Table for one

As much as I enjoyed my recent mini-break it made me realize something.

Even I got exhausted with my itineraries. The whole point of a holiday is to...enjoy. Relax, go with the flow and not be pressured into following deadlines. Yet, this is what I do: I cram every minute full of action so as to "make the most of what little time I have". I must be horrible holiday company. Then again, how would I know since I do most of my holidaying alone. 

I also completely over-estimated the digestive capacity of my stomach. I sat through 3-course lunches and 3-course dinners and as good as the food was... something was missing. Not sure whether I've been overdoing it and have reached a point when even truly great food fails to impress me because it has become a norm and I've become blasé. Or whether it was down to the fact that I never had the chance to get hungry before the meal as I was still feeling full from the previous meal. But I have a suspicion it was an unfortunate combination of both with another special ingredient thrown it: loneliness. 

Even the most mundane of meals are transformed into a celebration when shared with someone. And great meals are turned to spectacular simply because you're not alone. You take your time, you savour every morsel, you appreciate the wine. There's talk, there's laughter; there's joy.

When you're alone, even the nice meals are so easily reduced to little more than nourishment; fuel to keep you going through the next sightseeing and the next museum. As I sat through  yet another meal, sipping wine that tasted bitter and biting into a steak that seemed overcooked I studied my fellow diners and realized. This is not right. I can't be alone for the rest of my life.

I know I've been making bold statements (without a hint over-dramatizing it) how I'll never ever give somebody the chance to break my heart ever again but if this is the other choice... I'm not having it. 

It's not that I can't be alone, it's the fact that I choose not to. I refuse to sit through every meal for the rest of my life with nothing more than an empty chair across me to stare at. I need someone to share that bottle of wine with me, someone whose plate to steal food I wish I'd ordered from, someone with whom to bicker about which pudding we're going to share.

Table for one, Miss? No. Not again.