Of London and lovers...

Ok. So here’s the scoop.

London weather is officially the most depressing. The women here make me wish I was a few inches taller…a few inches narrower…a little more poised…oh what the heck! I stick out like a sore thumb! The good news is – nobody gives a damn. I don’t either. Well at least not most of the times. Strangers barely make eye contact, and yet are polite when you ask for directions or even share a little joke. The pubs here rock! But I still don’t like beer. I think I’m becoming more of a Rum and Coke person.

It’s scary and exciting - staying away from home for the first time. I think we’re all a little more capable than we think we are. Little realizations make life so much simpler…like oil stains are a bitch to get rid of (haahaha…though it doesn’t make life simpler, it does keep me more alert when I’m cooking!!). Well ok…love is overrated. It’s a hope you build in your hearts and top it up with oodles and oodles of silliness. And then at the end your world falls apart, your heart breaks and you get hurt and cry and all that jazz. Drama…a whole lot of drama. And yet I keep going back to him…to get my heart broken over and over again…hoping this time will be different. The funny thing is…this time is different. So different in fact, that I can’t even relate to it anymore…I feel ordinary and unloved…undesirable. I feel like an old favourite clothing that we’ve grown out of and yet keep tucked away in our wardrobes. I don’t have the strength to protect my heart anymore…I care lesser and lesser about how much it hurts and thus lack the enthusiasm to write it out. I let it be…leave my heart to fight it out on its own or die trying.

It’s a strange, strange situation…I feel helpless and empowered all at once. I know I will be hurt and yet I care too little. Well what other choices do you have if the only person you can turn to in a strange country is the person hurting you?