Sex, Love & Introspection

Throughout the day, my German friends and I discussed work, Ireland, and girls.  We walked behind a slender female in leggings. 

“This girl is nice,” Eric said.  “I like when they wear these tight pants, if they are in shape.”

Most young women that I’ve seen in the UK and Ireland are very fit and relatively pale, especially the ones jogging in the parks in London.  These women I’ve seen have that posh quality, quite distinct from the down-to-earth, tanned spring-break beauty of American girls.  Instead, most British women I’ve seen have their faces made up and their hair is done; their outfit is elegant and expensive.  Rarely did I see women comfortably dressed in blue jeans.

An anomaly in these parts, a plump woman in leggings strutted in front of us: 

 

“This would not happen in Germany,” my friend said.  “If you are fat, you don’t show your legs.”

 

Compared to Americans, Europeans are generally more relaxed with their portrayals and reception of sexual content.  Our Hollywood movies were censored until the 1960s when the Hays Code was replaced with the MPAA ratings system, but in Europe you can find nude bodies on advertisements that don’t cause traffic accidents.  

I grew up in an environment that repressed sex for the most part.  Fornication was a forbidden act rather than an inevitable adolescent hobby that should’ve been talked about more openly, but instead sex, nudity, and even bathroom activities are viewed as disgusting rather than natural bodily functions.  Because of my upbringing, I chuckled when I saw nude women in advertisements.  The same immature adolescent who laughed at the mentioning of female genitalia in health class was still in there somewhere because I’ve lived in a place where these secrets were dirty.

Eric had mentioned that our hostel-mate, a Brazilian man with limited English, was kissing girls left and right the previous night in the Temple Bar pubs. 

I remarked that I found that lifestyle distasteful because there is no meaning to these ephemeral encounters.  One-night-stands will only leave me feeling empty.  I prefer relationships, to be somebody’s rock. 

 

“I agree,” Eric said.  “It’s better to have feelings.  When you know someone and you know what they want...the sex, yeah, it is amazing.”

 

I wanted to interject.  I was talking about love, not sex.

“Yes,” Marcell said.  “But it is also good when a girl is giving you a blow job.”

Marcell wants to see the world.  He doesn’t want to be tethered to a relationship.  Eric, on the other hand, has a girlfriend, but says he is not quite ready to take the plunge into marriage.

In just one day, I had learned so much about these guys, and I thoroughly enjoyed their company, especially after traveling alone for a few days.  I hadn’t really had a long conversation since I left Scotland, so this bout of socializing was invigorating.  Although my new friendships were refreshing, I have to admit that I was not accustomed to traveling in a pack, so I felt the urge to break away and fulfill my itinerary. 

There are a few perks to traveling alone.  You can do whatever you want, whenever you want as fast as you want without considering anyone else’s opinion.  You can linger in museums that would have others complaining of boredom.  Most importantly, you are more likely to collide with strangers.

 

But to travel alone, you must wander down a few lonely roads.  Often there are days when my social life is reduced to business transactions.  There’s the occasional friendly chat with a waitress that can only go so far. 

 

When I walk around a city, my mind does not always wander.  I have to force it to seize an idea, and only when I’ve latched onto a category do I begin to ponder and analyze its components.  Usually I just make plans for the day, or I organize my route to another city.  Sometimes the transitions can be tricky and thus require careful orchestrations.  Often I try to envision these old European vistas as they were in the past, like when Joyce was writing about his native Dublin.  I erase the modern vehicles and pretend the pedestrians are wearing their Sunday suits, the men with their hats and the women in their dresses.

 

When not focusing outwardly, I assess my own qualities.  I list what I believe are my strengths as an individual, and then I contemplate ways to improve my character.  While I would not describe myself as shy, I am hesitant to join large groups.  I often judge strangers too quickly on insufficient evidence.  I often dismiss drinkers, dope-heads, party animals and frat boys without a second chance.  I don’t like to associate with those who frequently indulge in frivolous behavior because I unjustly assume they are stupid and have nothing beneficial to offer me.  I am usually steeped in intellectual pursuits such as reading, writing, studying film, and practicing my French.  Gyrating my body to unimpressive pop songs and consuming large quantities of alcohol to get drunk and lose myself does not tickly my fancy.  Sometimes I feel a nagging urge to loosen up and not be such a prude, but I have not yet reached a fair compromise.  I suppose I could view certain forms of debauchery as celebratory rather than shameful or wasteful.  I suspect my viewpoints on this matter have been shaped by my father’s excessive drinking and the uncertainty I face when I ask myself how a respectable man should define and present himself.     

The rest of my mental space is filled with contemplation of the future.  Since I feel slightly alienated in Dublin, this opportunity allows me to assess my home life from a fresh perspective.  When I’m at home, I find my job as a waiter in a relatively upscale restaurant to be mediocre and meaningless, although I am comfortable there and make more than enough money to cover my expenses.  I enjoy living in the city, and there are a few great friends there.  My house is very inviting, and I bask in the pleasures of watching films each night with my brother. 

But I wander if my feelings toward home are biased because I miss the convenience and constant warmth it offers.  In these sentimental mindsets, it is easy to forget about the grievances, the undesirable aspects, the feelings of incompleteness, and the urge to get out of town and refresh the view. 

When your mouth is closed and your feet are on auto-pilot, traveling alone is more often an inward journey.  The displacement from familiar surroundings is beneficial to analyze one’s life from new angles.  It is perfectly healthy to feel uncomfortable in a foreign land.  I embrace the discomfort of feeling lost and adrift.  When the scenery never changes, the familiarity can sometimes be blinding.