I feel jaded. Like I’ve lost the capacity to love. No. Capacity is the wrong word. Inclination, Interest. Yes, those two words sum it up well. Love alone is also too strong a word at this time. I’ve just lost the interest to want to be in love I guess. I’ve stopped thinking about it almost completely. Which is really scary because I’ve spent most of my life wanting to be with a man. Wanting to be loved and to love someone. Wanting a core shaker. Wanting fireworks. And suddenly none of that matters. It would have been fine to feel this way if say, something else had taken precedence. Like a blazing career or a needy family. But nothing else has. I still crave sex. I still have random crushes on random men. I still want to party and dress up for the men and have them hit on me. But the want or more so the need to be with a man. or scarily and most parochially enough, to have someone to complete me, has vanished.
They say its age. They say it comes from being single for too long. They say it comes from being in too many bad relationships. They say it’s the beginning of the 30 something singleton syndrome. Then I scream at them and say that I’m still fucking 25. To which they retort and say that 25 is the new 30. That at 25, I’ve been working for 5 years and have been with more than 5 men and that makes my 25 of today the 30 of when Sex and the City started airing.
And then I realize that this is probably true. That five years of being in a city that makes you feel deceptively full. Five years of loving men that only left you. Five years of following my bollywood dream is no more different than being 35, single in Manhattan and walking in your Manolo’s to brunch.