I wrote a blog post about friends and feelings a few posts back... and

Since then, I have gotten my foot stuck in a hole. A sizable hole, actually. A hole about the size of Antarctica. Which, in theory, means that I should be able to remove my foot quite easily... but I'm just stupid. 

A warning, at this point. This post is extremely personal, and I have a funny feeling that I may cry a few times while writing this. I hope that in trying to reach a point where I understand, you too may understand something. I hope you understanding helps you in some way too. Even if just by learning from my mistakes. It is gonna be a long read.

I have gotten myself into a strange state; both mentally and emotionally. I have found myself rather confused, and mostly irrational. I wonder how much sense I've been making to other people because I haven't been making much sense to myself, at all.

Maybe we should start at the beginning, in order to get closer to the end I seek so desperately.

Now, let's take it back... say, about two years and three months. Not quite the beginning, but most certainly the only definite point where we can begin (for, before this, there were merely insignificant crushes which really just blur together into a big mass of "I can't believe I did that"s)... I can't believe it was that long ago that I met the boy who was to become my first ever boyfriend. The first, and currently only, notch in that column of my bedpost. (Not that there are many notches elsewhere, of course.) Here began the blissful few months of awkward friendship becomes joined-at-the-hip friends set on fire. We were kids, fifteen and fearless. Looking back, that period had some of my fondest memories of times with that boy. There was really no pressure to make anything work, anything at all. It was simple and it was easy.

It was so very simple, that the next step was perhaps inevitable. We gave the relationship thing a shot. My first, not his. And that was fine. Slow, very hesitant. Like that first time riding a bike without training wheels. And there was that satisfying whoosh when we realised that we were, in fact, moving forward without our training wheels and somehow hadn't fallen over. Yet. But I was still a girl who had perimeter walls surrounding her heart, as most girls do... even girls who had no prior experience with relationships. (Instinct, maybe?) Opening up in a different way took time. Slowly, he became less of my best friend and more, but never entirely, my boyfriend. For he would still retain many of those "best friend" perks.

A relationship which grew and matured, struggled through and consequently overcame the silly trials of teenage relationships. Overcoming our parents, our friends, our fears, ourselves... we became a lot of things to each other. I cannot speak for him, but I know for a fact that he became one of my closest confidants; I stored in him things that had reached a point where they could no longer hold in only me without causing hurt, one of my best motivators; he challenged me to be better than what little I saw of myself, and eventually (and even now) better than what he saw of me too.

Teens don't always get enough credit. Teenage relationships aren't always awkward half men and half women fumbling around with each other's bodies, but sometimes are those same awkward half men and half women finding someone to help shape them into something amazing. My teenage relationship certainly pushed me towards maturity, towards accepting responsibility for a lot of things and the consequences of these very things. I learnt that things weren't always going to be great... actually, things were rarely going to be great. But that those rare moments of absolute greatness were worth all those moments of not-so-greatness.

Now, we certainly weren't always those mature teenagers who were trying to be great and shaping and all that lovely stuff... we were sometimes still just a half boy and a half girl who did stupid stuff which hurt ourselves and each other. The trick was learning to forgive each other and ourselves for those stupid little things. Or try to, at least. This bit is complicated and I don't think we ever truly got this part perfectly... but I don't think I've ever told him how much I appreciated the fact that he tried, we tried. I think our intentions were good, we just might not have been the best at execution. Good people do bad things, that doesn't make us bad people. Just kids. Who made mistakes.

Break-ups and make-ups, because sometimes things need to fall apart so they can fall back together in new ways. We fell apart many times, but it seemed like we'd always fall back together.

Until we didn't.

I won't try and fool myself into thinking that I don't miss that relationship, but maybe this falling apart is so that God can put together something different for both of us that needs to happen. It is that faith that has held me back from forcing the course of our current situation. I firmly believe that what is meant to happen, will.

Now, on a separate, but possibly related, path that appeared once I had reached the end of the previous one... There had been a boy that I had liked when I was twelve. With all the passion that a twelve year old can have... which basically means that I stayed far away and imagined what it could have been like instead. Before I had any sort of realistic expectations of relationships, boys, or even that highly debated "love".

I thought I had already wandered away from this path... but no, alas there I stood. Confused. It had been a text, I think. A text which followed a casual "buck up" at a mutual friend's house. Suddenly, there he was again... but closer, much closer. Dangerously close. And I was already wary.

We talked. We talked, a lot. And often. And about many, many things. I trusted, I told, I explained, I laughed, I listened.... and unfortunately, I fooled myself. Fooled myself into thinking that I held the cards of fate in my hand. For, when the time came for this path to merge into another, I was absolutely stubborn. He had come soooo close. Close enough for my fingers to brush, but never close enough to grasp. I felt cheated.

No matter how cheated I felt, however, I could not stop what was destined to happen. You may challenge the existence of "destiny" and "fate", but I don't. I believe that everything happens exactly the way it is supposed to, and we have very little control over the course of action that is set for us. For example, if he was just not meant to stay in my life, then there was very little I could do to convince him otherwise.

And so that path ended. I stood at a fork. Both roads were narrow, short, rocky and unpaved. On one side, there had been a boy who lived many miles away but had once been very close; a friend. A very good friend. And on the other, a boy I had only just met... with a very nice pair of eyes.

In hindsight, I doubt I was very interested in either road. Which, perhaps, explains why I didn't spend very long on either. I ambled down one, quickly determining that this was not desirable and not fair. I thought he should have a chance at finding a girl close enough to home to relate to. (Note: she's beautiful and they haven't been together long, but I'm very sure that he likes her very much and I do too. I'm very glad I didn't wander the entire way down the road.) And, after travelling a few feet down the second road, I discovered that I would rather rub a grater across my face than settle for a jerk anyways.

And now I stand facing a very wide lane. It is late at night. I can gather, from the light cast by the nearest streetlight, that the road is well maintained, paved in rich asphalt with generous sidewalks. But it is a fairly deserted street, and it is late at night and the lights are few and far between. I stand at the intersection, hesitant and unsure. One hesitant step, and then I pause. I'm scared to go any farther.

I know the road is very well maintained. I know that going down this road is simply a matter of walking from the circle cast by the glow of one light to another until I have traveled the length of the road. But still, I fear. I hesitate. And I overthink.

This road is my best friend. I have known him for as long as I can remember.

Hesitantly yours,
me.

I may or may not have consumed a third of my weight in Christmas dinner... and

Society is a bitch.

Pardon my language, but I think I've had enough. This is ridiculous. The endless, constant pressure to be something that we're not and we're not even capable of being- perfect.

This pressure to be a certain size, weight, look, social status, wealth, etc. Like there's some cookie cutter machine that churns out equal lumps of human to be baked at 350 degrees to become average height, skinny girls with flawless faces and long curly hair and straight As, loved by all.

It just isn't possible.

Perfection isn't an attainable goal. Not for people, anyways. We're flawed and constantly making mistakes and screwing up and doing stuff wrong. And I think that's how it's supposed to be.

I'm not trying to be perfect. I'm just trying to be the very best me.

I don't wear a pound of foundation every day, I don't have perfect hair, or perfect teeth, or perfect skin. I don't dress up often. I don't get perfect grades. I don't do everything right.

And I'm trying to be okay with all of that.

Because if my hair was different, or my eyes were different, or my skin was different... they wouldn't quite be mine.

So, society, go screw yourself.

(Just to point out here that this isn't me bashing "society" or anything, because we all are society and in order for there to be change, we sorta have to stop complaining about it and start doing something about it... changing the way we think and everything. But, y'know, I'm just saying that I'm trying to love who I am. Flaws and all.)

Happy holidays, all. Here's me sending love to you and your family and hoping you spent it with the people who meant the most to you... even if it was long distance, such as a very late Christmas greeting to a best friend in the States via Whatsapp. Let the people you love know how much you love them.

Most imperfectly,
me.