A Prophet in Her Own Country

It's funny how certain things happen that change your outlook on an otherwise lifeless situation. This weekend was interesting. On Saturday I ambled around the house, went to the gym, and baked cupcakes. Vanessa and I squatted on the couch, watching Mission: Impossible, and then she proposed that Christoph and I accompany her to a yoga potluck in the city. I wasn't feeling too well at the time, but I had to be in New York the next day, so I got myself in gear and soon the three of us were driving in and chatting amicably. I love night driving, and what with the lounge music and company, everything was feeling rosy.

It was when we got to the part that the evening suddenly escalated. As Christoph and I walked towards the coat-room, we ran into Sascha, a healer friend of Vanessa's, who is perhaps better known in this blog as the shadow-dancer. Sascha's response to alcohol isn't a pretty one; she spent the better half of the evening giving unsolicited advice to couples, coming onto men and women, and making us anxious. As soon as she saw us, she came over, slung her arms around us, and said, "My favourite couple! I'm so happy to see you." I guess Christoph and I must have looked stunned, because she followed up by declaring, "oh come on, you know you two love each other. You're soulmates; this is your dharma, this is your destiny. I can see how much you love each other."

I really was at a total loss for words, and Christoph had long since just turned to stone. We shuffled silently into the coat room, where he seemed to recover himself and I ran to stare at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. Five minutes later, Sascha cornered me again and told me that she had met my soulmate; this time an Indian Brahmin with whom she herself seems to be infatuated. 2 hours later she invited me to join her in a threesome. Watching her make out with another girl at the front door, I couldn't help but think, "hey, this woman has been to hell and back; she could teach me a lot." Being me, however, I delivered a small quip and let the situation pass.

I guess I'm lucky to have so many potential companions out there, but Sascha's words really jarred me. The rest of the evening was fun; I met a lot of very cool people. But something was slightly off, especially as I felt that my privacy and feelings had somehow been mauled. Lying on the floor in Vanessa's apartment, next to my friends, I thought a lot about my past, present, and future. It's disappointing to feel that you live your life without some tinge of romance when you're 22 and you finally have time to cook meals for someone, to spend afternoons together, to sprawl on the couch and read in silence. At university I - metaphorically and physically - opened my door to people and let them in. I miss that no one knocks on my door and pokes their head in, wanting nothing more and nothing less than another body in the room, someone with whom to bounce ideas around, someone with whom the words just flow.

On Sunday the three of us went to brunch, which was fun, and then I pottered off to meet Ben for lunch and "Walk the Line." The movie was alright - strong performances, as they say - but I was really out of it during the rest of the afternoon. Having slept from 2:15 to 5:45 that morning, I just couldn't respond to Ben as I would otherwise have done. Poor guy. I came home, spoke to Abby for some reassurance, and crawled into my warm, trusted bed. I wish I knew what to do going ahead, but it seems that in terms of other people, you never can predict what they'll do, what they'll say, or how much they'll reveal to you about your own life.