No commitments, please

I need to find a new house. I moved in a few months ago, after my friend Brock asked me to move in. Before that, I had spent a year living in a homestay with outside showers, toilets that flush with a bucket and the worst water pressure you can imagine. It also had no air-con. At first I stayed there because it was cheap and I had no money. Then, as I got work, I was just too lazy to find a new place, until a room became available in my present house, which we — and the neighbours — call Baan Farang (foreigner house), as we are the only non-Thais living in the area.

I had no intention to move again. It’s in a friendly area, has good links to the city, is close to the local 24-hour market and only 30 minutes from the city centre by bicycle. But, as with almost everyone I know, my flatmate has met a great girl and fallen in love. They are going to move in together the end of next month.

I don’t really mind moving. I suppose it’s a bit of a pain, but as an expat, I don’t grow too attached to houses or flats. One thing that has made me think, though, is my reaction to them moving out. I felt hot and sweaty at the thought of moving in with a partner. OK, so I don’t have a partner, and I’m not likely to get a serious one while I am in Bangkok (where Western girls may as well be the Elephant Man, in terms of their attractiveness to men here), but the more of my friends who move in together, get married or have babies, the more I realise I am not going to have a typical life. They post on FB their baby’s first words, I post that I’m just getting in from an all-night party.

I’m 28. I suppose marriage and babies should be in my head. While I don’t want to end up a crazy cat lady who wears too much purple or — worse still — the desperate old woman in a short skirt in a bar, I similarly don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t make me feel excited and doesn’t impress me. Right now, I can think of lots of guys who have pretty faces, but none who impress me with their ambition, kindness or talents. Well, no one who speaks the same language as me.

I think I am quite prepared to be single for a long, long time. Perhaps I’m immature, but I’d much rather be out with my friends than spend time with any of the guys I know. The thought of having to live in the same close confines as any of the guys I’ve dated over the past couple of years makes me feel claustrophobic and panicky. Maybe I haven’t met the right guy. Or maybe, as I am beginning to suspect, I don’t like commitment. Not one bit.

I don’t have dreams of a big wedding. I don’t envy my loved-up friends and I certainly don’t want babies. I even get stressed out having to sign contracts for work or apartments; what if I change my mind!? Just the thought of having to tell people where I’m going, someone telling me “no” when I have a plan, or having arguments about ridiculous things (as ALL couples I know seem to have), it fills me with dread and makes me feel heavy and tired.

I suppose I don’t want to be writing a similar column in 15 years, about all-night partying and dating, but right now being in a serious relationship sounds about as fun as being locked in a cage you can’t lie down in.

So I guess what I’m saying is that I will be looking for a one-bedroom apartment this time. Even a flat mate — with bill splitting, money lending, etc — makes life too stressful.