That, or watch me being high on double coffee every morning

Dear future hubster,

my mokka makes coffee for two. Which comes very handy in this current life of living with people, and makes me the unrivaled coffee queen of any food-related event I host (and frankly, all events I host are food-related).

But sometimes I picture mornings when I wake up in a life and flat of only you and me and the baby goat on the balcony, and then I get anxious about my mokka. Waste of coffee is not something I can accept. 

So if you are not a coffee drinker (I heard those creatures exist), please make a point by walking into my life with a mokka for one.

I look good for my age though

Dear future hubster,
the self-conscious part of me sometimes spins out of control and makes me wonder for days:
He said "Since you're the most senior around". Did he just call me old???

Nothing I have is truly mine

Dear future hubster,

sometimes I notice I fall back into the same pattern: I'm looking out for kitchen stuff (currently tiny bowls for soy sauce and slightly bigger ones for snacks and apéro), I am thinking of redecorating my living space, I fix the loose hems and sew pression buttons on all my shirts as boob situation so requires, I actually consider buying larger items for when I grow up I have my own place.

The romantic midle-class lingo calls it nesting; in reality, I'm just trying to make a home.

And it is a rather scary feeling. To the point that it is often accompanied, and sometimes replaced by the urge to run away.

So please brush up on your Kundera

Dear future hubster,

please don't be surprised when you see me inspecting your book collection basically the first time you let me in your apartment. It will help me pick up hints about secret hidden corners of your personality, but more importantly, that way I could know whether you already own two of the most important books about (human) relationships.

It would be a huge relief if you did, because I usually hand them out upon breakups, and I have no intention quitting you.

Dimples are allowed

Dear future hubster,
I hope you have a wicked sense of humour.
Because I like to think I'm funny, and I will require your confirmation on that.
In other words: I will enjoy making you laugh. 

It's times like these when my faith I feel

Dear future hubster,

for a very long time I didn't understand why the concept of having a crush was forced on me by life. I didn't understand why I need to be tortured with butterflies and sleepless nights for something that doesn't go anywhere. For something, that in all fairness may not even exist but in my head.

But the thing is, it's good for you! We all know how it feels when you want to impress somebody. You want them to realize you are the best thing they can have. 

You make an effort to look good (mind you, swahili has an actual verb for that), but that's the least of it. You want to appear smart, and funny, and entertaining, educated, witty, caring, independent, sporty. You want to be a good cook, a good listener, a good friend, you want to be motivational, supportive, blunt, honest, accepting, kind, curious, intriguing. 

You want to be everything they would find attractive. 

Except, you probably don't have the faintest idea what they find attractive. So all those things you want to be for them is actually your idea of being a good, a better version of yourself.

And you make all those efforts, and they may or may not acknowledge your existence, but at the meantime you acknowledge the existence of your own better version. And that's quite a revelation, and a reassuring one at that. "I'm a person I find attractive!".

(Disclaimer: no revelation, no matter how reassuring, can make the eventual rejection sting any less. Just sayin'.)

What have you learnt from the last one?

Dear future hubster,

beyond the critically acclaimed yet very theoretical and philosophical benefits of sharing your life with somebody of a different culture, language, history, there are some very practical ones to that too. Ones that stay with you long after the person has walked out of your life.

I, for instance, excel in backwards parking and make competitive banitza.