Tag Archives: heartbreak

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This is what they don’t tell you about one night stands.

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What they don’t tell you about one night stands

They tell you your body is a temple.
They tell you it’s 2015 and you ought to sample the goods.
They tell you about the teasing and how to do it right – when to laugh and touch your hair.
They tell you that promiscuity is a label reserved strictly for her.
They tell you to always show up confident and prepared, foil in your purse.
They tell you to stop and think twice, while he gets his chestbumps and highfives.
They tell you that post coitus cuddles are a faux pas.
They tell you that if one key unlocks a bunch of locks, it’s a master key.
They tell you that if one lock can be opened by a bunch of keys, it’s damaged.
They tell you to skip the smalltalk and show yourself out.
They tell you it’s a trophy pride for him and a walk of shame for her.
They tell you to celebrate female empowerment and take control.
They tell you about the value of self-preservation and pride.
They tell you everything, and yet nothing at all.

What they don’t tell you is how pleasure is a goal in itself and that for just one night you don’t have to worry about the size of your stretch marks. They don’t tell you that life doesn’t always have to be about sticking to the plot and giving yourself away strictly in the most idyllic scenarios. They don’t tell you how the streetlights flicker just before the break of dawn. They don’t tell you how liberating it is exploring the playground, at least until you get sand kicked in your face or thrown off a swing; Which is when they don’t tell you about the panic attack that hits you the day after, when you least expect it as you brush your teeth in your pajamas, rinsing off the taste of last night’s kisses lingering uncomfortably on your tongue. They don’t tell you about the involuntary physical reactions that ensue; They don’t tell you how to drown out the deafening silence of your own breathing; or how to manage the horrible surge of pain that spills out of you in uncontrollable tears. They don’t tell you that when it’s all said and done, all you really desire are fingers that will twirl the stubborn curls of your tresses, a freckled clavicle to bury your imperfect face in, the beating of a heart that will calm your nerves, and a warm body that will defy and stay the night.

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On Open Relationships and Monogamy

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1950s TWO WOMEN KISSING SINGLE MAN ON OPPOSITE CHEEKS HIS FACE COVERED WITH LIPSTICK MARKS2015 is proving to be a year of firsts for me. A good chunk of these experiences have been conscious, deliberate choices, to step out of my comfort zone, put myself in possibly uncomfortable situations and see if I can wiggle my way either comfortably into them or out of them. One of the more recent decisions I had made was to go out with someone in an open relationship. That sounds ambiguous. To be clear, the man I chose to go out on a date with had very specifically indicated on his profile that he was presently in an open relationship. I scoffed as I looked at the status, the same way I do when I read profiles with grammatical/spelling errors. So what possessed me to agree to head out and have a meal with someone who already kinda sorta belongs to someone else in a no strings attached relationship? I don’t even know what the fuck an open relationship is. Can it really be called a relationship if you’re allowed to see other people? There is a largely conservative part of me that finds this whole idea tainting the sanctity of a relationship between two people.

People struggle with commitment, I get it. But I’ve always been a strong advocate for monogamy. I have so much love to give but I’d like to smother one person at a time with love and affection. So, what does it mean to date someone in an open relationship? In a nutshell and thus far, you’re a time-filler, or at least it feels a lot like it. Do I mind it? I’m not sure yet. But I will tell you that it feels extremely odd sitting in a movie theatre with someone who holds your hand tightly like you’re the only person that matters; however, you know this person is not quite yours. He is yours, for that day but he belongs to someone else on another day. Or perhaps he belongs to no one at all. People create the relationship that works for them. Sharing has never been my strong suit. I always tell people there are two things in life I never share – my cake and my lovers. So why would I intentionally walk down this misty road?

I’m going to narrow my decision down to curiosity. Since our paths crossed, I have had burning questions on how such an arrangement, such a partnership works. And turns out, it’s not all that complicated. Thanks to the Internet, I have learnt that there have been a number of theories on people and monogamy.

‘Just because you have chosen to be a vegetarian, doesn’t mean that bacon stops smelling good.’ – Christopher Ryan

Christopher Ryan, a PhD of psychology and co-author of the book Sex at Dawn argues that “human sexuality has essentially evolved, until agriculture, as a way of maintaining and establishing the complex social networks that our ancestors were very good at.” He is also quick to note he is saying ancestors were promiscuous, but is not saying they were having sex with strangers, because, “There were no strangers.” Essentially according to him, we are sexual omnivores and that we all have closets we have to come out of.

He believes that monogamy is not hardwired in either gender. In fact, he says that sexual exclusivity came to be much later, with monogamy in many societies becoming the ideal way to raising a family. This, according to him was especially reinforced in the prudish/ highly conservative Victorian era. Ryan notes that while monogamy has now become the correct and proper way of life in many societies today where women and men are conditioned to believe that being faithful is the natural way, when in fact, our primal urges are simply to be promiscuous.

Deepak Chopra has said as well that it all boils down to ‘social revolution’ – born from the family structure and subsequent need for stability and security with a partner. The issue however is that these values tend to contradict basic human needs: for thrill, variety and on a primal level – to just get it on.

According to the National Science Foundation, only 3 to 5% of mammals are monogamous. Studies have found that sexual monogamy also relies on hormones and receptors that the brain releases. Humans’ receptors vary from person-to-person resulting in some people leaning more towards polyamory than others.

Perhaps, I’m not evolved enough, and trapped by my own inhibitions and conservatism. Or maybe I’m just too damn selfish to share the person I love with someone else. But Ryan is right. Bacon doesn’t stop smelling good. But since I have made the personal decision to be vegetarian, I will always choose brussel sprouts over bacon.

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The boy with the gift of laughter.

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(Contribution)

I met a boy last weekend – A boy whose laughter sounded like the chimes of church bells. The first time he laughed, I felt a somersault deep in my belly. It was an entrancing laugh, the sort of laughter that could light up an entire room. Whoever said that a smile could light up a room didn’t get the best possible deal. A bellowing laugh that could illuminate any room – now that, that is something special.

“You’re funny,” he said.

“I like hearing you laugh. Looks like I might have to try and be funny all night,” I replied and meant every word of it.

Church bell chimes and somersaults all night. Sometimes that’s all you need to feel, on days where you feel like you couldn’t feel anything at all.

His gift of laughter was paired with incredibly beautiful eyes. Somersaults. I couldn’t quite say if they were gray or green. Somewhere in between and I loved that they were undefinable. It always makes me flutter when I can’t quite find the right words to define something. That mystery of it makes me feel like there are so many things and instances where there aren’t words in the lexicon to describe, perfectly. It makes me feel like there is so much I don’t know.

The eighth time I made him laugh, I recall vividly; He said he was shy and yet, he was quite the rebel – leaving his home in Brazil to travel the world and get paid for it. I called him a Unicorn and said shy rebels don’t exist. I gently poked his forehead with my index finger and jokingly and accusingly asked where he was hiding his horn. He laughed, touched my hand and kissed me. The church bells in my head chimed.

The boy whose laughter sounded like the chimes of church bells was sweet, affectionate and gentle. It would be unlikely that we would see other again. And yet, our paths had crossed for some reason. Later that evening, in bed, he rested his head on my chest and we talked about why we do the things we do. We talked about the people we love. We spoke of the places we love, the music we listen to and our fears.

“Am I too heavy for you?” he asked.

“No, I think you’re just fine.”

We made love later that evening. It was intimate in every sense of the word. I had never been with anyone who kissed every inch of my body or someone who wanted to look at me throughout the night, every line, scar, mole and fold on my unforgiving body. Somersaults.

“You have beautiful eyes”, I said.

“You have a beautiful smile” he replied as he kissed the tip of my nose.

Short of breath and exhausted, I sought to remember the moment. I attempted to memorize it all. The pursuit of pleasure often involves feeling good in the short-term. We take what we can get and continue to stay on the hedonic treadmill with the hopes that one day, we will reach a permanent state of eudaimonia. But this was different. It wasn’t just a one night stand. It was a feeling that was going to stick. And that the lesson to be learned from this was that I could be loved the way I deserved, even if only for one night. And it reminded me that physical affection is something I couldn’t do without, even if I tried. As we lay exhausted and wrapped around each other in bed, we enjoyed the silence. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was perfect. I strived to remember the moment.

We hugged and kissed for minutes after, remembering the features we like on each other’s faces.

“Never stop laughing, okay?” I demanded gently as I kissed him one last time, after clothing myself slowly, relishing every remaining moment of his company.

“Only if you never stop smiling,” the boy whispered.

Somersaults.

“Deal.”

The church bells chimed again, a little softer, almost as if it were far in the distance but I could still hear it. I can still hear it.

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From a stand up guy to the guy who stood me up.

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tumblr_mdjqg1zz9u1qdv42bo1_500Two months ago, while I was sitting around with a broken ankle, feeling sorry for myself, I found some comfort in watching re-runs of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. In one of the episodes, Ross gets stood up on a date. I mean in truth, he didn’t really get stood up because his friends (Joey and Phoebe) intentionally wanted him to realise how shitty the dating world is so that he would try and make amends with Rachel, so they set him up on a fake date. But poor Ross is sitting at the restaurant sipping on his water, wondering why his date isn’t showing up. I remember seeing this and thinking “oh god, how awful it must be to have your date not show up. What would be even more horrible is if you’re on a blind date, and your date walks in, takes a look at you and decides to walk out.” Who does that, you ask? There are assholes aplenty and while I could never do that to someone, no matter what a bitch I can be, the same can’t be said for the rest of the population.

So the seed was planted and when I started venturing out on dates this year in January, the thought did cross my mind a couple of times. On my first date with Mr January, he was 15 minutes late. He was lost and didn’t have wifi but during those 15 minutes, I wondered if perhaps I too like Ross had been stood up. That wasn’t the case though 🙂 And what a relief that was.

Last night, I was to meet someone who asked me out for dessert. We exchanged interesting messages on Tinder and there was a great flow of communication. He was in town for a couple of days and while he obviously had a jam-packed schedule, he asked me out for cake. I never say no to cake so I said yes. We were to meet after his dinner party that his friends were hosting him for – I’m quite a stickler for proper times and plans – but I was being flexible. “Between 9.30pm and 10.30pm”, he said, to which I replied “10.30pm sounds good.” He loved carrot cake and while I teased him about why anyone would enjoy vegetables in their dessert, I remembered a bakery in town that sold quite possibly the best carrot cake in the city.

I like being early on dates. At least 10 minutes earlier than stipulated to allow me to settle in and get used to my surroundings. So I arrived 15 minutes to 10.30pm at the cafe, went up to the second floor, found myself a cosy table and ordered myself a glass of Chardonnay and waited:

10.30pm – It’s time. He’s not here yet. I suppose the cafe is tucked in a corner and he may take some time to find it.

10.35pm – Okay, maybe it’s time to look at the menu and decide on what dessert I’d like to have while I wait so I don’t take too long to decide while on a date.

10.40pm – Still no sign. I look at my phone, trying to open up text messaging apps to see if there was a text I missed out on. Nothing. Okay breathe.

10.45pm – Maybe tonight’s the night I get stood up. Oh don’t be silly. Let’s look at the menu again. Do I really want that coconut tart?

10.50pm – 20 minutes late. Should I text him? Profiterole is a funny word. Also choux pastry sucks. I wonder what he’d order, you know if he actually shows up. Breathes.

10.53pm – No show. Maybe he walked up, took a look at me guzzling down my Chardonnay and decided that’s not how he wants to spend his evening. Oh don’t be silly. Text your friends. They’ll calm your nerves.

10.58pm – Empty glass of Chardonnay and a dull ache in my tummy. Maybe he is waiting downstairs at the bar, thinking I’m late. So I ask the waiter if I could sit downstairs. At least this way, when he walks in, I might be able to wave and be like “Here I am! let’s eat cake!”

11.01pm – This is ridiculous. Maybe he died? These things happen right? Maybe I’ll text him, just in case. But first, another glass of Chardonnay. “Hello mister, am I seeing you soon? Drinking alone is not quite as fun and dessert beckons.”

11.02pm – I get a reply. I’m not going to quote him but in a nutshell, he apologised that dinner was delayed and so he is still at his friends’ home and isn’t sure when he can leave. To which, I then I asked if I should wait. And he replies a minute later with something along the lines of I have waited enough and he couldn’t ask that of me, that he hopes I’m not too mad at him and that he needs to get back to his friends before they think his phone is more interesting than the dinner conversation. I could have snapped at him. Instead, I told him to have a nice night, finished up my second glass of wine, got the bill, walked out of the cafe, dramatically dumped the box of carrot cake that I had purchased for my date into the rubbish bin, and went home.

So, how did it feel being stood up? Sure, it wasn’t really a conventional sense of being stood up. He did text me and I suppose he did have a marginally valid excuse. But I was upset. And as I write this, I wonder why a grown man didn’t have the intuition to text his date earlier to inform her that dinner was delayed and thus, our date would be too. Or if you can’t be at two places at the same time, don’t make double bookings.

It irks me but I shall shrug it off. Did I cry about it? I won’t even try to deny it. I cried myself to sleep last night, not because I was humiliated that my date stood me up. I am far too thick-skinned for that. But rather, last night as I sat alone sipping that glass of champagne while the waitress asked me a couple of times if I wanted to order dessert and I kept telling her “I’m waiting for my date,” I wondered if I was going to spend the rest of my life waiting. Looking at my now empty glass, I felt a wave of loneliness hit me. You know how much I love the dating game but last night, I got played. The Universe had a go with me. Well played, Universe. Well played. Me – 0, Universe – 1.

Who’s next? Let’s play.

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