Very, very, very sorry for the apparently (extremely) sexist title. To those of you who don't know it's a play on the title of a song by a rapper called Jay Z, the original lyrics being 'I got 99 problems, but a bitch ain't one.' I just couldn't help it, it seemd funny.
Anyway enough with the apolegetic, cyber paranoia.
Some of you may recall I went to Thailand about two months ago. It was awesome, lets make that clear. More relevant though was a little encounter I had one night. To cut a long story short a met a Dutch girl, and fell in love. Well actually I'm not going to go throwing the 'L' word around lightly, after all I am only 19. But lets just say I liked her very, very, very, very much. It sounds very corny, but the night was magical, just like those romantic fantasies we all have.
Nonetheless she went home the folloeing day, leaving me her email address. Since then we have kept in very close contact emailing every day, occasionally calling, and very occasionally msn-ing (which I don't like much).
She has gently suggested on a number of occasions that I come visit her in Holland, so I eventually agreed, after I was sure she meant it, and wasn't just being polite. So now I am, in about two weeks actually. However being the anxious, paranoid wreck that I am, I am extremely scared.
For one she is Dutch. It's a different culture to English. I'm not quite sure whether I understand Dutch people very well actually. They seem too laid back. Nothing's a big deal. They don't laugh hysterically like the Brits or the yanks. They speak directly, with no superfluos sentences. Us British like to pad out our sentences, milking our moment of attention for all it's worth. We speak emphatically about the most mundane, pointless things, like a f*cking kebab we had two weeks ago. Dutch people do not. They're not afraid to ask you what you want to be when you are older, when they've only just met you. Us Brits f*ck around for ages with sarcasm and silly jokes. You have to have known a Brit for at least ten years before you can get a serious word out of them.
Dutch people are different. This scares me. It's something I don't understand fully, something I can't anticpate or predict, something unfamiliar. Those are some of the cornerstones of anxiety I believe. The inability to have control and absolute understanding over what's happening.
Secondly she is a model, and a rather good one at that. She does some pretty high profile stuff, and clearly makes a shit load of money. She's not lying either, I've seen her pictures. Whilst I am tall and have a good body (vain as well) and am constantly being told how handsome I am, and how I should be a model myself, I am, after all, still a part time bar man/student/public transport using scared little teenager, with a bank balance ?500 in the red. She has a good car, an appartement in Amsterdam that she shares with friends and a penchant for expensive clubs and dining at restaurants every other night. All I've got is a bus pass and the world famous Anglo-Celtic gift of the gab (the ability to talk sh*t for hours on end, no matter who the company is). Yes I can be very confident in social situations, but inside, I'm dying, as my very presence on this board would indicate.
Thirdly she's half a year older than me. This isn't really a big deal, but the fact that she is twenty and I'm officially still a teenager is slightly unerving.
She does seem to really like me. The night we met she was the one that I caught staring at me wide eyed, and she was the one who eventually approached me. She wouldn't let me go that night, I mean she really seemed to like me (she wouldn't stop kissing me). Since then she has been making all the significant moves, such as suggesting I come visit and the occasional flirtatious (as much as emailing permits) gesture. It just doesn't make sense. It's simply too good to be true.
I'm just waiting for it to all fall to pieces, and I'm sure that when I visit, it will. There's just too many factors to consider, too much stuff to consider, I'm gonna' fail somewhere. What if I spit when I talk, and it goes right in her eye. What if she doesn't get my sense of humour. What if, inspite of her obvious approval of my physical appearance in the past, both in real time and in photos, she decides that I'm not that good looking afterall. Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatif.
I know I'll meet her, and eventually I'll feel relatively comfortable, and I'll end up talking for hours, only to wake up the next morning and endlessly scrutinise every word I said trying to find fault.
As you guys can see I'm really not ready for this. Some help would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks for reading, Alex
