Stoicism of a Twenties Girl
by Luna | August 11, 2016 10:50PM
A little about me: reserved, but outlandish; cautious but thrill seeker (in some quiet ways); vain but shy; passionate but tired of love.
I am bookish and barely polite, so you can already imagine my interaction with humans, especially with my peers. I don’t like catty talk, but my best moments are when I am jumping through grammatical gymnastics or creating loops of nonsense. Not many people can keep up with this lifestyle, mainly because I don’t drink or have a lot of sex. I live in a state of relative happiness or gladness, despite the lack of alcohol in my life.
Oh, but I do occasionally get fired up by the random sequence of crushes that overtake me, quite incessantly. I don’t necessarily dream or desire of a boy telling me how good I am; mainly, I just want him to fervently touch me here and there. I could not imagine my days filled with the same person every day. I dread waiting for anyone.
And so it happened that one day I was bored at work. The office was just opening at the new building, and the residents were recently checking in. He was one of them. I had seen him before at the office with questions. As I saw him leave, I mistakenly lingered on him for a couple of more seconds. I saw his black hair, wavy at the sides. I took in his broad shoulders, though he was not very tall. Deep breadth. Sigh.
I like to take long showers, and on this particular day I got to thinking about him. I began my grandiose fantasizing with very explicit images of both our passions fusing together. The began pretty quiet and rapidly grew out of proportion. I was on him with all my strength while his words slurred down on me. I gave over myself without any inhibitions, which I would have not if this had been a real situation. I practiced how to seductively roll his name off my tongue. But best of all, I imagined his facial reactions when faced with my uncontrollable desires. He would be surprised yet kind about it. He would look appreciatively and then determined to get at me from all ways.
Immediately afterwards, I would switch to thinking about general issues, like politics, my rent, savings, and food. I simply laughed at such fantasies that had left my head moments ago. I’d go on about my day, except that each day I saw him at work I felt an intimate connection towards him, as if we’d really touched each other. It was completely false and fabricated – I understood that. Yet, I could not shake the feeling that I might like the way he kindly smiled at me without much fuzz.
Soon, I was nearly mad with thoughts about him. On one occasion that I saw him waiting in line at the front desk, I could not look at him for fear of feeling anything more than usual. I spent my time acting courteous to him when inside I was mad with longing.
So, what if he did like me? What then. What if I did not like him very much, after all? Would knowing him ruin all my ideas about him? What if it turned out we were wholly different and unable to tolerate each other? I would have to end it, when it was me who had started it all! I needed to stop liking him. Just the prospect of meeting him was making me a crazy dependent girl, and I refused to proceed like a drunk, staggering through each day for the brief moments filled with him.
Finally, I decided to not do anything about it. I would suffer through my painful desire of him, only to not act upon it. Whenever my thoughts would run amok, my body would just shut down. Yes, there would be no escape from my rampart passions, yet I would stand as still as a wooden chair. In my hazy turmoil, I would strap myself to my thoughts, and in doing so, prevent myself from becoming overwhelmed with desires.
The greatest test of control came during the afternoons, when he would come daily to pick up his packages. I smiled pleasantly and thought, with all my concentration, what a nice friend he would make. How rewarding it would be to know him as a person —not lover. I made myself complacent by simply regarding him as briefly as possible. I planned my reactions and conversations with him beforehand, spending much of my time thinking how to not feel so much for him.
It may be an impossible task but, then again, I live for the impossibilities. Some days I feel weak and helpless; my mind filled with daydreams of his voice and eyes. Some days, I am better at escaping my desires, placing myself in a nonexistent state of being. Because if I do not exist in the moment, I do not have to feel.