Being in London for the last fortnight has been a wonderful, heady mixture of joy, trepidation, and about three times, unmitigated panic. The whole experience has been surreal–in the last few years, the city has both changed so much and so little, that my time has felt like a series of overexposed photographs, images old and new blurring and overlapping to create something that’s eerily familiar and completely unheimlich all at once.

I’ve spent the last week with family. A lot. In a strange way, that has probably been the highlight of my trip, if only because the older and more single I get, the more I realise that I’ve not really got a lot else in my life that will provide unconditional love. Lord knows I still don’t want kids, because it’s hard enough taking care of myself without having other people in the mix, but being an uncle has some super high-lights. There are two moments from that in particular that stand out, mainly because the outpouring of love I’ve felt during them is possibly unparalleled.

The first, when my elder nephew (who is truly brilliant but I think a little poorly socialised) told me that no one in school plays with him; I suggested that perhaps, instead of talking about trains to everyone (his constant fixation), he should try just…well, playing. He came back from school, and when I asked him how his day was, looked at me with these huge almond eyes and said “I didn’t talk about trains at all, all day, and still no one played with me.”

I wanted to cry.

The second was when I put on, at the younger nephew’s request, “Hey Delilah” as we were driving home from Harrods this morning, and in his three-year-old lilt, he sang along. It was possibly the single cutest thing, including kittens and puppies, that I have ever seen.

I need to be around them more. I don’t want to be the uncle who shows up every once in a while. I want to be the uncle they call and come to all the time, and I think that to be in that space, I need to spend even more time with them. Between work and their early bed-times, we haven’t logged as many hours as I’d have liked, but in conjunction with the fact that my brother is–at heart, I believe–fundamentally lonely without his family around, I’ve spent a lot of time talking to him and some of my co-workers about transferring to the London or Middle East offices in another year or two if possible. I need to feel like there’s more to my life than…well, than just me.

Much of my wanting to look for–at the risk of sounding all New-Agey–more depth to my life is also, I think, the fact that Curfew Boy hasn’t texted or e-mailed me since I left Karachi almost two weeks ago. We spoke online for a bit once; I’ve messaged him a few times and all I’ve got so far is radio silence. I don’t really know what to make of it any more, but I think that I’m going to rest assured in my belief that since he has both finals and a job hunt coming up (or already underway), there’s a lot on his mind. And I’ll just breathe, for now. Deal with it when I go home, if in fact there’s anything to be dealt with, which is not necessarily a state of being. I don’t believe in giving extra chances, but I do remember what it was like for me when I was trying to juggle both finals and my own search for employment, and I’m inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

The other highlights of my trip (and it’s not over yet, but I feel like with only another day or so to go, and much shopping to be accomplished, I may as well pretend that it is) were two gorgeous afternoons spent in Soho Square with people who despite having not seen in a while or with much regularity, I find myself considering friends. This poor handsome devil was forced to follow me around the huge Waterstones on Piccadilly as I raged through their fiction selections, and then to lunch at Busaba in Soho, followed by conversations in Soho Square (we scoped out deliciously sweet little gay boys who were all BFF4EVA with each other) and drinks at the Yard before we went our separate ways.

The other afternoon was with this man, also in Soho Square, during which we purchased a bottle of wine and chatted for about half an hour before I sent him off to grab another bottle (well, more accurately, he volunteered to fetch it if I’d hold our space, because let me tell you, one ray of sunshine and every bitch in this city is out there trying to get a tan). To be quite honest, I was enjoying the company so much that I don’t even know what we talked about (there was some mention of brain cells, but as mine were rapidly reeling from some rather good white wine, it’s a bit of a lost cause), but as we were joined by old classmates and a former flat-mate, I found myself lying on my side at a side of the square, eyeing some cute young things and just relishing the feel of being able to go outdoors and have a pleasant evening that didn’t involve dressing up, informing family of where I was or with whom, and reeling home later at four in the morning, since I also wound up (a) drinking another bottle of wine, (b) eating dim sum with friends until REALLY late, and (c) forgetting who or where I was for about two hours because I was loving just staggering around Soho and Piccadilly Circus and that whole tragically touristy neighbourhood.

And finally of course, there was dinner with one of my favourite non-couply couples. This cute young thing made all sorts of convoluted arrangements for us to meet up, and we may yet see each other again tomorrow. All of these men want me to go roller-blading in Hyde Park, but I don’t think that they appreciate my perspective just yet…given that I’ve never bladed before in my life, about all I’m planning to do is squeak and fall over onto attractive men within arms’ reach.

Maybe, if one of them catches me, I’ll think about moving back. Maybe.

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 11th, 2008 at 4:22 am and is filed under Apprehension, Crazy freakouts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.