Looking sideways

Do you know when you don’t see something at first, and then suddenly you do, and from that moment on you cannot unsee it anymore? I remember an episode of a sitcom where they showed this in a very effective way: the sound of a glass breaking. It’s the perfect metaphor, if you think about it. Once it’s broken, you can try to glue it back together, but it will never go back to what it once was, no matter what carglass tells you. Entropy one, advertising zero. It’s almost philosophical, if you think about it. And reassuring. Because physics and math are both very reassuring. But I digress. In the case of my specific glass, it was not a perfect piece beforehand. I saw cracks on it, but I chose to believe that the thing was strong enough to stay in one piece. You can call me naïve, but I prefer to see myself as a glass half full kind of person, who will always expect the best out of people. There are downsides to this approach, but I don’t want to digress again. One thing I can say is that,...

As I was laying down between those big, beautiful muscled arms dotted with freckles, I thought about my teenage self. I thought about how he was completely lost with his sexuality, how he knew deep down that he liked boys, but he felt trapped in a world where he had to like girls. How he forced himself to try to be something he wasn’t. On top of all that, I remembered how he was a chubby, awkward person, with so much acne that his face resembled a cheese grater. How he was secretly in love with the jocks from his school, and how he was absolutely sure they would never look at him. Because he thought of himself as unattractive, but also showing his interest would mean, in his mind, that he would be bullied and made fun of. I wanted to swap places with him, to put him inside the big arms of this very handsome, but most importantly, extremely nice, kind and lovely boy who was hugging me. I wanted to show the teenager that he also deserved love and care, and that there are people who would...

Once upon a time, a new persona was born. His name was Bear Hinksch. Bear came from the recently accepted fact that I, his dad, am a bear - as a matter of fact, I had always been a bear, but the process of accepting that and being happy in my own fur was the very thing that originated this persona. Hinksch, his last name, was chosen in homage to my own last name, but also the name of his adoptive father. For his adoptive father was crucial to help me accept my fur, and since this is a metaphorical conception, his adoptive father can also be considered his metaphorical father. Even though I am the one who expected, carried, birthed and became attached to it. Bear was born and raised in Berlin. The city and its bears, symbolic and otherwise, were a big part of developing this person into what it would eventually become. He helped me learn that my beauty stemmed from what made me unique, and that the need to belong does not necessarily mean that I had to be like everyone else. He showed m...

I recently had an idea for a book - yes, another one. Mind you, at this point I have three book projects ongoing. One is written halfway through, but for some reason it is now taking a vacation from my mind, and I am not trying to force the story to come out. I am giving it space, letting it flow when it wants to flow. The second one is just an idea, which I have no idea how to make it reality. This one is definitely beyond my capabilities, and I am again not forcing it out. The third one is this new recent idea, and this will probably be the easiest one for one very simple reason: it is already written. Over the years, I have almost always kept a blog of my feelings, and now I have a large collection of texts showcasing those feelings, from different points in time in my life. I thought it would be a good idea to compile them into an anthology, if you will. I don't have a reason for doing it, but I think it will be interesting to see how my feelings have evolved (or not) throughou...

I am sorry for how it all went down. It has been a tough week, for many reasons, and I haven't handled things well. I jumped the gun, and I am pretty sure I fucked things up. Yes, sure, one cannot control how stuff like attraction go, but I think I should have waited. I should have given you a chance to get to know me better before I asked you to make a decision on me. I was too much, too soon, and that might have scared you away. I could adopt a posture where I say fuck you, it's your loss if you don't want me, but this is not about pointing fingers or assigning blame, it's about being accountable for the part I play. And accountability matters. Furthermore, this is also about breaking a pattern. I have a tendency of not giving people time, but in a somewhat different aspect. Whenever I let someone in, I give them all the points available from the get go. I know my standards, I know how I wouldn't have let them in, if they would not have been up to those standards....

I'm not a gambler. My decisions are normally based on calculated risks, to avoid, as much as I can, getting into a situation where things won't go the way I want them to. And there's a reason for that: I've been burned many, many times. So much so that even the thought of doing something risky brings up this whole load of PTSD. I know, nobody likes to lose, but my aversion to it is so strong that I am willing to pay the price. Because there is a price. The less you risk, the lower the payout will be. And I'm ok with a lower payout. I'm ok with lower gains, if that means lower chances of getting hurt. Because when I get hurt, it hurts deeply. I accepted this way of life - a life that's not very exciting, to have a job that's not very well paid, to do things that are generally boring. I'm ok with all of those because, ultimately, my level of happiness is almost a flat line, slightly above the average. I experienced peaks of happiness and valleys of sad...

Ok, I admit: I have a tendency of overusing Aimee Mann in this blog. There is a reason for that, no doubt. Her songs are damn good in describing what I need to say. Get this, for example: I once met a lovely boy in Berlin. He was cute, we kissed, we swapped instagram. I'm pretty sure this was pre-pandemic, although a quick search on one of my blogs says it was 2022. Irrelevant. What is relevant is that, to this day, almost 2 years later, I keep trying to chat, start a friendship, see him when I go to Berlin or hope to see him when he comes to the UK. I think he's been to Brighton ever since. But he never reciprocated. For him, was just a kiss in a bear club, he moved on. I didn't. There was another boy, at the same trip, whom I met for a very brief moment. Also kissed. He was waaaay out of my league - different sport, actually. I have been since trying and trying to build something more, to chat, to see him in Madrid. He was in London recently. Nothing. He does not give a f...

The thing about poison is that, no matters how healthy one is, there will be some damage. The extent of the damage, in this case, is mostly related to the poison itself, although the health of the subject might play a role. Some poison will kill, some will leave irreparable damage, and some will make one feel very sick, but once it's gone, things are back to normal, maybe even better than before. I cannot say for sure, but I am confident that you are the third kind. For months I tried to understand what was happening to me, and how could this be happening to me. I was healthy. I made calculated decisions. But, and maybe most importantly, I was sure that I was not the problem. Despite all that, I felt incredibly sick. I felt like I was being slowly killed, and at points I thought life was not worth living anymore, if it meant feeling that amount of awful, for that amount of time. I looked at myself, I tried to understand why I was failing, why I was letting myself slowly die. I felt...

It's time to say goodbye to the vast majority of you. Not all, as I hope to keep in touch with some people. But I am sure I will probably not see or hear from most of you ever again - well, maybe by coincidence in the street, after all Brighton is a small town. And you know what? I am ok with never seeing each other again. I don't actively dislike these people, we just have nothing in common other than this place. And when this place is no more for me, our only connection will be gone. It's been an interesting year, where I learned a lot about something completely new to me, for which I had no previous interest. I wouldn't say that my interest is higher now, but I am happy with the knowledge and experience I have. It will be useful to me at some point in the future - even if it's to make small talk with someone. But I also learned a lot about myself. And that's the point that will make all the difference. So I am grateful, even though I haven't been happy he...

I feel like a cheater - which is quite an unusual feeling for me, since I never really cheated on any partner, and I am currently in an open relationship, where cheating is not really a thing. But this has nothing to do with a partner, at least not in the strict sense of it. I feel like I am cheating on my feelings. More specifically, I am cheating on my sadness. I guess that's good news, but I still have this guilt haunting me. Maybe it's not guilt. Walk with me. About two month ago I was in one of the lowest points of my recent life. I was feeling so down and lost that I didn't even care about whether I would wake up every day. I felt like it would make no difference to me if I lived or died, if one day I went to sleep and never woke up again. Which is a very selfish position, and I fully appreciate this. Those around me, who shower me with unconditional love and support, especially in times like this, they have nothing to do with how I feel, and I like to believe they wo...