I did my first hangout yesterday. On Couchsurfing. I have friends, OK?!
I am in Berlin. The city I feel reflects me the best. The city where I feel most at home. The city that I feel can contain my craziness. The one for which I am not too much.
I've been here for the past three days. I came with a friend, or at least that is what I thought. He is something. He has his problems. At 24 he still is more clueless than ever. And he is also in love with me. I knew it before we came. I also knew that I couldn't care less about him. Maybe I am just a cold bitch. I've been considering the possibility.
Anyways, we came here, rented an AirBnb and had all the sex he wanted. I was good, I was submissive, I made sure he had fun. Maybe a little bit too much. I didn't want this. I didn't want this.
We were happy though. I was happy. When we were walking around the city and seeing all the Christmas lights, drinking mulled wine and listening to good music. I was happy then. And he was happy because I was happy.
Then he left. He had to catch a plane yesterday and mine is still in a few hours. I was feeling restless so I opened Courchsurfing and set myself available on Hangouts. In a few minutes I already had a suggestion to go out with someone who looked cool enough so I said yes. I put on some makeup, changed clothes and went outside hoping to spend a nice evening with a local. A dinner and a drink, a few interesting stories, that's all. But for some reason I never manage to keep it just there.
I waited for him for half an hour. There was no subway where he was prior. He did not look like he did in his photos. Not even close. He was French. Living in Berlin for about a year, yet didn't speak a word in German. He had no German friends, in fact he hardly had any friends at all. It was obvious he was unhappy and I was not, or at least I am not when I am not thinking about it.
I didn't like him. He did not inspire me. He did not fill me up. Yet, we went to a bar. He kissed me. I kissed him back. He took me to his place. We had sex. We slept. I left in the morning. Tutto qui.
He talked a lot. About his past, about Paris, about his family and friends. He grew up in poverty. His mom never worked. His dad finished only primary school. Half of his friends were selling drugs, the other half were already in jail. He had two masters degrees and was doing a PhD. He wanted me to know. He wanted me to understand. He wanted to share. He was hurting silently, feeling that he does not have a choice but to stay in Berlin and do a job that he hates in a place that makes him suffocate.
I understood. And I felt repulsed. He looked weak. He looked void of life. And he wanted to fill himself up with me. And I let him. That's the worst part. Because I guess I am trying to fill something up in myself.
But why are we doing this? Why are we always missing something? Why did I have to go to a random person's house that I don't even like? Why did he have to act almost in love? And why was he not the only one? However I have been feeling more real for the 4 days here that I ever felt in Milan. I felt free. I felt loved. I felt accepted. But it was only by people that I didn't care about. I never felt worthy of anybody I ever found worthy. I felt second grade.
I'm not doing it anymore. Enough with the second grade shit. I would much rather stay by myself than with a worse company. I like going out with strangers. I like dating. I like meting new people. What I don't like is not being able to say no, because of some hidden need for approval that I have. Basta.
I can do better. People can do better. I'd like to believe we are better. I'd like to believe we can make our own choices rather than listening to a voice in our heads that is not even ours. I like the freedom. I intend to stop making myself a prisoner. I didn't deserve it.