My girlfriend is a married woman.

Yup, Lovely is now actually my girlfriend. And actually married. And I’m shopping around, looking for other people as well. The Boy is still in the picture, although he’s being annoying lately, so I’m less into him. I’m about to travel, go meet my ex-girlfriend and probably shag her as well. Life is… Life is odd.

I never thought, playing Legos when I was a kid, that I’d grow up to shag a married woman, shag my ex, moon after an evasive boy and blog about it. That was not in the master plan of how Summer grows up and become a real person. And yet here I am.

It’s stunning, really. It’s frightening and stunning and a lot of fun obviously and it’s giving me the kind of existential dyspepsia only experienced British drama’s like that one with Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson failing to consummate a mad passionate love because they live Below Stairs. Can’t remember what it’s called. But you know what I mean? I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore, in relation to what I wanted to be and whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing or what the fuck kind of thing it is and it may seem to you here that I’ve wandered off into hysteria, but I’ll tell you this, I’m about to go to a party dressed in a slinky sari so that I can snog my standard snog-buddy, Bi Boy.

I’m a slut. That’s what it is.

My ex-girlfriend was telling me on the phone a few days ago that “slut” is one of those re-appropriated terms now in queer land and it’s a great source of empowerment, being a slut. She called me a slug about forty times in forty minutes. I’m beginning to get used to it. Bi Boy’s been calling me “randi” for ages now – mostly he says, “you’re becoming a real randi now, baby, I’m so proud of you.” And “randi” means whore so that’s just like slut, only more Punjabi and more gender-neutral. Actually, perhaps only gay men can share the term with women. Or maybe I’m just being non-inclusive. For shame.

What an odd life. I’m in an open relationship. I’ve just fully realized it. And I’m feeling a little woozy about it. But it’s also fun. Because, when I think about it, right now I don’t feel like giving up any of these endeavours.

I would like to be in love though. It’s been ages since I was in love with someone who was also, coincidentally, in love with me, and at the same bloody time. I like the love feeling. It’s not something I’m willing to toss overboard for tons of sex.

I’m okay with the tons of sex though.

Who would have thought, man? I’m a randi. Woe is…

6 thoughts on “Complications

  1. My first perusal of your blog wares and I have to say you have one of the best blogs in cyberspace – perhaps I should browse around the net more. A sharp wit, bold words and in-your-face honesty. And the fact that it is a Pakistani blog makes it refreshingly special.

    Love you work!

    I cannot fathom why others are not commenting here. C’mon people wake up and recognize the genius!

  2. i love the word rundi and use it often as an endearment.

    and i don’t think any of us really grow up to be who we thought we’d be. and i don’t think it’s that bad a thing because the majority of us dreamt we’d have perfect lives…which would be pretty damn boring.

    sin, far as i can tell babe, you’re no runda. unless you’ve been keeping all the delicious, dirty details off the blog. and if that’s the case, i am so mad at you!

  3. Can I ask, where are you from originally? I know, you’re living in Lahore with Lovely. I am really fascinated that all these people you mentioned live in Lahore. Not that I thought it couldn’t happen in Lahore. Just thrilled I guess that there are more of my kind :P Arre yaar why ain’t you writing these days? Aamad nahi ho rahi?

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