A Star


Last weekend I met a pretty special man. We were introduced at a special beach club for me on Saturday afternoon, we laughed a lot and at times we isolated ourselves from the other conversation going without even noticing, even though we were surrounded by a lot of people. By night, as a total surprise the person who introduced us brought him over to my place and the three of us stayed out on my terrace drinking gin and tonics and listening to music until around 3 am.
On Sunday we went out for dinner. Just the two of us.

The atmosphere was strangely relaxed, it almost felt like we had known each other for years. We talked a lot, we laughed and we discovered we had so many things in common that it almost felt surreal to me.
Same pathway in life, same life experiences, look (and feel) way younger than we actually are, great good looking (him, not saying that I am), the traveling, the successful careers, our music collections and our future shows attendance, our favorite characters, tv shows, jokes… The fact that either one of us is comfortable enough and could strike up a conversation with virtually anyone we bump into anywhere in the world and still be friends for years afterwards. We would adapt (and have adapted) to pretty much anything but now consciously decided to have a little bit more selfish and less selfless approach to life. So we were standing at the same point. While sitting down on a spring (summer temperature though) night by the water.

It was an amazing eye opener. A breath of freshness and hope. I am not that crazy. I am not the only one who’s lived this way and feels this way.

But at the same time it was strangely weird. We would say similar things, just to say the opposite a while after. When opening up about the things we were looking for in life and in someone that we would love to have near, to share everything with.
I heard so many mixed signals. But I was sending the same ones.

We finished dinner and went for a drink across the street by the harbor. The place was crowded but naturally there had to be just the one available table for us. I went to the counter to order but the waiter insisted in bringing the drinks to the table and in keeping a tab open. So we kept talking. And talking. About our friends (of course none in common). And smiling. And drinking. And observing people around. And more talking. And laughing. And talking. About what we wanted. About life. About other people’s life compared to ours (ours so similar). And then went out for a smoke. And of course we started talking with the guy who gave us a light. And he started talking about his complicated life, about how simple out lives were, about how young he was in age but how young we looked.
Then the stranger left. And we kept talking about holidays, about plans and about life.
But suddenly the carousel stopped (no it was not the drinking, it had only been one). He said something like “I need to figure out what I want to do”. He wasn’t talking about just his holidays.
And it hit me: that’s what I needed to.

Wonderful date, but what a strange night.
In a really creepy way, that whole night (or weekend) felt a bit unreal, it felt very fuzzy. It was the kind of feeling you get when you realize you are dreaming and you can sense that something is about to change: you’re about to either wake up or enter a nightmare.

The best way I can express it is this: I almost felt like I was on that date with myself. Saying one thing, then saying other. Sending a this is want I want and the next minute playing it down and restating the sentence so it would mean the opposite.
I realized that I’ve been sending mixed signals pretty much all my life. I like playing it down, I don’t want to say what I want too clearly, I don’t want to disappoint. I am the many mirrors.

I had an amazing time but since then I feel very detached from that night (weekend).
If it wasn’t because I hear from the person who introduced this man to me pretty much every day, right now I would be trying to convince myself that that weekend had been a dream. But I know for a fact it wasn’t.

Fact is that great man went back home way up northwest part of this country a day after.
Fact is I most likely won’t be hearing from him again. How do I know? Because he was just (too much like) me. And that’s what I would do.

(This post best read while listening to:
Caravane by Raphaël Haroche)

PD: strange enough, the strange dreams that I mentioned in my previous post started after all this I wrote above.