The first day

I survived my first day.

I told Cavé that I liked him on Sunday. No, I actually told him that he was the first person who I thought might be The One. And he effectively said no. And today it's all business as usual back in the office.

It was over drinks on Friday that I ended up crying a little in a small underground bar in Covent Garden. I'd been sad about work. In the end, because I was feeling reckless after a frustrating period at work, and I'd had nothing to eat since lunch and had three cocktails in succession, I told him that the reason I wasn't pushing for NY was because of him (made more deeply ironic because he'd broken up with his long-term, long-distance girlfriend because she wasn't willing to move to London/NY for him).

We agreed to meet up to discuss. And so, over brunch at a cocktail bar/lounge in a side alley somewhat off of New Bond Street, we had our conversation.

And although it was a No fairly early on, after one hour of faffing about and talking about work, we still continued on and a had wonderful conversation. One of those lovely, meandering, slightly dreamy, sometimes intimate, sometimes jokey conversations that flittered like a butterfly from one topic to another, sometimes just brushing by with a light touch, sometimes resting for a while. It was all so natural, and after the conversation, crazily enough, I'd come to like even more (even as a friend) and I'd come to realise that he was even more startlingly like me than I'd previously thought (and I had already thought he was as good as it gets).

What gutted and baffled me the most, was this: he acknowledged that I was most similar to him in the team, I think he is the most similar male (even person) to me in my 24 years of life. I find it very very difficult to truly truly like a guy enough to commit (my multitudinous sea of crushes notwithstanding), while he, already single for two months, readily acknowledges that he is actually incapable of being single for long. Then why... why not me? Why not us?

I asked him: why not? And he said: I can't say why, it's irrational. And I just said: Oh okay. And accepted it. After all, I'd asked guys who'd liked me before why they like me, and they'd always come up with: 'I don't know why, I just do', and I've always accepted that. So it seems to be the most natural thing in the world to accept this too.

And yet... what baffles me. Which I should have asked is... You see, this was the boy, who, at the early part of last year had said: If you weren't a banker, and I'd met you earlier, I might very well marry you. I had asked him why, and said I was thinking I'd never marry cos guys just don't seem to like me much in general. And he had said this: that I was one of those people who provoked extreme reactions in people/guys. Guys would fall into two categories. They would either strongly like me, or not at all. There would be nothing in between. He had evidently fallen into one camp before (at least theoretically), why has it changed?

I was exhausted at work today, since I had come home from work at 4am on Sunday (technically Monday morning) and had gone back into work by 9am. And so I wasn't particularly in a good shape to talk etc. especially when he first came in. I especially didn't want him to feel awkward or think I'd spent all night crying or what not. But we didn't really speak the entire, except for saying Hi in the corridor.

In the evening, when the time came to order dinner, I didn't deliberately seek him out since I thought that would be a bit unnatural. But when I forgot to order for myself the first time round, and I knew that most other people in the team had ordered, I went to find him in a room where he was sitting, and said: Hey you want order?

Who's ordering said he.

Me. Cucina?

He said yeah okay and gave me his typical order.

I think that would have been he natural thing for me to do in the circumstances. And in any case, I didn't want us to not talk on the first day and start things off on the wrong foot by getting it all weird and awkward.

When the first batch of food came, I went down to collect it with another girl. And he came sauntering into the dinner room after. And I said: That's not your food. I forgot to order for myself the first time, so I ordered a second time.

Then when I got the next call, I went out and said: hey your food is here now.

How about your food, he asks. (my heart leaps with joy)

Yes, mine too. And [our D]'s too. Will you collect it?

He said okay.

And I gave him a smile (that only an infatuated girl could give ;)) and said thank you. Then I left to go back to my conference call.

And as it panned out, I didn't have dinner with him (with all the other people in my team) after all. But that wasn't the point. The point was to make contact, to interact, in as normal and natural a way as possible.

But it was hard. During the day, every time I saw him laugh, my gut would wrench. Every time his eyes crinkled and those deep crow's feet around his smiling eyes appeared, or his face turned pink from laughter, and I saw those cigarette-stained yellow teeth (yeah.. I know... it's gross), my stomach would knot up. I'd feel almost hurt. Because I wanted to see him smile. I wanted to be able to just look at him, to stare, to join in the laughter, to share the mirth. I love to see him smile, my little Caravaggiesque Grumpy. But I couldn't. I, who had spent so many days and weeks secretly or not-so-secretly looking at him, had to militantly keep my eyes away from him. Because now he would be alert. Now he would know. And I didn't want him to know. Although that doesn't make sense of course. Because he does know. He knows as much as there is possible for him to know. I'd told him All. That he was Possibly THE ONE. The First guy I'd ever thought might be THE ONE. In a way, there's no longer any need to pretend. I'd bared my soul to him, put myself in a vulnerable position. But at least in the office, I wanted to make it as comfortable for him as possible, so he wouldn't have to worry so much about hurting me. It's not easy, to be sensitive to someone who said all of that. And I know he means well, he's also treading around lightly, gently. He doesn't want to trample all over my little heart.

My stomach is still tied up in knots. I've lost my appetite. It's nothing quite as serious as my appetite loss during the hellish 8 months when The Ex (then Bf) and I were in a rocky patch. Then, I lost 5 kgs in about 6-9 months. But this time of course, I'm working. Long hours. And after all, I'm not with him.

My gut twists. I both want to leave because I can't bear seeing him so near, knowing how impossible it is. And how frustrated and upset I will be the day (not too far from now) when he will have a new girlfriend, and I will have missed his single boat. (And he usually stays in relationships for a long time). And yet I can't bear to leave. To give up. Knowing, believing... in his potential.

I've been listening to Shakira (Oral Fixation 2) over and over again recently: "That without you this place is like London, It rains every day"

But I'm very glad I told him. I'm actually very proud of myself for being so brave (reckless). It's like a big weight has been lifted off my chest. Because now, I know I've at least told him, I've at least tried, and fought for something I care for. I took a risk. No regrets. And this is also something I didn't think I would have in me to do. This should have been something on my List of Things to Do Before I Die.

And well... if nothing else, I hope I get to lose weight. I mean.. things being as they are, I hope I get to at least milk it for what it's worth.

And at least we're still friends..