an open space

oh, that's alright
The dynamic of college relationships and social interactions is quite interesting. I use a word as vague as "interesting" as a copp-out, probably because I'm uncertain of how to properly articulate the complexities of people and relationships.

I was baking a batch of cookies to bring to the second dinner party I planned on attending yesterday evening, and short on ingredients and time, snuck into my neighbors' house, empty with the lights turned off. I know they leave the side door unlocked, so I went in and took two eggs from the refrigerator, ran home and cracked them into the kitchen aid, arriving to both dinners on time.

It might make more sense to explain that my neighbors consist of a house full of boys I befriended in boarding high school. Many of which I was very close to at one point, and have had slow and painless falling outs with over the years due to girlfriends, or gradual changes in values or friend groups. But many of them still invite themselves over for dinner without reservation, and expect me to hem their pants upon request, maintaining a wonderful level of comfort and trust.

Yet familiarity and history doesn't always mean closeness, and the experimentation of forming new relationships has its own advantages and disadvantages.

Yesterday I danced with a boy whom I know through some mutual friends. His hands slid up and down my waist, and when I removed them altogether, he was too distracted with the buzz of consumption to notice or react. He smiled at me, and yelled in my ear, above the blaring music.

"I ask you this question with hesitation . . ." he said.

"What?"

"Do you smoke?" His spoke slow and loud, speech slurring.

I shook my head.

"Do you want to? After this we can leave together, and you can try it. I am so happy that I saw you here."

After politely declining his offer, I arrived home around 2 am, looking at myself in the cracked full-length mirror on my bedroom door. The blue glittery make-up that my friends had applied had smeared on my tired eyes. And I fell into bed, exhausted.

Sometimes I feel all of this pressure to have everything settled and stable and figured out.

I don't think everything happens for a reason, but I do believe that people are the way they are, for a reason. And that the same might go for in a relationship. The dynamic and the level of trust is a direct result of both peoples actions and values, and can be rationalized to reasons, as vague as one person's insecurities, or an unconscious choice or sacrifice one might make for fear of discomfort or avoidance of pain, or love, or security, or commitment.

It's okay to not have all the answers, or maybe to never even have them at all. If I had them now, I might never understand the process. And so the answer in itself would be meaningless.

Life is an adventure. And patience is a virtue.