A gay indie boy living in suburban South West London recounts his trials and tribulations dealing with sex, sexuality, growing up and getting older

Wednesday, January 01, 2014


So tonight I mainly spent crying about Vik and considering whether or not I should message him. I resisted, asking myself what I was trying to achieve by such a move, or whether reconciliation would actually help the situation at all.

After wavering between crying and trying to sleep, I decided to stay up and accept my fate. 

What was it that made me reject Vik?

After some deliberation, I realised exactly what it was. When I met Vik I was thinking wedding, mortgage, kids... And then when we went to bed, I thought "Is this it?"

It occurred to me the reason I rejected Vik, why it fucked me up so badly in the first instance and why he seems to have cut me so deeply is because the experience has struck a chord at the very heart of the way I live my life.

Since I was young, I always believed I would have a passionate, spontaneous, improvised and exciting life. However, now I am where I am, I realised that the trappings of middle-class life are all too evident. The job in media. Routine. Freelancing. A car. Regular rent paid on the same day every month. Coming back home to the same place every night for the past six years. Loneliness of single life. Pints at the same bars with the same people doing more or less the same things.

With Vik I could have stayed this course: been assured that happily ever after with a satisfactorily handsome husband who would support me and show up to 'lovely' functions full of couples. A man who I could share my money with, as well as my life.

And then the panic. 

The nubbin of this whole tale is actually not to do with Vik. He is lovely, perfect and gorgeous... And will make someone a stable, reliable husband one day.

The real underlying point is that Vik actually made me consider not just what I want from relationships, but what I want from my life. And I need to fix those things in my life that aren't working. Having more fun. Being spontaneous. Shaking it up a bit. Re injecting the passion and fun into everything. Go on adventures. Take risks with my art and performance work. Stop playing so safe all the time.

And thus we've found a new year's resolution.

I have promised myself one more cry before bedtime. But hopefully we've cracked the nut on the cause of this crisis conundrum.


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