Lately, it has been very difficult for me to focus on one thing. I would jump from things to things right after I started it as if my attention span is a prism that refract the light. For instance, I have over nine drafts (and counting) that sits very still on my dashboard that I have not finished. Initially in the spirit of Summer, I tried to write about the Summer Stories that I imagined should have happened, and I developed this idea of writing the Frustration on Having a Crush on Bartenders, which then lastly, somehow ended up wanting to write about Charlie.
So, yes. Let's try to mashed up everything in one and start with the summer. They say summer is when Stories happen. The ones that someone would keep in their memory box and tell to their grand children ten years from now. Why summer? Maybe because of the sun and the long nights that enhance the beauty in everything. But as much as I would like to disagree and say stories do not depend on the temperature, I still found myself marching to the very one place that I believed where Stories would likely to happen: the Bar; because hey, let's admit that Story won't happen when you sit at home binge watching Orange is the New Black.
To be fair, I would go to the Bar anytime as long as I have time to spare, which summer allows me to have plenty of it. Things just happen there, does not matter when, but perhaps this time I had a little bit of extra hope that I would find Stories there. Thus, for a few nights in a row I brought back my old habit to observe the bartenders from a cozy diner-like booth less than a feet away from the bar. With frequent interactions that becomes a routine, I slowly remembered why I buried myself underneath piles of university works rather than spending few hours in the midst of intoxicated conversations.
Having a crush on a bartender takes a lot of courage. Courage to get a piece of your heart broken in every single kisses on the cheek and on-the-house shots with other customers — this kind of crush is best for those who enjoys competitive challenges with minimum amount of sensitivity. This is strictly dangerous for those Hopeless Romantic out there - although Hopeless Romantics are the easiest target to sweep their feet off the ground with the warm hugs and charming crooked smile. Courage to get your hopes high. Courage to behave slightly more aggressive to stay special, because boy you are swimming with plenty of other fish as this place is the sea that people refer to. Courage to feel something so beautiful yet momentary because they are on the fast lane to fall in love — they made it so easy to love them, I was perhaps in love every night with most of them at the same time. Almost equally, but in a different way. And what scares me the most is that I liked it.
This then reminds me of the way I loved Charlie, which was the complete opposite. I remember that I loved him deeply and exclusively, I did not even have the time, nor real interest, to show interest in any other parties. I came into that bar with the thought this was the ideal way (right way) to love someone. That it took more than a bottle of Desperados and ten minutes intense conversation over a cigarette. But then again, if we think about it, is there such a thing as falling the right, or better, way? Because at the end of the day we all are aware that it will hurt the same way, either way.
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