically blame myself - it must be me. Then come the hours of questioning my personality, my actions when we were together, my beliefs and my looks. The stinky thinking. It comes in waves, sometimes lasting only minutes at a time but mostly hours. And I have this ridiculous knack of reassuring the rejector during the call when I, the rejected, need the comfort - idiot girl! But I also need honesty which is what that line does give (a little of).

I'm not very good at making myself vulnerable. Not because I'm a hard-nosed, heartless so-and-so but because I'm conscious of seeming needy in relationships and pride myself on my feisty nature. When I do allow it to happen and then I have to become closed to that person in certain areas again, it winds me. Hello, once more, self-doubt.

So, do I wish I'd just kept my mouth shut and not been so quick in asking that fateful question? No. In both cases, though very different, I'm kind of glad I did and I'd most likely do it again if in exactly the same position. I don't want to be with someone if they don't want to be with me or are reluctantly staying with me. I am me and though I may compromise on a few things here and there when with someone, be they a friend or more, I can't change my core. If he feels there's no future in it because of that then so be it. I know I sound rather philosophical about it all but the self-doubt, lack of confidence and insomnia are still very present. I plan to spend most of the coming days drowning in gin.
I know there will be a few of my friends reading this who will dislike the boy for making me feel like this but there's no need. Stop it. We weren't the modern day equivalent of Romeo and Juliet. We weren't skipping through lush green fields, holding hands whilst The Flower Duet played in the background. It was only a few weeks! And we were still referring to one another as friends. He wasn't to know that him nipping it in the bud would bring forward self-esteem problems and such negative feelings in me. It's my issue, not his. The other thing is I know he'll have read this and will feel incredibly bad for contributing to me feeling the way I do (and rightly so! Joke.) because he's a really decent guy.

We're going to be friends. Remain friends, I should say. It'd be stupid if we didn't because we share so many interests and get on wonderfully. But I need a few days of soul-searching before I can hang out with him next to put the self-doubt to bed and get my barriers back up so I feel secure again. Self-preservation. Getting shit-faced with friends in the coming days will very much help too! And I need to feel less humiliated before seeing him face to face. I'll be fine soon enough, I know I will. Especially when I get the answers I need from him.

If fools rush in where angels fear to tread then I'm the biggest fool of them all, at least where my eagerness with my mouth is concerned. But is that a bad thing? x

Papa, I know you're going to be upset...

I lie to my Dad. Not just little white, harmless untruths but massive, big, fat, whopping lies. I'm not proud of myself for doing it as it's for a very selfish reason - having a quiet life. And I'm not very good at lying so don't enjoy it much. I love my Dad, of course I do but to say he's a bit much is an understatement. I know every Dads' favourite line is "I know best" but that statement precedes almost everything Dad says to me. And with those lines it doesn't come before, it's very heavily implied. He is a very traditional Indian father. He came over to England in 1969, aged nine, with his parents and siblings. His upbringing was heavily influenced by the Punjabi attitude of the 1960s even though he grew up in Telford in the sunny Midlands and it's those beliefs he kept throughout life, even though his Motherland has advanced greatly in the past forty years. Dad is very proud of his heritage and rightly so but he's terribly confused by the fact that my generation feel honoured to be British. I always get a hard time for supporting England over India in the cricket, though that's the mildest of lectures. Dad still harps on about Partition like it was yesterday and as if it affected him personally - he was born 12 years after the event.

My life would have been so different if my parents hadn't have separated when I was seven. I wouldn't have been allowed to move to a different city for my studies and I most definitely would not be the extrovert I am. My Western attitude would have been smothered and I wouldn't dress or speak the way I do. Dad is still hurting from the separation 21 years, one wife and another daughter later. He does everything he can to "bump in to" Mum at every opportunity. Once, he called my mobile and found out I was in the local supermarket with Mum. Within ten minutes he was scouring the aisles, sans wife and child, as he'd "just popped out for a pint of milk". His older brother married my Mum's older sister a few years before my parents marriage was arranged (it's ok, it wasn't incest). That's when Dad first saw Mum and, in his words, fell in love. I think he's still besotted with her. At my cousin's daughter's first birthday he arrived early as he knew Mum was leaving early to avoid him, just to catch a glimpse of her. Mum scarpered as soon as she saw him walking down the garden path.

I am a massive disappointment to my Dad. He'd never tell me to my face but I can see it in his expression whenever I visit him. This is why I don't visit often. The biggest reason I am a failure in his eyes is because I followed my heart and chose a career in the arts rather than becoming a doctor/lawyer/accountant. Instead of bursting with pride at my first television credit, he clipped me round the ear when he next saw me as I use my Mum's surname, rather than his. Now I'm economical with the truth so as not to hurt him more. That's how I justify it in my head anyway. I'm certainly not the daughter he wishes I was and not good little Hindu girl he thinks I am. He goes absolutely crazy when I get my hair cut (even a trim) and went ballistic when I had the second piercings in my ears so needless to say he knows nothing about the tattoo I have on my back or the one I plan to get when I turn thirty... my life would not be worth living!

Dad thinks I have no male friends and only talk to boys in a professional capacity. That makes it sound like he thinks I'm a hooker, he doesn't. He thinks the only men I speak to are the IT boys at work (when something goes wrong with my PC) or any male customers. He doesn't need to know that some of my closest friends are men. Nor does he need to find out that I'm not his virginal little princess. What's the point in shattering his dreams?

Dad doesn't know I drink alcohol. This makes it sound like I have a drink problem, I don't. He thinks I've consumed the maximum of one bottle of champagne in my whole life. Those of you that know me know that my alcohol intake, on average, is more than that per week. One of my very close friends was dragged in to preserving my Dad's unrealistic image of me a few years ago. I was moving back to Bristol after ten months in London and needed a place to crash for a few weeks whilst looking for somewhere to live. My closest male friend and confidante offered me this bedroom floor which was fantastic. The only snag was that Dad was helping me move. My friend and I had to orchestrate a lie involving his female flatmate being my friend but being out at the time so him receiving me in her absence. His boyfriend, who was also one of my friends, had to pretend to be another flatmate. Dad didn't question the fact there there were only two bedrooms. After lugging my stuff in to the flat, we all sat down for a relaxing cuppa before Dad drove back to London. This is when Dad proceeded to tell my friends, who I'd known for five years, how I was such a great daughter and didn't drink and didn't swear and spent all my spare time in the library and barely spoke to boys and how, one day, I'd have an arranged marriage. And so on. My friends and I did everything we could to stifle our laughter and when Dad left were in stitches for ages, mainly because we were having one of our infamous cocktail nights that evening.

My visits to Dad's are rare because however long I'm there for he lectures me on various aspects of my life. I went to see him yesterday wearing some lip balm and the tiniest bit of eyeliner. Before he'd fully opened the front door I was greeted with "what's that crap on your face? That stuff on your lips makes your teeth look false and your eyes look horrible". My response? "Hello, Dad. How are you?" because I've had that kind of criticism all my adult life. Then, whilst my cup of tea was still boiling hot I'd already had to justify why it had been so long since my last visit, told him to mind his own business about what Mum was up to and apologised (again) for wearing make up. He usually lets me settle for about thirty minutes before his sermon starts. This sermon is the one, no matter how much I try to mentally prepare for, that knocks me for six and gives me a migraine. It lasts for a good few hours and is interspersed with hair pulling, kicking, biting and spitting by his six year old Brat Child. I'm sure they plan and rehearse for hours before I arrive as they have the routine down and make a wonderful double-act. I may enter them into Britain's Got Talent later this year. Anyway, this sermon is on arranged marriages and how, if I don't have one soon, it'll be too late as at the age of twenty-eight I'm already past it. (This is when Brat Child dances around me singing "you're old, you're old old old".) To him it doesn't matter that most of the arranged marriages in his family (and Mum's, come to think of it) have fallen on their arses and three of the four brothers are divorced and on their second marriages. He still thinks girls should be hooked up with the perfect doctor/accountant/lawyer/IT boy by their families to preserve their, ahem, honour and family's reputation. You may not believe that Dad could make such a topic last for hours but he can. He does it well.

My friends ask me why I don't set him straight and tell him it's never going to happen. I guess it's because deep down he knows this. A friend recently asked if I was going to give in to him. I think the "don't be so stupid" look on my face said more than anything that came out of my mouth. Dad has suffered several heart attacks and isn't in the best of health so why should I aggravate his worries? There would be nothing gained from me saying “you lost every right to decisions in my life twenty-one years ago”. What's the point? He loves me unconditionally and hates that his eldest daughter doesn't rely on him for anything and is fiercely independent. He's a desperate man trying to hold on to his heritage the best he can so I can deal with his verbal onslaught once every month for a few hours. I have no doubt that he'll be there for me whenever I need, especially when I might say, “Dad, I'm ready...”. x

You Make Me Smile With My Heart...

February 14th - the day that turns even the sanest, most secure girl crazy and every guy I know praying it passes unnoticed. Whether single or attached, I cannot stand the day. This is mostly due to the fact that it has lost its true meaning and is a commercial event. Why do we need one day to show the person we love how we feel? Surely there are 365 days of the year to do that?

We all know St Valentine became the patron saint of lovers when, just before his execution, he wrote a letter to his jailer's daughter declaring his love for her. He signed it off "your Valentine". Well, it turns out that's not true and was invented by the American Greetings Inc. The execution part is fact but the letter bit is lies. All lies. We were duped from the start! So it was seen as a day for secret admirers to find the courage to tell the person they were lusting after how they felt - a very sweet idea but only if the lusted after feels the same. Otherwise Luster the Brave becomes Luster the Rejected - painful and humiliating!

I don't see why so much pressure is put on men to be romantic on this one day. Talk about setting yourself up for an anti-climax before he's even had the chance to write the card! Are us females supposedly more romantic all year round? I have male friends that are more sappy than me whatever day it is. I'm so glad that it falls on a Sunday this year, meaning I won't be at work and have to pretend to gush over the bouquets of over-priced, half wilted red roses that arrive in the building. Red roses - I can't think of anything less romantic on Valentine's Day. If you're going to buy her flowers, boys, at least make it a bunch of her favourites (mine, for reference, are bird of paradise and freesias. Not in the same posy). And chocolates - how cliched?! Boys and girls, do something that means something to the person you love, not what's expected!

One year I walked past a Clinton cards in my lunch hour and was in hysterics as I saw just how many men were wandering the aisles with pained expressions thinking 'we said we wouldn't get each other anything but then she sent me the "boy, have I got a surprise for you tonight!" text so i have to get her a card at least. Do I go for funny or slushy?'. A note to all you boys: Do not, under any circumstances, go for funny. You won't get good loving that night if you do.

My time as a shop assistant saw me get many a desperate man out of trouble. 5.50pm, 14th February - "I need to get my wife/girlfriend/mistress something". Without even knowing the recipient, I'd pick out and gift wrap the perfect present, the customer not having had to have put an ounce of thought in to the process. How unromantic is that? I'd rather receive something my partner had picked out himself and shoddily wrapped as at least it would be personal - I'd really appreciate the effort.

One of my most successful Valentine's Days was a few years ago. It was a Tuesday and I was in a long-term, long-distance relationship. The guy I was involved with drove the few hundred miles to see me, knocked on my door and presented me with (garage forecourt) pink carnations. I hate carnations. Then, as I didn't know he was visiting and he didn't know the city I lived in, we searched for a couple of hours for a restaurant but everywhere was fully booked. Except one place. An Indian restaurant. At 10pm. Now, being Indian and knowing just how good Mum's cooking is, I rarely do Indian meals out and takeaways unless the place has been tried and tested by a fellow Indian and has a definite thumbs up. So there we were, surrounded by a group of drunken lads who were talking very loudly about how great it was to be single. During our time there I also received several disapproving looks from the staff... "What's she doing here with him? Not such a good little Hindu girl, is she?". After eating our less than satisfactory meal, I paid the bill (the boyf's excuse was that he'd spent loads on petrol) and the waiter gave him a red rose to present to me. I've already made my feelings on receiving red roses on Valentine's Day clear. Then we headed back to my single bed to sleep. He wasn't getting anything more. The next day I dumped him. I know a lot of people will think me an ungrateful so-and-so but that previous evening had made me realise how little he really knew me, despite all the time we'd been together. Had that day not have existed we probably would have been together for years afterwards.

Last year I received three cards and two bunches of flowers. Card number one was from my Mum - not a pity card as some of you may think but ever since I was young we've exchanged cards and presents on 14th February as a token of love and appreciation for one another. Card number two arrived at work and, at first, aroused curious excitement. It soon went in the bin when I received a text from my then stalker asking if the card had arrived in time. Still, to this day, I don't know who card number three was from but I reckon it may have been The Brand Man as our eyes had met across a crowded room and we'd exchanged smiles but a few days before. Both lots of flowers were from friends. The first was a beautiful bunch of antique roses as a thank you for a massive favour I'd done for this friend the day before. The second bunch was from my newly attached housemate who had bought me and my other housemate stems of red roses each as we were both single - a very sweet sentiment.

Perhaps if we did what the South Koreans do there wouldn't be so much pressure on one day. There, the 14th of every month is a "love day" of sorts. On 14th February women give chocolate to men (gulp! On Valentine's Day men are made more of a fuss of than women? How bizarre?!) and on 14th March, known as White Day, men give women non-chocolate sweets. See, no disappointment as everybody would know what to expect. 14th March is a different kind of day over here where men exact their revenge on their female companions - search Urban Dictionary for it. The day people may have a problem with though, is April 14th, known as Black Day. This is the day when those that didn't receive chocolate or non-chocolate love in the previous months go to noodle bars and eat black noodles. Over here we could eat black fish and chips or something similar?

Perhaps, one day, something will happen that totally changes my attitude towards Valentine's Day. Maybe it will be a romantic day that I look forward to year after year. However, if that does happen, I hope the other days of the year hold an equal amount of romance and love for me. I wish you all love and happiness all year round, not just Sunday. As the song goes, "Each day is Valentine's Day". x

You Must Remember This, A Kiss Is Just A Kiss

I realise that use of the English language is heavily compromised in text messages by most. At the age of twenty-eight I still don't understand half of the abbreviations used, not that that's a bad thing. My Mum cuts out vowels in words to save time and effort whilst my twelve year old cousin omits them to be cool. These abbreviations, over time, have worked their way into emails which I really can't comprehend. With a whole keyboard and as many characters as one wishes at their disposal, I don't understand why people cut letters.

There is one letter I notice the absence of more than any other, whether it be in a text or email. The "x" at the end of a message holds so much power. Especially when it's a message from someone of the opposite sex. I'm aware I shouldn't place as much importance on it as I do but I can't help it. I sign everything off with a kiss to show affection towards the person I'm communicating with. I have to make a conscious effort not to add an "x" on the end of correspondence in my professional capacity, though I know a few customers have received the affection in emails, more due to force of habit and my rubbish memory than my love for them and what they're asking of me. And I leave the "x" out of a message if it's an angry exchange (which happens less often than some of you may think). Sometimes when I'm in a hurry I just plain forget (and then I get the guilt so I'm likely to send a second message immediately with just that letter or put two kisses in the next one I send).

I have some male friends who always, without fail, sign off their messages to me with an "x" or two. I love this. It makes me feel special in an "awww, I love you, mate" kind of a way. I also have male friends who never ever ever put kisses in messages. This is also fine as it's something they don't do whether it's a deliberate decision or not. I guess it's easier for them to make it common practise to not kiss off in case they accidentally put one in a message to another male, thus feeling like they've compromised their masculinity and opened themselves up to a world of ridicule. It's the occasional kissers that baffle me. Is it intentional to leave it off or put it in? Are there times when they feel like their messages should be less affectionate than others?

I know they, whoever "they" are, say that females over-think things and analyse matters to beyond a place that's healthy but I can't help brood on this. And I can't help but take it personally when a message from an occasional kisser isn't signed off. It makes me wonder if I've done something to offend them when I don't get an "x".

The problem with all text, whether it's an SMS or email, is that one can't convey tone so we have to hope that the recipient realises how we wish our message to sound. I mean, there's no mistaking "it was great to see you!" but a "yeah, sure" could be an enthusiastic, head-nodding acceptance to an invite or a nonchalant, shoulder shrugging acceptance. Especially if that special little letter is missing at the end.

I don't wish to be misunderstood either; just because I'm a girl and you're a boy it doesn't mean that because I'm a definite kisser I'm declaring my undying love for you in every message. I'm not. Don't run a mile. I am a kisser, I can't help it. And I don't want to become a conscious kisser or a sporadic kisser, it wouldn't suit my personality. Just let it make you feel warm and fuzzy in a sexual or non-sexual way, whichever you prefer is fine by me. But as you boys expect us girls to not read into what you say and want us to take it at face value, please just take an "x" from me as what it is. Just a kiss. Unless I actually write "I love you", I don't so please don't freak out. Keep calm and carry on.

It's the same with physical contact too. I'm a rather tactile person. I will, without giving it any thought at all, touch your arm if I'm talking to you or remove a bit of fluff from your jumper/hair if it shouldn't be there. I do have friends, male and female, who are not ok with physical contact (from all, not just me) so I have to make a conscious effort not to touch them however unnatural it may feel. When I greet or leave anybody, chances are they'll get a kiss on the cheek and a hug from me. It's my way of saying "it's so lovely to see you!". So boys, unless I shove my tongue down your throat or respond (positively) to you placing your analogous organ in my mouth, I don't want to jump into bed with you if I just peck you on the cheek. Don't be alarmed, I don't want to take our friendship to the next level.

I went to a friend's house party some time ago and most the people I knew bailed out early so I chose to stay and talk to randoms. I got talking to a guy who was deciding what cd to put on next (as I said, it was a few years ago so the masses hadn't discovered iTunes and Spotify). The conversation flowed easily, going from music to gigs to films and so on. There I was, feeling pretty proud of myself for staying at a party where I only knew the host and her two housemates and not hanging off them like a parasite. This guy said something funny (not with hindsight, only hilarious because I'd consumed muchos vodka) so as I laughed I touched his arm. Uh oh, big mistake. Now, I know blokes are rubbish at reading the most obvious signals but this guy totally misread this one. "I've got a girlfriend and we've been together four years next weekend". What?! I touched your arm, you idiot, I didn't drop my knickers, say "take me now or lose me forever" and put on my best sultry eyes! I walked away in disbelief, not putting him straight so to this day he probably still thinks I hot-footed my way out of that room because he rejected me. Poor bloke.

So, all you part time kissers should make a girl feel special. Whether she's just a friend or more, whack an "x" at the end of your message (unless it's to your psycho ex-girlfriend), what harm will it do? And don't be alarmed by the presence of a kiss at the end of a message from me, be more concerned by the absence of one. x