I am no stranger to third wheeling; I have been an outsider to so many couples throughout my life. When my bestie and I first started casual dating 2 years ago, I have been third wheeling her and her boyfriends as they came and went. I have doggedly tagged along to go bouldering with my next closest guy-friend and his girlfriend when they were in their early stages of their relationship. My next best friend was much the same, between her Swedish-Korean boyfriend and her current (and hopefully, The) one. I have third wheeled my older brother, even grown to become pretty good friends with his girlfriend now as she comes down to London every so often to crash at mine. Yes, I am acutely self-aware that I have a running track record for tagging along on others’ dates.
Yet, I don't feel awkward? Most times they are pretty discreet about their PDAs (public displays of affection, for all you single ladies who didn’t know) anyway. What about when they share a cheeky smooch in front of me, you say? I’m okay with it, I don’t react in any way. It ain’t like Oooh cooties or Eww take it somewhere else, nor do I get perversely jealous given the lack of romance in my life. I cannot really describe how indifferent I feel about PDAs when I am third wheeling. Maybe it is because I trust in my friends that even when I am obviously the outsider in the social situation, I never think that I am an outsider in their hearts? Of course that is a really naive way of thinking. But that was how I rationalised it in my head, or at least that was what I thought.
On my second evening in Marseille, I had just come back from an afternoon hiking through Calanques. My ankle had swollen to twice its normal size, my spirit was thoroughly broken and my body was battered with soil and dust. I had my feet up, both figuratively and literally, and turned to alcohol and drugs to drown out the waves of pain. Let me remind you that I was chugging pastis to take the edge off, AND double dosing myself with paracetamol and ibuprofen. Doing wonders for my liver, I know. And I have the gall to introduce myself as a medical student to my patients. Anyway, Sylvain and his boyfriend took pity on my sad sorry state and offered to cook dinner for me. That offer was a godsend but after 2 seconds of deliberation, I wondered how comfortable I would be. I barely know them for less than 24 hours and I’d be tagging along for their quiet night in… Well, that’s a hot idea. Not.
What was hot, though, was the Notre Dame (too soon?). We had settled around the coffee table with our dinners, tuned in to the evening news just in time to catch the Notre Dame going up in smoke and flames. We just watched the news unfold in stunned silence. There was a gasp when the spire finally collapsed but otherwise silent. Oh and that damned cat could not stop meowing for attention. Curse you, you demonic furball!
The three of us watched the new season of Game of Thrones, and RuPaul’s Drag Race together. It was my first time really watching GoT and I gotta say, it was pretty good from what I remembered previously. I lasted only 20 minutes into the first episode before getting bored out of my mind; the build-up and introduction of every character was so lengthy and dry. I was also never watched RuPaul’s Drag Race even though it seems to be the gay bible that every gay guy must worship. I know I defy a lot of social conventions, bite me. It didn’t take long for me to realise that I was paying more attention to Sylvain and Julian’s cute spooning and cuddling on the couch than any of the actual programmes on the telly. And I felt something inside me that I haven’t felt in a long time. Indigestion, just kidding. It was an amalgamation of jealousy and yearning. I have been happily single for over a year now, focused on myself, my pursuits, my aspirations. It has been a long time since that I felt that almost-magnetic yearn to find a partner, and it was also the first time feeling uncomfortable as a third wheel in that setting. You can probably imagine why from the next few pictures...
Luckily I had an instinct (not that presumptuous to say it was a “photographer” instinct) to capture those moments. Don’t worry, I’m not voyeuristic; I asked them if I could do so. That evening I remember retreating to my room pretty inebriated, carrying a smidge of loneliness in my heart but with a faint smile on my face.
On the last day, I was enjoying an al fresco breakfast with French pastries, spending the day chilling around town, scrolling through my phone for daily updates on social media when I glanced an announcement on my former high school Chemistry teacher’s page. He ran a private tuition practice for GCSE Chemistry, so he had a Facebook page for that. It read:
Needless to say I was shell-shocked to see that. Maybe it was a mean prank or something. I had to re-read it 3 more times. Nope, I read it right. He’s dead. And my thoughts went blank after that. I didn’t quite expect to react the way I did, in retrospect. Last time I experienced a death in my family, I was 13 when my grandfather passed away. Lung cancer. Though I wasn’t real close to him, I was too happy-go-lucky and childish to comprehend, to feel death; I went about my life coasting through school. But I guess this time it was someone whom I knew personally, whom I grew connections with. I had exchanged texts with him a few weeks back when he was holidaying in Prague. Tl;dr, I asked him about his love life nearing the end of our conversation and he told me that he was thinking of settling down (relationship-wise) and hopefully find. The One when his travels were over (he wasn’t getting any younger at 30). Tragic irony, isn’t it? It was serendipitous that I happened to be inside a church when I learned of his passing. I am not a religious man, but I prayed anyway.
I had an opportunity to see and live beside true love and the what-could-be-for-me; I had a friend pass away without having found his true love. I am no doubt sure that he is loved nevertheless. I know I should not make his passing about me, but I cannot help feeling like I am on a clock; I ain’t getting any younger either. (I say this at 24… but I am not giving myself any more excuses.) I have been out of the dating scene for various reasons, but maybe it is time to get back to it. Well, maybe after I’m done with all this writing and studying and medical school? Until then, I will keep capturing my travels one story, one photograph at a time. Apologies if any of you expected a hilarious final story, but you will have to make do with this sappy curtain call. Catch you all on my next trip! Au revoir!
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