The magic of prime numbers

I am not very good at turning a prime number of years, but slowly getting better.

I started my nineteen in complete silence. I had class in both morning and evening and practical lessons afterwards, trained in the dojo, called my parents who were on a trip and went to sleep.

I started my twenty-three in a room carved in the office of an industrial ship, surrounded by people who stopped respecting me the exact moment I stopped being able to comply to their expectations.

I started my twenty-nine with so much rage I ripped off a page of my diary after I wrote it. Two days later I was surrounded by amazing people, dancing to Irani music and watching Eurovision whenever the local WiFi would allow. My two readings of that season were Euclid and David Goggins.

I am... excited about the thirty-one, in many different ways.

I am exhausted by training, my thesis is sucking on my life force in exchange for the best pages I have ever written and the cake is cooling down in the fridge. Which is fun, as it is going straight to the grill in the morning.

My thirty-one come with the reality check that most people around me could be my nephews, but I am still a student. I see them pass by, have great (and terrible) times, grow and find their place in the world. I see them gain confidence as the semester goes and the weather improves.

I also see them go.

Along the years, I estimate to have had... around a thousand and two hundred students under my wing as a Fadder (a monitor in a student association). Some became great friends, some even asked me out the day before leaving... and I barely remember their names or faces. Not only that, I also cannot remember new names and faces the way I used to, since that space is already full.

Given that almost all we do in this life in this time is digital, I find myself wondering what I am doing with my own life. What the meaning is of all I post, and what good it brings to type all this in special occasions (yes, the open window includes the post in January 2). 

Every time my birthday gets close I wonder if my writing takes more away from me from your standpoint than it gives you to read it. If someone will see me, want to approach me, read this stuff and back down. If I would do better with the ladies by sheer force of selfies and good vibes).

(Nobody get this wrong, I am convinced of what I do and why I do it. You who must know it already do).

I have been living in the other corner of Europe for eight years. Eight years and I still don't call this place "home". Eight years getting up every time I fell and doing so as a better man. Eight years meeting people, with the sword of Damocles hanging over my social life, knowing at every turn they will all be gone with the summer breeze. And then it starts over. And then I start over.

This was fantastic during my master's degree. But it has been six years since and I have not stopped growing. I never stopped getting stronger. But it has never stopped weighing. Like a huge backpack hanging over my shoulders.

It has also been eight years without spending my birthday with my mother. Sometimes there were friends (they always call), but hugging the telephone does not cut it. As lovely as it may look sometimes.

I feel like this is holding me back big time somehow.

It is nothing new that spending my teen years studying and chasing validation condition to getting max grades instead of socializing and learning to interact with people has come to bite me in the rear. But I want a break, I want to be in peace, surrounded by people I love, my family, my best friends, a partner who will bring something new to my life. A social life... I just cannot seem to kickstart up here.

The output of all this mess is that I don't think any of you reading this has ever seen my best version. Happy Cavill, serene Cavill, the Cavill who has no idea where he is going but he knows he will get there, the one with more bars than a baker working in jail, with an IQ over 150 and the only goal to use it for everyone around him to be happy and laugh. The Cavill a younger GG created to inspire him whenever he doubted himself. My pride hurts a little that you couldn't meet him, because he feels incredible and is absolutely fantastic. If only he was my type.

"Cavill, are you sure you are not romantizicing your melancholic loneliness?"

The other way around, I acknowledge it. It is imperative to look forward, but so is being aware of where your feet are. Oh, does tripping fall when you don't know where you are, am I right?

I have no idea what I want from my thirty-one. Except my own people.

Well, and getting DOCTOR written in my passport, but that is a) inevitable and b) the entire reason I am still here.

You know? When I designed my thesis plan I knew this would happen. I was aware during the entire process (and still am) that I would feel lonely. That I would doubt myself and everything around me. This is not the sign of an existential crisis, it is a sign that I need a break, let go of some steam and brace myself for what is coming.

"This is what you asked for; heavy is the Crown."

Until then, I never throw a free compliment, if I tell you I love you you better believe it.