A Day For Me

It was a great trip.

One where I found out that I could shed some inhibitions more easily than I thought I could.

I had a beautiful time. Sang on top of my voice. Danced wildly. Slept comfortably without underwear on. Rode on a stretch of rode topless, singing and laughing into the breeze. Slept with a stranger, a beautiful boy with beautiful eyes. Woke up feeling beautiful and free each morning. Lay down on a beach and looked up at the starry night. Forgot duty. Forgot responsibilities. Forgot about living for a million other people.

That for me was the best part of this trip. I lived for myself. I made my own rules. I lived by my standards. I lived for ME.

I slept with a boy I had not known for more than two hours. And I danced with him with all my heart and soul. He told me I was pretty. He told me I was a great dancer. That I kissed well. He grabbed my chin and kissed it. He hugged me like he'd known me all my life. He played with my hair and ran his hands through it. He held me face and kissed it.

And after all that? He still met me and my friends and showed us around. He was afraid he'd be judged, but he still showed up. He made it a point to talk to me. To try and understand what I was about. He showed up.

After that mad, mad night, all I can remember are the tender bits. Repeating a word after him. Hugging him. Sitting on his lap, wearing his shirt. Smelling of him. Trying to trace his face because it was so unfamiliar. Tangled toes. Mussed up hair.

It was weird. To say the least. Intimacy is a strange thing. One that I thought I couldn't share that easily with anyone. It took me a year and a half to shed my inhibitions for one man. And this happened overnight. What was odder is that I can only recollect the sweet, gentle bits. The rest doesn't matter. And that kind of intimacy usually takes an emotional connect before it sets in. Every few minutes I'd wonder at the madness of it.

But I woke up feeling whole. Feeling normal. Feeling clean, not dirty. Feeling like it was okay to have made an irrational, impulsive, spontaneous and potentially dangerous decision like that. Because for once, I was thinking for myself. Without worrying about who would say what and who I was obliged to do what for. I felt free. I felt like I finally took a decision for me.

My friends had problems with it at first. One believed it was too fast. One was afraid I'd have feelings for the boy overnight and that I'd be left in the lurch. One believed that I really needed to sort myself out.

At first, I was upset. An irrational part of me just wanted to be told it was okay. It was fine, as long as I knew what I was doing. Yet I knew they were partly right. And it irked to hear it, but I was fine because I knew I needed to do something to break away from all the ties, fragile knots and strings that have become part of my life. I didn't regret a minute of it.

Sometimes you shouldn't say anything at all about anyone else's decisions. Sometimes what looks terrible on the outside can be good for the soul. Maybe we shouldn't be so hasty to offer advice and support. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can't put yourself in another person's shoes.