Perhaps tomorrow, you can come with some flowers or chocolates,

and tell me you want to be with me,


(but maybe I’m setting myself up for disappointment …)

A lover’s dreams.

Most of my dreams have to do with you.

When I do the groceries for my parents, for instance, I imagine the day I’ll be shopping for me and you, and even perhaps for our children. I imagine the days I’ll be stressed and rushing, grabbing the fruits and vegetables without really checking how fresh they are nor how expensive they are. I imagine the days when we’ll both have enough time one morning to walk around the local farmer’s markets and take literally all morning to shop. I imagine the days when we’ll go to the supermarket with a baby and one of us will have to entertain the baby whilst the other is busy paying the cashier and packing the bags.

I imagine sharing a bed with you every night. How ideally it’d be lovely to go to bed at the same time, but how realistically, that’s unlikely to happen. How if I’m asleep, I’d probably wake up when you get in bed and sneak your arm around me and we’d kiss and have sex. I imagine the evenings we’ll fall asleep in the blink of an eye, and the nights we’ll talk about life and ourselves, and the nights we’ll laugh so hard we’d freak out about wetting the bed. And the nights the kids will come in wanting to play and we’ll play airplanes with them before kissing them good-night, and before kissing each other on the lips, smiling and feeling proud of our little family.

I dream of having to cook for us, and of you cooking for us, and of cooking together when we have friends and family over. I dream that we’ll be super conscious of our diet but every once in a while we’ll totally binge on chocolate or chips just because, and just laugh at each other and move on. I dream of having dinner one night and making a mess and laughing, and drinking cider and blowing into the bottles trying to work out the pitch of the note like we did two years ago.

I dream of the conversations we’ll have, even of the arguments we’ll very likely encounter. Why haven’t you made the bed this morning? Why are your dirty clothes on the floor and not in the laundry bag? Why did you forget this? How did you forget that when it was clearly marked on our calendar? And the mundane conversations about how we split the bills and who pays for the groceries that week.

I dream of our music room with a piano, the harps, your guitars, shelves of books and music, your mixing desk, some microphones, the posters from all our public concerts and a whiteboard where our list of career goals is written. I dream of balancing a private family life with a common career of being each other’s musical other half.

I dream of the days when we’ll decide to go watch a movie at the cinema at the very last minute, or going on an impromptu date to the restaurant simply because neither of us is up to cook that night. I dream of planning holidays with you, booking flights online, and catching the plane to unknown and known places. I dream of visiting your brother and his wife and children; I dream of you meeting my friend in Europe. I dream of seeing the world with you, my best friend, lover and favourite person.

Most of my dreams have to you with you – I hope you have them too.

Struggle of sitting through a “date”

A few weeks ago, my mum’s friend gave me this guy’s number, telling me I should call him because he is nice and he is French and it would be nice to make friends. I didn’t make any contact because I usually don’t want to waste my time on something or someone I know will not be of use in the long-term (and I know that is hard to know – well, impossible really – but I can generally make assumptions). But I got two free tickets to this basketball match and I am falling out with the person I had originally invited to go with me. So, I texted the French guy.

We agreed to meet up fifteen minutes before the tip off at the entrance. Just by an exchange of a few texts, I felt … first of all, a lack of excitement at meeting him, and second of all, I just had a hunch he wouldn’t be my type of guy. But perhaps I have too many prejudices? His text messages were not written in proper French and I dislike people who are too lazy to write well. And he said he has tattoos and dreadlocks, as in, definitely not the type of appearance to make my heart skip a beat.

Nevertheless, I thought to myself it was too late to bail out, and better to give the guy a chance, after all, I might get surprised! So off I went, and in a pretty bad mood I was (for a variety of reasons). My first reaction when I saw him was that I found him pretty small. He was definitely a tiny little bit shorter than me. That doesn’t really make my heart skip a beat either. I know, I know – I’m judging on someone’s physical appearance, how shallow!

Often when I meet someone new, especially a guy, in those first few minutes of meeting I try to speak to him like I would speak to my best friend; I don’t feel particularly shy, and I am not afraid of silence, and I don’t necessarily feel pressured to ask big life questions. But it doesn’t take long for my mind to realise¬†hang on, this is not your best friend and you don’t know anything about each other. Then I close up entirely and have to force conversation out of me.

As we walked to the front doors, which was crowded, the guy asked me questions, and I wondered why he bothered since there were so many people around that he wouldn’t have been able to hear me properly had I given an answer (still, I did say something back). On the way to the arena, he got himself a glass of beer (it was 2.20pm) and I found it weird to drink at this time but again, I pushed my prejudice aside. We found our seats and it turned out we weren’t even sitting next to each other, which was odd, but I didn’t mind.

At half-time we went out and he got himself a second glass of beer, then we made small talk. I mostly tried to ask him questions about his situation (why he was in Australia) and that sort of stuff. And I’m not saying he was boring but after a while I didn’t really want to talk anymore.

After the match I wanted to go home but obviously couldn’t, we had to go out afterwards, right. We walked a little bit, I said I wanted tea (because guess – 4pm is teatime, isn’t it?). We found the first caf√©/restaurant and went in. It wasn’t the type of restaurant I would ever go in myself but I couldn’t dare being picky. He got himself a burger and another alcoholic drink. We made conversation again but we don’t really have that much in common. Music kept us talking for a small while but once we had spoken of our musical tastes (nothing in common) I didn’t have much else to say, and neither did he it seemed. I particularly remember the silence that went on for what felt like forever, and it was so awkward. All I wanted to do was go home and in my head I was thinking,¬†Finish your drink already!!!

Finally I said I should head home so he walked me to the car park, which was nice but unnecessary. Saying good-byes is so awkward, especially when you know you’re not interested in them. What do you say? It was nice meeting you (wow, so fake)? Keep in touch (lie)? See you soon (lie)? At least I think we both felt the same way because he didn’t seem to know what he wanted to say, probably hesitating between being honest and being polite.

On my way home I pondered on the concept of chemistry. It’s something that I think people want in a relationship. But what is chemistry? Is it physical attraction? Is it a soulmate connection? I think chemistry has a lot to do with physical attraction, and today’s experience showed me I am not attracted to everybody. But then again, was it because I was in a bad mood? Was it because I was tired? Had too many prejudices?

If there’s someone with whom I have chemistry it is definitely my best friend. And what I remember from the first meeting was that we were both completely honest in saying we had no friends and that somehow was something which bonded us. But I don’t know, there was also something that finding out something made you want to find out more. Whereas today, I found things out and it didn’t particularly spike my interest.

Maybe I am being harsh but that is the reality of my feelings. Would I see the guy again? To sit through more awkward silences? Hmm, I think not. Oh well, I tried. I gave him a chance. And I gave myself a chance too.