I’m back.

I have been MIA for the past, oh so- I can’t remember how many months it has been since my last post. Months have gone by so quickly that I don’t know where to start. I don’t know where to begin or to pick up from where I left off. But I think it’s better to just simply say what’s in my mind right now and not think of the past.

My innocence is holding on its last string. My belief in the power of love is slowly vanishing. My hope to fall in love again and to be with someone happily, is almost starting to become a fictional happily-ever- after story: close to impossible. My expectations to men has gone up from a scale of 8 to 10.5. I have become a spawn of short love affairs which temporarily sustains my hunger for happiness and love. How did it all come down to all these? I’ve been utterly impatient, a reckless attention whore and a coward who couldn’t be single for more than a month. It’s that bad.

I don’t want to brag that once I’m single, there are guys already lined up way before I even got into the relationship. I found that as I replace one guy to the next guy, my standards have increased. I got bored easily and I’ve become way too picky. I’ve been into relationships where I thought I would finally enjoy the “stable” sort of movie and hang out in the usual,redundant places, but that has led me to be utterly bored with the relationship and the person. I simply wanted something new. There is also that kind of feeling that I wanted:  it’s something dangerous, something tricky and fun when it comes to a relationship; something that was a challenge. And then of course, there’s the actual “standard”  for liking a guy: he should drive, he must have a great job, he should have his own place, he should have his head on his shoulders, yadadada…

But all I get is one of those things or two out of those. I know, I should be contented, but I couldn’t simply just say, “I’m happy” when I’m not. I hate lying to myself because I end up being miserable and guilty for not taking the slightest hint. I think I know why I’m so picky and why I’ve been insensitive. I know why and I hate to admit that it’s because of a guy. I hate to admit that I’m still not over my ex-Italian boyfriend, Beppe.

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