I think I have told you before about my hatred for anything which even remotely resembles responsibility — such as gym contracts, pets, children, paying for anything that’s quite expensive and making plans in advance. I went into cold sweats when I signed up for two years at my beloved Fitness First gym.

Even though I love it more than you would think it is possible to love a gym, I still had palpitations when I signed my name. What if I have an affair with Hotty Instructor and it goes wrong and I have to never see him again? What if I throw a big strop in here one day and I’m too embarrassed to come back? What if I pass wind in yoga class and I am too embarrassed to come back? The things that could go wrong are endless.

Anyway, eventually I signed and my two years are almost up, so I have another crisis coming up.

Last year, a friend of mine asked me to be her bridesmaid. “What a lovely honour” — most reasonable women would think. Not me. I started freaking out about how I would have to be in Phuket on March 29 and I would have to maintain my weight after the dress had been purchased. I was also stressed up because I had no idea what good bridesmaids do (I am so disinterested in wedding planning and etiquette).

It sounded a bit too much to me but because she is a good friend, I agreed immediately. But anyone who knows me (her included) will know that I am breathing into a paper bag about having guaranteed that I will be available on that day for looking cute in a dress and making sure the bride has a brilliant day and that I don’t trip over her dress etc (that’s what bridesmaids do, right?)

It sounds ridiculous — particularly when you take into consideration that I haven’t left Thailand for over a year now. Most likely, I will not have anything pressing come up on her wedding day. What’s more pressing than a friend’s big day, after all? While I can tell myself all of this, the truth is I still smell a whiff of responsibility about it.

Another thing that makes me feel a bit suffocated is this whole relationship business. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t long to be single again and I don’t think of myself as a free spirit who’ll never be tied down. I just get a little panicked over the stuff that there’s no going back from here.

Getting a flat together is fine. If it goes wrong, we can break the contract and lose some money. Though it’s not an ideal situation, but it’s not the end of the world. But, he wants pets. I love cats, and I’ve always thought I would have them. But as low maintenance as they are, I panic about: not being able to afford veterinary care they may need, and the fact that they live a really long time and you have to make sure your landlord is cat-friendly and have to arrange for someone to look after them every time you want to go away for the next 15+ years.

He would rather have a dog, but there’s just no way I can commit to daily walks as well as all the horrible guilt dogs lay on you when you leave the house without them. I like the fact that most cats don’t care where you are as long as they are well-fed and can come and go fairly freely. Dogs are much harder work, hence more responsibility.

He also wants two babies and I can’t even begin to cover all my concerns and the freaking out I have done over that.

I am the kind of person who presses “may be” for every invitation I get on Facebook. Saying “yes” just feels too set in stone. I just like a little bit of wiggle room in my life. Right now, I can wiggle around as much as I want (except on March 29). I just want it to stay that way as long as possible.