Halloween may be a time to get away from reality and slut it up as your alter ego but as Karim Rahman recently found out, your real-life demons are never far behind...
Growing up, there was never really a holiday I liked more than Halloween. The costumes, the candy, the general air of spookiness and mystery got me all kinds of giddy and excited and nothing seemed to be able to rival that. Through the innocent goggles of childhood, that holiday was probably all about the free candy I got. Now, as an adult in my second decade of life, it's less about the candy (because I'm obviously on a diet) and more about the chance to dress up and live vicariously through my costume. I've discovered that we, as adults, have this tendency to handle our problems in the most efficient and mature way possible: we run away from them. More often than not, we don't like who we are so we pretend to be someone else. Now, to have a holiday where it is socially acceptable (even encouraged) to be anyone BUT who you actually are, is a blessing in disguise. My expectations about Artist and I's virtual-but-finally-turned-into-real-human-contact relationship were met with nothing but disappointment (think left at the altar, but less dramatic). I was scorned, disappointed (in both Artist and myself) and sick of my usual repeating pattern of making choices that were obviously not very wise. Then Halloween rolled around, and I decided it was the perfect time to be someone who is the entire opposite of this self-hating, bitter shell that I have become.
In other words, I decided to be a slut that day.
In all honesty, my initial costume idea was to be a bumble bee. But, turns out, pairing a mustard knit sweater with black skinny jeans, camel boots and a loop scarf does not a buzzing bee make, so slut was actually my second choice. After deciding to ignore all the commercial Halloween parties (sorry, Tamarai) and opting to attend an after-curfew house party with my best friend G, the true magic of Halloween reared its ugly – and heart stopping – head. Stuck in a house for five hours with people I barely know, two of the scariest things happened: a) I had no choice but to face my emotional problems and very obvious abandonment/daddy issues; and b) I think I may have met someone.
Now before anyone (myself included) jumps to any conclusions, angels did not sing and the sky certainly did not part and shine a light on said person. It was, more or less, a chance encounter. Tall, cute, a graphic designer and dressed as a strawberry (it doesn't get cuter than that), Designer immediately caught my attention by striking up a conversation out of the blue. Over drinks and talk about mutual friends, I may have deluded myself into thinking there was something going on there. But, when it was (sort of) clear that the interest was not mutual, I handled that predicament with the maturity level expected of me: I drank till I couldn't see straight and proceeded to make out with the first person I found…right in front of Designer. My sudden embodiment of my costume didn't stop there, however, because random person and I opted for a little more privacy and engaged in a bit of bathroom sex. Having checked "self-destructive decisions" off my to-do list for the night, it was time to deal with my overt drunkenness.
That was when Designer found me in the balcony (or I found Designer, I'm a bit fuzzy on the details), leaning against the railing and trying really hard not to pass out. I then proceeded to lean against Designer's shoulders and sleep the alcohol off (prompted by Designer and not of my own doing, I might add) and got offered a ride home, since we both live in the same area, which I gracefully accepted. The car ride was mainly awkward silences (or maybe just exhausted silence, after partying all night) and singing along to Lana Del Rey songs, before I finally reached home, thanked Designer for the ride and got out of the car…without exchanging any contact information.
This is where my emotional complexities come into play. This is someone I literally just met; our total time of conversation barely passed the two hour mark. Yet, I easily got infatuated and just as easily disappointed that Designer didn't show any obvious interest. Here I am, typing away at my laptop, writing about how I may or may not be over-thinking/analysing someone who has had very minimal impact on my life yet was cute and was nice to me so I caved in and turned into the clingy, obsessive little bitch I was desperately trying to run away from this Halloween. I'm convinced I'd be the worst spy ever; I'd spill all of my secrets to the first person to call me pretty.
Here's the thing: no matter how much we may hate some aspects of our personality traits and however much we may try to hide or mask them, they don't just go away because we decided to dress up for one night and be someone else. Yes, Halloween isn't that deep but I was really trying hard not to be that clingy, obsessive little bitch for just one night. I was really trying to just go to a party to actually enjoy it; not come out of it with a new character in my already-overly stuffed sitcom of a psyche. But no matter how hard I try, I can't run away from my problems. No one can. They have a tendency to rear their heads at the most inopportune and unwanted moments. So, I decided to face them. I met someone. We talked. It was great. But then, the sun came up and reality set in.
And it turns out reality can be quite the bitch.