Singledom, solitude and the conundrum of growing young

I was greeted by this message when I arrived in Sydney. 

The café is unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. I’m at the Gloria Jeans on Pitt Street near Queen Victoria Building in downtown Sydney, killing my time before a pole dance workshop at Bobbi’s Pole Studio. This café is my favourite chill-out spot not because the coffee and food are particularly good (well, far from that actually as the coffee and food are just average), but because it’s conveniently located, and offers free wireless Internet and a welcoming ambience.

Most patrons and staff here are not locals or Caucasians. There are tourists, international students, working-holiday makers, new immigrants or people of any kind – downtown Sydney has such a vibrant mix of people of different origins and culture. The couple next to me are discussing their itinerary in English with strong European accent; a pair of friends with dark skin is catching up after gym; some patrons are staring out of the big glass windows blankly; a couple of Asians are taking a nap with heads buried in their arms on the table; a creepy old white man, the same one that I saw yesterday, is starring at me from the corner of the café. The red-and-brown colour tone, the aroma of coffee, and the soft music, welcome everyone in.

The streets in this afternoon are quiet too – a change of scene from the one earlier, when you could see groups and groups of teenagers with ripped denim shorts, singlets and sunnies, marching down the streets or hovering in front of McDonald’s, Hungry Jacks or Sunway to grab a bite before they hit the annual Future Music Festival. Today seems like a perfect day for the event with clear sky and a revival of summer heat. I hope the kids enjoy being compressed among stinky, sweaty strangers and suffocated by the smell and heat in the mosh pits.

For the past few days that I’ve been in Sydney, I come to realise that to succeed in, or more precisely, to survive, my imminent flight attendant job, I need to be able to cope with jetlag better. This is the fifth day of my arrival, but I still feel drowsy at 2pm. My drowsiness is partly caused by the medication that the doctor gave me for my upper respiratory tract infection and my cold on the second day of my arrival. How lame. And I haven’t been able to sleep well for quite awhile. How annoying. And I’m going to become a flight attendant for an international airline. Well, good luck with that.

All the sickness, injuries, and weakness that I experienced last year bring me into thinking – Am I really getting old? The muscles stiffness, the hot flushes, the deteriorated cardiovascular activity, sometimes triggered me to ponder if I’m already entering menopause. Obviously I’ve still got some years before that stage of my life, but my body doesn’t function or recover as well as it was when I was 22. However, at the same time, I now feel stronger, sexier and more alive than ever (thanks to pole dancer and yoga). And my mind is definitely younger and more open than before. So is it possible to grow young and old at the same time?

Throughout my life before 30, I longed for relationships and a family of my own. But I was also never sure what I really wanted. Like, you thought you wanted something but as soon as you’re close to getting it, you start to freak out and realise may be you don’t want it after all, or at least, not for now.

But at 31, even though I’m still as naïve and silly as ever (and still haven’t had a clue about what I want), I’m definitely more assured of who I am. After being in so many relationships/semi-relationships, reading so many self-help books, and watching way too many chick-flicks, I’m coming to accept that may be I’m just not meant to be with anyone. Maybe I’m just different.

I love being single and I enjoy being alone; too often before, I started or stayed in a relationship just for the sake of having someone (don’t take it personally boys – it’s not you, it’s me). Of course, it would be nice to have a good companion to share the rest of my life with, but for the past few years, I’ve learnt that I’m perfectly happy (or even happier) by myself. Without attachment, I can go wherever I want, do whatever I love, see whoever I feel like, or, flirt with whoever I fancy (the world is a beautiful place babe, where opportunities abound).

But before you call me bitch or slut or whatever disgusting name tags you can think of, I want to assure you I’m not against relationship – I’m still an ultimate romantic and a sucker for love. What I’m saying is that why be in a suboptimal relationship when I’m having so much fun by myself? I’m still waiting for my charming, straight prince in tailored Armani suit to sweep me up and we live happily ever after at our castle. But in the meantime, this princess just wants to have some fun.