dateandmate

[dateandmate]

The Avalanche Part III: Body Count of One

*** Warning: Long read! ***

“These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Which as they kiss consume.

The sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness

and in the taste confounds the appetite

Therefore love moderately

Long love doth so

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.”

W. Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet

Monday.

First day back at work, and I could not focus on doing any actual work because I simply could not wait to see him. I managed to leave a bit earlier than usual, I wanted to look good for him. I’d missed him so much, I don’t remember missing anyone so much before.��I’d missed him so much, travelling back to UK from my home country felt like coming back home. Oddly. 

I found a way to leave a little earlier than usual, took a quick shower to be at my best when I see him, and started waiting for his arrival. As he was coming up the stairs, my heart was beating like a drum. A drum madly in love.

I had one of the biggest smiles I ever had as he was walking down the corridor - not entirely reciprocated by him. Love does hinder your ability to see things as they are sometimes, you see, so I just assumed he had a bad day at work.

He gave me a peck. A peck, after 3 weeks, after my surgery and all. Light-heartedly, but slightly puzzled, “Can I get a hug?”, I asked. He hugged me, with a “Sorry...” swiftly muttered as he did. 

We sat on the sofa, talked about our days briefly, I told him how much I missed him, we kissed a little. “I’m quite hungy, do you want to go an eat something?” he asked. “OK” I said and we left.

He was…different over dinner. I could not put my finger on it but it almost felt like he was not happy to see me. He had a sad look on his face. I remember asking if everything was ok at work, with his mum, with his brother who had some stuff going on. He said all was fine. As I do, I filled in the gaps with blabbering. He was holding my hand across the table the whole time, but that’s sad look never faded.

We finished dinner and went home, started watching something. All I could think about was kissing him, and more. Now here I have to say that we had this thing where we could hardly finish watching something, the chemistry was wild. Add three weeks apart on top of that, and what I felt was a ticking bomb. 

This was a time where he was looking for a new house to buy. He’d grown up with a single mum in a village, but then had lived in multiple places in the country for his studies and work. Including London which he was not fond of. At the time he was living in one of the nicest towns in Yorkshire but dreamt of settling in in a village with his wife and kids one day. Even his town was too big for him. His business would always need to be in a big city as he was one of the founding partners of an agency, but he wanted to live as far away from the city life as he could. Now this city where his work was isn’t one of the top three cities in UK so don’t imagine something like the jungle that London is. But for him it was still big, He had made this very clear to me and he also knew I grew up in a big city and the city we met in, whilst being too big for him, wasn’t doing enough for me. I lacked inspiration, arts and culture, and diversity there. I felt alone. I struggled. In a few conversations we’d had, this came up and he’d expressed it loud and clear that it makes him worry that what we want in life was so different. I’d tried to calm him down by saying that bridge could be crossed when we get there, and that I was open to compromise but only 5 months in and at the risk of unemployment due to the reorganisation in my company, I’d rather manage expectations. All I’d asked was time and understanding. I’d told him the work thing is messing with my head as I never had a risk of unemployment and my sheer existence in UK depended on that work visa. And I was in love for the first time in my life. It was very confusing and difficult.

As we were chatting on the couch, he started to show me the houses he was looking into. I did not want to assume anything and was trying to be objective and not say much on either because I did not think I got to have a say in the house he wanted to buy. He muttered something like, this potentially being his family house (they were all in a village in the same county) but he was not sure what or who he is really buying for, as he wasn’t on the verge of starting a family. He was one of the smartest, most articulate people I ever met, to this day, and he sounded rather confused and distracted by his own thoughts. I felt a big lump settle in my throat. The uneasy feeling was growing. This wasn’t how I’d imagine this evening to feel like.

After a while, in a moment of utter confusion and silence, he started kissing me. As they usually do, things heated up and we went to the bedroom. It was... affectionate, caring, but also different. He was always very gentle with me and that night felt even gentler. As we went to sleep, I tried to comfort him regarding the questions in his head, and thought we’re still ok although we might need another conversation on this.

When we woke up in the morning, I snuggled up to him. Once again, he started kissing me and one thing led to another. I remember this very well. right in the middle of it, he took my face in his hands and stopped for a while. He had a look on his face that I’d never seen before. A little sad, but caring. I asked why he’s looking at me like that, he shook his head and just kissed me. We took a shower, got dressed and left together. As we were waking in the neighbourhood, he held my hand, the whole time, as usual. I remember trying to tell myself everything’s ok, there we were, like we used to be. There was a little coffee shop in the corner where I used to get coffee from sometimes. He said he will get one in the office, gave me a quick peck as usual as he walked away to work.

About 10 minutes later, I received a text saying: “By the way, remember when you were away I’d told you I wanted to express my thoughts and feelings in writing? I actually did that. Left the envelope on your coffee table just before we left. Read it and we can talk this evening.”.

I found it really weird that he’d spend the night with me and never mention it. Then sneak into the living room and leave it there. If I did not ave an important meeting, I swear I would have turned back to read it. That day was like hell. I was dying to read it, but also thought we should talk about it in person. So I called him in the afternoon and said, I’ll read it in the evening but I’d rather talk about it in person. He said he was working from home that day (a different town). I don’t mind, I said, I’ll take the 25 min train ride to talk about something as important as this - all the while having no idea what was waiting for me in that envelope. His concerns about the future and where we are, I thought. I was expecting a difficult conversation but a break up was definitely not what I thought was on the cards.

I went home and read the letter, Posting it here, although I might regret creating a rather permanent memory of it in the online universe by doing that. It took me more than 2 years to be able to write about it, so I could as well bid farewell to this story completely, even if I can’t make peace with it.

I felt... empty. Everything I’d believed was possible about love, was sucked out of me all at once. Things that I never used to define myself, like religion (I’m agnostic), or nationality (I always say we’re born into it and I don’t take any pride or shame in it), were used to label me, limit me to an idea of a person rather than a real one, by the only person I ever fell in love with.

I read it over and over again, not being able to comprehend how the liberal, left-wing, modern man I fell in love with, who had expressed his admiration of my independent, feminist, strong identity, saying it was one of the things he fell for when it comes to me, could be so narrow-minded and borderline racist, condescending me and my culture and my status because he feared he would have to make 10% of the compromise as I made 90%. I was upset, caught off-guard, and shocked, but thought we could talk about this as I still wouldn’t have imagine this could be the end. So I sat down and made a list about what matters to me in life. Made a list about what I like about the city I was in at the time. Thought about my time with him, how he made me feel. And decided, while I’m an idealist and my life plans are important to me, for the first time in my life, I’d be open to compromise because he made me feel the way he did make me feel. This was a difficult confrontation with myself - one I’d avoided for a long time. The thought process that got me to this conclusion wasn’t a walk in the park. It took thinking about everything I hold dearly in this life and accepting that I’d have to let some of that go.

He texted me to ask if we could speak in half an hour. I said OK.

After half an hour that felt like a week, my phone rang.

He asked what I think about it all.

I said some of the things I’d read were very difficult for me to read and I still could not believe it was written down by the same hands that were on me that morning. That hugged me. That held my face.

I also explained how I was scared by the idea of it all but was ready to compromise, also reminding him it was too early to have these conversations about the children we don’t have, raised in a house he had not bought yet, nurtured by a marriage that wasn’t in the horizon yet.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” he said, “if I’d met you 5 yers ago, believe me, we would not have any of this conversation. But I’m 37, and call me rigid, but I always dreamt of being married with a baby in my arms by 40. Every Christmas, I look back and reflect on the year I had and this year, it made me uncomfortable and panicky. You know how quickly I fell for you and I don’t want it to end in disappointment when 2 years from now you either decide you don’t want to live here anymore or are forced to leave.”

I cannot tell you how much it hurts by being reminded of your immigrant status by the person you love.

This gave me leeway to mentioning the bit about the culture. Not that I was obsessed with the culture of my homeland - and he knew this very well, from date number one - but what made his better than mine? Who was he to say I’m incapable of singing English nursery rhymes?! Was he aware of how ridiculous it is that we’re talking about which language I would sing to our imaginary children? How hard it was to be reminded that I was a ‘visitor’ here, especially at a time where my employment and hence my legal allowance to stay was at stake? Did he realise that he sounded like a secret right-wing xenophobe? That I was hurt by being reduced to the labels I’d been trying to distance myself from this whole time? He apologised multiple times. Saying he may have expressed himself slightly incorrectly. Suggesting I knew him and knew he wasn’t racist or xenophobic. “I don’t care”, I said, “and to be honest I don’t even know what you are anymore. This letter is hurtful and regardless of how this conversation ends, I cannot believe you were able to to this to anyone.”.

I also reminded him that I insisted talking about this face to face. “I know” he said, “and I’m sorry, I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to sit there, look at your face and tell you these things. I know it sounds cowardly but I did not think I’d be able to compose myself.”. I reminded him of his age, and said that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

When I questioned his sudden revelation regarding my foreign roots, I asked him if deep down, he was willing to be in a serious relationship with a foreigner. That thing about the culture and how our children would be raised, had nothing to do with my life plans and whether I was OK to live in a village in Northern England. Even in that last phone conversation, he was still trying to validate his reasons by talking about me having to go through an exhaustive process to get the citizenship even if I marry a British citizen, and that had nothing to do with me having a career and wanting to succeed, or having my own aspirations in life. That was about my identity. These were things that had a direct relation to my heritage that he was not comfortable with. Was he able to comprehend what a long term relationship, or a marriage with me would be like? Splitting holidays, potentially learning some of my language to communicate with relatives, etc... Now for me, being with someone from a different culture is interesting, exciting, enriching. I did not think he felt the same way. After a pause, and to my surprise, he said “You know what? I noticed I never had to think about that until you. I only ever dated British women. And when I had to think about it, long and hard, I noticed... Maybe I wasn’t indeed ready for that.”.

Well good morning. Wish you knew this before you pampered me as much as you did, expressed your infatuation, how you were smitten with me, how you lost all control, how you were keen to talk about the future, and before I fell for you, hard.

After a bit of an awkward silence, and around the 1.5hr mark of the conversation, he said that we both had received new information. I had no idea he had a break up in mind, and he had no idea I’d be open to compromise. He suggested we sleep on it, and talk again the next day. “Face to face?” I said, knowing a break up was on the cards, “I’m sorry, he said, I don’t think I can. But let’s check back in tomorrow.”. 

I cried for the next 3 hours, until my eyes were so tired the only reasonable thing to do was to go to bed. Needless to say, I wasn’t able to sleep much. My pillow was still wet from the tears the next morning. I woke up, I cried before I could get myself to get up. I had this sinking feeling that it was unsalvageable. On the bus to work, I cried a little more. Had to run to the bathroom multiple times that day to cry in the toilet cubicle. Called a close friend, told her about it, she tried to comfort me with all her optimism. “It’s over”, I said to her. “I feel it.”

That evening we talked a little more, and I told him, while he knows very well how strongly I felt about him, the fact that he was able to write those things and do this to me, leaving a letter with the intent to break up when he’s had sex with me in my bed that morning, made me question if I really knew him.

I said everything that I thought was hurtful the day before, was even more hurtful today, the more I thought about them. I asked him if anything changed regarding his position. He mumbled it had not, and suggested we end it there, but said he was open to answer any questions from me or talk more about it.

“I don’t have anything else to say to you”, I said. “This was a slap in the face. You can’t force life, you can’t force love, you can’t force marriage. You can’t lay out every single detail of your life and try to find a woman that’ll shift shapes to fit into that template. Oh you probably can, but those women are not the women you’re attracted to. I still wish you the best, I wish I could curse or be hateful, but I choose not to. But know that I am very upset, shocked, and disappointed. And please, I beg you, please, don’t do this to anyone else. If you’re walking away from someone you’d given high hopes to, at least have the balls to talk to them face to face, like a man of your age and calibre should. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I’ve run out of things to say.”

He apologised again, interrupting as I said a apology doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m still interested in your life and would like to know how you get on, so maybe after a while, I could see you?..” he asked.

“No, I’m sorry, no. I don’t need you as a friend, and I can’t have you as a friend. A friend would never do this to me. And it’s too hard for me to even talk to you right now.”

We hung up.

I don’t know how I made it to the next morning. I did not have a single moment of sleep and could hardly stop crying. I did not know a human being could cry as much,

I don’t remember much about the days that followed either. I was a ghost. I was the shell of what I used to be.

2 weeks later, he was back on Bumble. Because he had no time to lose.

A few months, he already had a new relationship and had made it official on Facebook. So it must have started straight after me.

There, the story of me falling in love for the first time ever, and being dumped with a letter. A letter that mentioned Brexit when I’m a non-EU immigrant. A letter that questioned my ability to sing nursery rhymes in English. A letter that suggested I would not be able to celebrate Christmas (I love Christmas). A letter that was full of rubbish excuses from someone who just did not have the ball to face life and all the bumps it would throw my way, with me.

The snowball, had caused an avalanche, and swept me into my own little hell, as he moved onto his paradise with the next girl and somehow, was able to sleep comfortably after being so vile to someone.

[dateandmate]

The Avalanche Part II: Snowballing Into Love

*** Warning: Long read! ***

Friday.

There, I had a date. He was 5 years older than me, quite good-looking, had a proper job, ambitions, and was decent, at least that was my impression of him based on a few days of texting. And honestly, in the world of online dating, a first impression like this is as rare as a blue rose. Well, at least for me. 

I remember exactly how I felt prior to meeting him, like it was yesterday. I had this date and he looked alright but I just dreaded the whole thing. I knew I was pushing myself “to get out there” (can’t tell you how much this phrase makes me cringe, especially in the form of an advice from people who never had to deal with the hell that we call online dating) and hence it all felt a bit forced. I did not *want to* date, but I wanted to find something meaningful, and I knew I *had to* date to get there. And I knew he wasn’t just anyone, I wasn’t necessarily lowering my standards, he was decent enough to share a drink with and had made a very good first impression but he also did have that duckface pose in his profile (ugh) and had made a cringeworthy grammar mistake. Superficial, you say? Or fussy? You bet I was. I had been heartbroken by all the ‘good guys’ I had a thing for and love either meant years of self-torture seasoned with unrequited feelings or going all in, believing people would handle me with care only to end up picking up the pieces of what I had imagined the tale of the two of us would evolve into, off the floor.

I wasn’t feeling great the night before - this was a time I was feeling exceptionally low and was really struggling to get out of bed to get myself to work every single day, which later escalated when I got my heart broken and got diagnosed as moderate/high-functioning depression - so I decided to work from home. He was working in the city centre (I don’t) so this meant that we could meet early as well, which is what he suggested. We were going to meet at 6 and I remember not even thinking about eating something beforehand thinking the date would last 2 hours maximum (given the fact that I was not extremely excited). That’s how low my expectation was, you guys. I was thinking about food instead of dreaming of hitting it off with my imminent date.

I remember texting my closest girlfriends on Whatsapp that morning and saying  I have a date, which was welcomed with ‘hooray’s and ‘woohoo’s, but I was just  dreading the whole thing. To this day, sometimes I think, what if I didn’t go? What if I cancelled it? Is there a parallel universe where I did not get my heart broken quite brutally but also would have never fallen in love? Would I have fallen in love with someone else in that parallel universe? I guess we never get to see our lives in full Sliding Doors fashion and we all know how that movie ends anyway - despite my will to believe in it. So let me crack on.

Come 5pm, my last teleconference was running late. I got ready in a rush and did something I did not used to do very often: decided to go with my pink suede shoes with medium heels, a pencil skirt and some crop top blouse that emphasized my waistline, and got my leather jacket before I left the flat. If I felt like shit about this whole thing I could at least wear something that makes me feel good. As an (almost) 5′ 11′’ girl that used to be the tomboy I mentioned in my previous post, I almost never wore heels. It was my last resort to feel like I was making effort.

There I was in one of the most mediocre bars of town (his suggestion, which I did not mind at the time and even made me think he’s not that excited to meet me either) and I recalled some of the articles I had read re: online dating and dating in UK (that was all new to me): people don’t want to invest in first dates as they go on so many and they don’t know how it’s going to end, so they choose lowkey places that do not promise anything and make plans like grabbing a pint where it’s easy to ‘escape’.

I walked in, and saw him immediately, standing at the bar. As I waked in he happened to turn towards me and had one of the most genuine smiles I’ve ever seen. My heart started racing.

As we said our hellos I could see he was also slightly nervous. I had not realised how nervous I was to begin with, until he said hi to me. He was so much more better looking than I’d imagined and even on his profile he did look quite charming. In fact he was just my type. OK, I thought, the physical attraction is there. Good start. 

We got beers, went outside. It was another grey, northern day but the bar was just so loud, we both wanted some fresh air and to keep our voices. We got to talking, and as per usual, my nerves made me do most of it, and I’m not very proud. At some point I was talking about high school and thinking “why on earth am I telling him about high school???”, all the while not being able to shut up. That initial part of the evening where I gave him a long summary of my teenage years turned into an inside joke among us later on.

After the first drink he suggested to go to another bar, and I happily obliged. At this point I was pleasantly surprised by how nice he is, and he was coming across as a charming, articulate, cultured man who had things to say. I wasn’t  sure if I was making a good impression as I was caught by surprise by how much I was attracted to him and was acting like an absolute  mess, in my opinion. It was getting chillier so we chose to be indoors in the second bar. I took my jacket off as he went to the loo, my crop top revealing a tiny sneak peak of my waist line but nothing more. Do you know that moment where you see a sparkle in someone’s eyes when they see you? That’s what I saw as he got back and took a quick look at me before he sat down across me. So I thought, OK, maybe he fancies me too.

It was quite late when we left so we went to another bar where we could get some food as well (his suggestion). There we talked about my move to the UK, my experience so far, etc. One of the moments I cannot forget is when I was talking about a research that my cultural induction was based on, and could not remember the writer, and he named him. My heart melted. 

(Yes, I am that nerd that falls for this kind of thing.)

 A couple of hours into the date and I knew I was already hoping to see him again.

By the time we left the 3rd bar I was slightly tipsy and still could not believe how charming he was. We’d been talking about a cocktail bar we both liked and he suggested going there. It was slightly early for being in that cocktail bar (which is famous with its dance floor) so we got a relatively secluded table in the corner. Th conversation with him was so easy, his gazes were compassionate, and made me feel like I was worth being with which was a feeling I had forgotten about, as sad as that sounds. 

I was talking his head off as I’d been all evening and in an unexpected moment, he kissed me. It wasn’t earth-shattering, as we were both nervous and I’m a but shy when it comes to PDA, but it surely made my stomach tingle. I just could not believe this gorgeous man with the looks, who had his shit together, and the brains to go with it all, liked me back, and even thought whether he was just trying to get me in the sack although he did not give me that vibe (damn you, cynicism).

We then decided to move on to the 5th stop of the night, a rock dive bar we both liked. As we were leaving the bar I had to stop to put my jacket on, he suddenly pulled me to himself and this time gave me a proper kiss. A proper one, I tell ya. At this point it was past midnight and we had met at 6pm. 

When we got to the rock bar both of us were quite tipsy / slightly drunk - both from the drinks and the night we were having. I remember him being slightly tipsier (he admitted this) and confessing he really fancied me, adding he’ll probably regret saying this the following day. He said he would really love to see me again, shouting it into my ear in that little dive bar with ‘Love Shack’ as the soundtrack in the background. I said the feeling was mutual and I’d love to see him again too. We left the bar around 2 am, said goodbye with another quick kiss, he ran to catch his train, and I walked home with a big, goofy smile on my face.

I woke up the next day with a headache, and thought it was all a drunken dream for a few seconds. Tried to remember all the details from the night before, so I could keep the memory even if this doesn’t lead to anything. Texted the girls all excited but also trying not to get my hopes too high. I was going to meet a friend for brunch, jumped into the shower to shake the hangover off, and as I was rushing to get ready my phone started ringing, I thought it was my friend but boom: It was him. He was a bit excited and nervous but really sweet. Said he did not believe in rules like the 3-day rule, that he had a great time the night before and he’d really like to see me again. I absolutely loved that he called me the next morning. So we made plans for Wednesday. I was away in London the following week so he also begged me to have lunch with him the week after. So, I was seeing him around twice a week despite the fact that he lived in another town. He was super sweet to take me on an all day trip to the countryside on our 4th date, ending with a really nice dinner he had booked in a restaurant in town, and ended up staying over with me that night. I had had a very limited sexual history by that time, and had never shared that experience with someone that made me feel like he did. I don’t remember the details because I was drunk from the sentiment but I remember being cared for, and taken care of, and I remember it being very deep and intimate. In that sense, a first for me.

Then I think around our 5th date, he dropped a bomb and said, “I have to tell you something. There was this girl I met just before I met you, and she’s been texting me.” There, I thought, this is where he’s going to say that he decided this is not working, or he wants to see multiple people, or something similar that suggests I’m not special. It was too good to be true. This is what ‘modern dating’ is like and it has ambushed me once again.

“OK..” was the only word I could utter. He continued, “She told me she would like to see me again.”. 

Yeah mate, I get it, skip the details and save me from my misery.

“I told her that I met someone that I think is very special and it would not be right for me to talk to her anymore.” 

I was totally baffled, in a good way, and could not say anything at first. Then I mumbled, “Well, I had told you that I can’t deal with dating multiple people at the time so you’re the only one I’m seeing at the moment...” He squeezed my hand, and leaned in for a kiss. Later on when I was telling this to a friend form work she was euphoric and said, “I think you just went exclusive! Congratulations!” I knew about the concept of exclusivity but never had to have that conversation (dating is done differently in my homeland). “Really?” I said, “Well, I guess that’s.... good?...”

What followed could only be described as a snowball, rolling down the hill and growing until things got a little out of hand and it swept away some of my sense of being that I had worked on for so long.

We lived in towns 20 mins train ride away, and his town was my favourite in the borough. We were spending a weekend in the town where I live, and the next in his. It was almost an unspoken rule unless someone had something they could not rearrange. Saturdays were our days and we were spending most of Sunday together too. As things evolved, the little things made me fall for him, slowly at once and then completely. The first time I was going to stay over with him, he started cleaning the apartment days in advance, had shopped for things I like to eat at breakfast though his breakfasts were vastly different, and it was the sweetest thing ever. He bought toiletries for me, and to make me feel comfortable, offered me to leave a brush and a contact lense case and some essentials in his bathroom so I did not have to feel awkward about it. 

Only a month in, I had the balls to invite him to a Halloween party (before he introduced me to anyone), because I was the only single one in my friend group and was sick of being the odd one out in those parties. He was baffled at first (which made me really sad and almost retract the invitation) but said yes. I spent the rest of the evening questioning if I made a mistake, he kept saying he was just surprised because he found me hard to read and wasn’t expecting this. That night, before we went to sleep, in fact in a very passionate moment, he said he loved me. Mumbled, more like, as it was a genuine moment of passion. Now, it feels terribly heavy to write this down but at 30 years of age I had never heard those three words from someone’s lips who meant it. 

My response? “Are you serious?”. Yup. My friends still make fun of me for this.

Now I know that’s probably in the Top 10 list for the worst ways of responding to “I Love You” but I was truly surprised. I expected so little from love in general, had probably crossed the line when it comes to managing my own expectations. My odd response made him panic, and he took it back, mumbling “I don’t mean... I mean I do... I don’t now, I’m just head over heels and lost all my control and... I don’t want to put any pressure on you”. I tried to explain my reaction was just purely due to my suprise, and mentioned how special he makes me feel and how happy I was to have him in my life, but could not help but notice that I still had not said it back. It was sooo awkward. I liked him to bits, and could not believe what I found, at a time where I thought life sucked in this city and I could never meet someone I’d be interested in, and met this true gentlemen who had his life figured out, had plans, ambitions, and was in love with me. Was that love what I was feeling? I had no idea. It was progressing so quickly and getting deeper and deeper at a pace I wasn’t familiar with, my natural self-control mechanism must have decided to take the wheel. And there was something that my whole cynical being was denying - how could he have fallen in love with me, me of all people, so quickly? I was trying to turn this negative voice in my head down but it creeped up on me every once in a while.

The week after, he invited me to lunch so I could meet some of his old friends, (he arranged this before the party I invited him to was bound to happen). The week after that, I introduced him to mine. My mum called while we were at that party and he joked, saying I should say hi to her from him, because he knew I had not mentioned my parents about him. Now I have to note here that while my parents are very modern, I come from a slightly traditional country so them not knowing I was dating someone (until they had to) was in our favour - which I had explained to him. It only saved me from answering a million awkward questions my mum would ask. And, we had only been dating for about a month and a half. Looking back, I am so happy I did not mention anything to my parents. And I almost did, later that Christmas. Without knowing the fate of the relationship. I am so happy I didn’t, so I could hide the mess I was in when he dumped me shortly after the Christmas break. 

Then came the lake district trip, which, to this day, is the one and only romantic trip I have ever taken in my life. He had planned everything, without even telling me where we’d stay, and took me to the village he used to visit with his family. It all felt so special, and I loved being with him, climbing up the hills, having a pint and a roast in the village pub. This trip was also the first time we had a very minor argument, 2 months into the relationship, because a lady treated me as if I don’t understand English (as she found out I’m foreign) and I got disheartened by it. He could not understand why and thought I was being sensitive. I was annoyed that he lacked empathy and was blaming me for being hurt and folding into myself even though I was totally polite to the lady and it was merely what was going in my head that’s the issue. That night was the first night we did not even cuddle before going to sleep, let alone have sex. And I can’t remember another time I was so sad when I went to sleep (at least until that evening, because he made sure that I broke that record when he dumped me). In the morning he woke up as if nothing happened, I was a little hurt at first but he was extremely caring and it was all better. As we were packing, he said, “there’s something I want to talk to you about but let’s not talk now”. I was a bit scared, dared to ask him if it’s something bad, and he said, “Not necessarily, but I guess it depends on the course of the conversation”. I did not know what to expect so just said “OK”.

That autumn was as good as an autumn can be. The weather was turning grim, it was getting colder, and I could not care less. We were having dinners all around town, I had my little weekend trips to his town (that, to this day, and despite everything, is a place I hold dearly), watching movies, teasing each other, competing to be the know-it-all of the relationship, making love, gazing into each others eyes, talking about potential holidays, exchanging books, discussing politics, making love again.... It was everything I ever dreamed of and much more than what I thought I’d encounter in this little town of mine.

Shortly after the lake district trip, it was time to have THE conversation. We’d been out the night before and as I suggested watching a movie as we usually did on Sundays, he said, “let’s have a walk”. So out we went.

He started talking about what kind of a life he wanted. Living in a small village (not city, not town), in the north of UK, multiple kids, continuing to run his business. No interest in living in a bigger city (or even the one I lived in, which had a population less than 1M), or moving anywhere else. Fair enough. Then he asked me about my plans. Whether I wanted to settle down, my take on having kids, what kind of a life I wanted.

He knew I was an immigrant, but he also knew I worked hard to get to where I was and I was quite successful in my career. But at the same time, the company was going through a massive reorganisation and I was under proper risk of unemployment. And my visa depended on my employment. He also knew I wasn’t fond of the city I was living in - because I had been transparent about it in the early days of the relationship. So I said, yes, I came to this city thinking I’d leave in 2 years (it had already been 1.5 at the time) but then again life doesn’t always go the way you’d planned. I said I am feeling things I had never felt and it’s quite scary but also wonderful at the same time so I’m already reconsidering my plans. He asked me what I was scared of, saying he could feel I had my guards up. It wasn’t intentional. I explained how I try to protect myself and had got hurt terribly every single time I decided to let my guard down. I said I was open to see where things could lead and wasn’t too hung up about my previous plans, while of course having my own personal and professional ambitions. I (consciously) did not say “I’m down to whatever life you imagine” because he wasn’t asking me anything formally (he made himself clear about that) and I had no idea whether I’d even have  a job a few months down the line. But also because something deep in me questioned whether life around here was the life I wanted - I was always inspired by arts & culture which is almost non-existing where I live, which was a city, and there he was imagining life in a village. While all this conversation was happening, and he was telling me how he had his whole life planned out and he HAS TO be married with children by 40 (he was 37 at the time) I could not help but wonder what else I was expected to say only 2 months into the relationship. Also that I had ever encountered a man with such rigid life plans. Anyhow, he did not seem very pleased but decided to let it go. From my perspective, I had said more than I was comfortable with saying and thought I gave him some confidence that this is serious. I asked for understanding. He said OK, a little half-heartedly. 

It’s very hard to describe the weeks that followed, other than likening it to a snowball, rolling down the hill, slightly out control, but growing so beautifully that one could not take his/her eyes off it and would have never thought it could run them over - I can see some things more clearly now because hindsight is always 20/20, but even living through it I knew something was slightly off. He had become slightly more condescending and critical and the snarky comments about my potential life plans intensified. It was almost like he knew it was making me uncomfortable and did it on purpose. And his excuse was that it was keeping him awake at night. In the meantime, I was handed a consultation notice that specified the day I could end up being unemployed if the company could not offer me a role at the end of the consultation period. Now this was a situation I had never been in. It was a lot for me to handle. I was so confused, in a city I kind of hated before I met him, but in a relationship where he made me feel things I had never felt before, and I was dying to see where it could lead. Sadly, I could also end up having to leave this country because my visa would expire shortly after the company lets me go, if that’s what would happen. 

Christmas was around the corner so I made a special effort to get him multiple gifts - a really nice Japanese mug with a strainer because he loved Japan and also a similar mug that I had, a copy of ‘Humans of New York: Stories’ because he loved New York and we talked about it a lot, running gloves with e-tips  because he loved running and I had introduced him to the e-tip technology in our lake district trip. And a card where I poured my heart out but in - what I thought was - a very cool way. Talking about how unexpected this story started and how excited I was to see what the next chapter brings. 

It was funny that he also got me a mug, ironically a cheap one with a crooked print that says “I love Excel” because he was a marketeer and I was the nerdy engineer and he was teasing me a lot about it. A book about London, which I found really weird at the time because this big-city-dweller thing had been kind of a tension point and I had absolutely no active plans to move, had just said I always liked London. I decided to ignore it in the spirit of Christmas and not think too much about it. And some chocolate, which was a great early consolation for when he dumps me. Little did I know at the time.

I had postponed my flight home (which I had booked a long time ago) to be able to spend a proper Friday with him. We finally made it to that cute little restaurant in his town that we could never get a table at. I dressed up for the occasion pretending it’s a Christmas meal, and he was pleased. Complimented me all evening. We got home, started watching Coupling on his couch, only to be interrupted by him initiating yet another make out session which of course led to more. I loved that about what we had, it was a very compassionate, and close relationship but also very passionate, which made me feel attractive. The next morning, we were watching a movie and he initiated another make out session interrupting the movie. Later on his bed, lying on his shoulder, I said “I love you”, not for the first time, but really feeling it. Having said this, this was a time I could also feel something’s just not right, but could not put my finger on it. Maybe because it took him 2 seconds to respond. Maybe it was the look in his eye. Something was off. And every time I doubted him he was showering me with compliments and love so I ended up convincing myself that once again I was overthinking. After a long pause that felt like forever to me, he said “I love you too” and hugged me tightly. I had so much faith in what we had, I decided I’m being silly for doubting him.

So I left to go back to my home country for Christmas, and had a nose surgery coming up as I had trouble breathing. I went home thinking, maybe I should tell my parents about him. I was expecting to be in contact with him, talk to him every day but he did take some distance, and I did not try to read into it again because he had told he always takes some distance from the outer world around Christmas time.

After my surgery and the recovery, on my way back from dinner with friends which was the first social occasion in 10 days, I called him. I talked to him about the meal we had and how nice it was to see my friends because I’d been bored home after my surgery. There had been a terrorist attack in my country back then so we talked about that and as I usually do, I said I’m worried for people I care for. To me it was a normal heart-to-heart about life. I got home, 5 mins later he texted me saying, “You sounded really happy talking about your friends”, as if that was wrong. I tried to understand what he’s trying to say. He mumbled things like, “That will always be your centre of gravity, you have most of your loved ones there.”. I explained I made a grown-up call to move away, knowing that, and have to live with that, in fact was doing so already. He said he can’t get his thoughts together and express himself and may need to put things down to paper to explain. I asked if everything’s ok, he said yes, he just needed to gather his thoughts. I felt uneasy. My heart dropped. I knew it was about me and my plans again but it had only been 4 months since we started dating and everything was going brilliantly, so why stress about it? Because one of us had a timeline to catch, as I found out later.

I returned to UK with a slightly heavy heart, trying to assure myself it’ll all be fine when we see each other. Because we had that thing we had. I could not wait to see him, I’d missed him so much over the past three weeks. He texted me and asked me to meet on Monday (I was arriving on Sunday), which I was happy with. He can’t wait to see me either, I thought. Which, to some extent, was true, but not with the same motivation I’d hope for.

To be continued in Part 3.

[dateandmate]

The Avalanche Part I: The Gloom Before the Snow

Hey there.

So much has happened (well in fact, not happened) in my love life since I intended to create this blog just so that I have some sort of a vent to let some of the feelings out, I feel like I have the biggest backlog of stories to write about and at the same time, the biggest writer’s block. It’s like being so overwhelmed with all feelings you want to shout out loud, they leave you paralysed and speechless.  

So I thought maybe I can start with a little back story. But oh man, how does one summarise nearly 15 years of disappointment? I’ll give it a try.

With this first bit, my high school journal (which suddenly made a reappearance when I was moving to UK) was a great help. It made me remember that at the beginning of my adolescence, I was actually a happy kid! Had no insecurities whatsoever, despite the fact that I always remember myself being a slightly chubby girl. taller than others around me (boy or girl), not drowning in luxury as my family was rather lower-middle-moving-up-to-middle-class but just content with what I had and what I didn’t have. Then something starts to change in my tone of voice in all those silliest journal entries. The insecurities come up, friendships get complicated, some of the boys in my class start being more than just boys. It was quite eye-opening to read it in my 30s to be honest, and it’s not overly gruesome but that shift is just magnificently sudden. Guess that’s what adolescence is about... Anyhow, I think it’s safe to say that I was actually quite popular if popularity was solely measured with how many social platforms one’s involved in or how many friends they had. I aced those criteria. But I was never popular as in, ‘the popular girl’, you know who she is. I was best mates with the most popular boys (popular as in, ‘the popular boys’, you know who they are). I was the ‘matchmaker’, the confidant, the shoulder to cry on, both for  my female and male friends most of which had a lot more action in their romantic lives than me. When I say romantic action at that age in a slightly traditional if not conservative country, I mean love notes, Mc Donald's dates, shy chats over lunch break. I had more male friends than female ones, by far, and was kind of a tomboy and totally proud of it. I was a plain Jane.

Then came uni. I continued to be the girl running from one social activity to the other: Sports Committee, basketball team, music band, a few other student clubs, part time jobs in my senior year. Studying engineering, I did have a smaller close circle of friends from my class but wasn’t too close with majority of people in my department, I still had a reasonably diverse and big ‘entourage’ thanks to the social occasions I was involved in. Being the lead singer in a band gave a me a brand new perspective on life and a unique shot to put on a different attitude: being on stage required being the centre of attention and being ok with it, having fun as if no one’s watching and at the same time as if everyone is, and just having some genuine fun. It also required to act like I was having fun when I was at my worst because I had the task to entertain people every week (main band on a Friday night, folks). Having said this, my love life was less than impressive. Once again I was part of a big social circle as the slightly nerdy but moderately cool girl one could rely on. I started letting the tomboy grow up a little but wasn’t necessarily thinking anyone around me would have any romantic interest in me.

In my country all high school students had to take one big exam if they want to go to uni, and there’s no application/screening process, your only shot at getting into the universities you’d like to go to, was that one big exam. As a result there are many extracurricular tutoring facilities and almost everyone I know went to one. First week of uni, I remember looking at a catalogue my tutoring facility had printed with ‘success’ stories from their students that year, and seeing this boy. Everyone had written a little testimonial summing up how they prepared for the exam (yawn) and his was just... different. Being the teenage girl that I am, I looked at which uni & department he got into, and it was a different branch of engineering in my uni. Teenage girls are stupidly optimistic, so I said, “I’m going to meet this boy and he will see I’m different too.”. In the years to follow, I’ve had the biggest crush on him that was borderline unrequited love, bent over backwards to meet him and get close to him and failed miserable until my senior year where we took the same class. Needless to say, he was as cool as I’d imagined and had zero f*cks to give about me.

I have dated one guy in uni who kind of ended up talking to other girls online behind my back and blaming me for it (a long story I do not want to put in writing and eternalise). It was my first true disappointment, as he had chased me rigorously and almost convinced me to go out with him and give him a chance, was saying he’s in love with me and confronting me almost on a daily basis for not wanting to rush to say those bloody 3 words. He was coming from a very different social background than mine (which was ok at the time as I was a careless 20-something), and had a less-than-impressive history when it comes to loyalty. I was thinking he was head over heels for me and I had all the time in the world to figure out if I liked him as much. Turned out he was just looking for a challenge, one of a different kind, and I did not like him that much anyway. Nevertheless, I was heartbroken and shut myself down.

In the years to follow - best years of one’s 20s, the last 2 years of uni - I was completely closed off to any kind of a new love interest. I did not have the courage to risk it again, and my self esteem, which wasn’t very high to begin with, had hit an all time low.

So, as stupid as it sounds, breaking up with him led me back into a spiral of unrequited love to my first uni crush. I knew I only had that last semester to try to be friends with him and was foolishly dreaming that if I did, he’d see I’m quite ‘unique’ (read as: weird) like he is, I liked his quirkiness when everyone else called him ‘a bit weird’, and liked to think I’m ‘a bit weird’ too. After all, weird wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. I did not mind weird. The right kind of weird intrigued me. I had no interest for the carbon-copy kind of guys. Or people in general.

So I spent 2 more years oogling him from the other side of the corridor in the engineering faculty. Trying to hang out where he used to hang out. Somehow believing that all I had to do was to meet him and the rest of the story would just unravel. This one’s quite interesting because at the lowest of my lows, I somehow had hope that my character would just prevail with the right person who was able to see beyond my mediocre looks. That’s seriously what I thought for most of my life. Now keep this in mind, it’ll get interesting once I’ll start living in a different country.

In the last spring break, I was away in the south of the country with a close friend of mine who insisted we visit friends in another resort one night. I complied. Turns out he was in the same hotel. I don’t remember how it happened but somewhere around midnight in a tacky hotel bar, I found myself chatting to him at the bar. Now by then we already had one class in common so we were acquaintances I suppose. Needless to say that semester had not revealed the slightest sight of an interest from his side to get to know me any better. But does that stop me? No, because I actively seek heartbreak and frustration, and am bloody good in finding it. 

Anyhow, back to that night. So there I was, chatting to him. He did not leave, we must have talked for an hour or two, at least. One of my close friends was winking across the floor. I was trying to calm my tits and just act all cool and normal. But there was a little festival inside me.

After a while the club got too tacky for us to handle and he asked if I wanted to go outside to continue chatting as it got too loud in there. “It’s happening”, I thought. We went outside, started walking around the resort. Continued chatting. He was what I imagined him to be. I don’t know what he thought. Anyhow. around 4 am in the morning it got too chilly on the bench we were sitting on. It was time to go back. I was going to crash on the couch in one of my friends’ rooms. He offered to walk with me. I knocked on the door for a good 5 minutes, tried to call them, checked the patio door, and everything. No answer. It was super awkward. Eventually he offered me to go with him (he was staying in a room with 3 other guys I was acquainted with) saying the room is not spacious but he’ll find a way to accommodate me. Before we went in he wanted to sit out for a cigarette and we chatted for a bit longer. Then we went in, he gave me his bed, offered to give me his IPod saying it may help me fall asleep, along with a sweatshirt because it was cold, and he snuggled up with one of the buys. Again, super-embarassing but I was kind of thinking, it’s happening and this lovely night is the first step.

I got up early and said bye, and left with a feeling that was hard to describe. Had breakfast with my friends before leaving the resort, saw him briefly in the breakfast lounge, he waived vaguely. I left with a slightly uneasy feeling, curious about what’s yet to happen, and what it all meant.

Well turns out, not much. He was just being kind and I had gotten ahead of myself. There was only one month left until the last semester was over and done. Didn’t see him much as we were in different departments. Was slightly disappointed thinking I’ll lose all contact when the semester is over. The last effort I made was to go up to him at prom and mumble something like “well today’s the last time everyone’s together, it was refreshing to meet you, I can’t help but think we’ll now lose all contact and that’s a pity...” - which he replied with a mumble that said something like “well, yeah you’re a great person, and I think if we met earlier we would have been good FRIENDS... if you want you can take my number”. I was crushed. Embarrassed. Full of regret, thinking I should have just let it go. I pretended to save his number, or maybe I did and then deleted it, I don’t remember. All I know is that that was the last time I saw or talked to him.

Once again, complete shutdown. I started working in a big multi-national. Was putting it a lot of overtime, and spending all my free time with mates, going out, having beers, not looking for someone to mate with. 

One summer, probably 2-3 years after graduation, a boy who was in the same class I had with my hopeless crush, and was in fact good friends with him, messaged me on Facebook about a song I posted on. We exchanged a few quick messages - very superficial, chit-chat about what each of us was doing at the time etc. Turned out he was in Netherlands doing is masters. A few days later, he messaged again, this time about something else I had posted. We chatted for a bit longer. A week later, again. So and so fort, we started spending hours just chatting about life. Music, relationships, long term plans, along with silly stuff. We were sooo similar. Or so I thought at the time. We had so many awkward occasions like both of us being online for a long time, then messaging each other right at the same second. Completing sentences and so on. Anything cheesy you can think of. Soon enough I came to the painful realisation that I was falling for him. He was talking about the difficult break up he had all the time, and that made me think once again I had the role of a confidant, a mate, a fun chat partner that had similar tastes in life as he did. That was a role I was too familiar with. 

I was trying to convince myself that it was nothing more than some friendship on an oddly intimate level, and nothing could come out of it, considering I did not think of myself as an attractive person who’d people would fall for just like that, and he was hundreds of miles away, preparing to move further away (across the ocean) for his PhD. My friends were insisting friends don’t spend talking to each other for hours in the middle of the night and almost every day. I had had far too many disappointments at that stage to believe that.

His story is one that would require more space and time for me to tell, if I want to do it justice. Long story short, we met a few times, had intimate yet awkward moments, like high school students who don’t know how to act, but nothing ever happened between us. I hated myself because I thought I had foolishly fallen for someone who did not feel the same way about me. He did move across the ocean indeed, which made staying in contact a little more difficult with 7hr+ time difference between us. We started talking less frequently, and he was saying things about wanting to focus on his new life while ‘keeping me around’, figuratively speaking, given the distance. It was the weirdest kind of unrequited crush/love I ever had. This went on for about 2 years. He kept hinting how special this was and how happy he was to get to know me, albeit having missed the chance to do so when we were in uni. But he also emphasised the need to make mature decisions and not ruin things with irresponsible actions, and his involuntary need to be in control of things. So he was kindly saying this will never become anything bigger than what it is, because I’m moving away. To this day, I think that was indeed the mature thing to do. You may wonder if there’s an ending to this one. There is a semi-bitter one actually. While he was doing is PhD he got ‘affiliated’ with another girl I also used to know form uni, who happened to be in the same country at the time. They were going on holidays together. I asked whether there was something going on, very very subtly, once or twice. He said they’re just friends. Then in one of my NYC visits, he came to spend a few days with us. We chatted a bit during the day, I asked how his trip was (I knew he went on it with that girl as I was friends with her on FB but did not mention this at all), I thought I’d give him one last chance to come clean. He mumbled, said it was ok, and changed the subject. That evening, we got stuck in our little apartment because of a hurricane that hit the city. I happened to see a message from the girl pop up on his laptop, with words of endearment, which meant he’d been lying. I felt betrayed. You ever knew someone that represented anything that’s pure and real in this world? Someone you thought has been so delicate with you that he’d be the last person on earth to hurt you? Well that was him for me. I am not exaggerating when I say I lost my faith in humanity when it comes to romance in this incident. The next 2 days (when we were trapped in a one bedroom apartment with 2 other people) were an emotional hell, and a cold war between us. None of us said anything, but both of us knew what it was about. I did not speak to him for 2 years after that, until one day, I received a very personal, honest, long and apologetic email from him, to my surprise. The most surprising fact was that he admitted having feelings for me all those years, but not having the guts to take it further because of his situation. What was less pleasant was that when he sent me the email he was still with the same girl. I sent an honest, open but distant reply, saying it’s water under the bridge, and hinting he’s not in the right place to bring this up considering he’s still with her, that we both had made some mistakes, and that we should celebrate the genuine connection that used to exist, but would struggle to survive all the hard feelings. Today, we wish each other happy birthday. and that’s it.

Of all the heartbreaks I had, this one was the most difficult one to shake off. I had invested so much in it emotionally, silently and insecurely, but with a tiny hope that he’d feel the same. I had never felt so connected with anyone. I had confided in him, and he did in me. Every other element of this story, apart from the two of us, was against us: time difference, life plans, both of us having lost a little bit of faith in love due to prior disappointments, both of us super conscious, us being in different countries to begin with and his plans to move even further away. We’re talking about 3 to 4 years here guys, and this was my mid 20s so I spent the best period of my 20s battling an unrequited live situation with my star-crossed lover who admitted he felt the same, only a couple of years too late. Bridges had been burnt by then and hearts had been broken. We had both been unkind with each other in our own little way. I guess the circumstances made it really hard for it to get anywhere but maybe we should have not let it get so far, emotionally, to begin with. It was super-exhausting, and when it came to a formal close I felt like I needed a good couple of years to recover from the emotional exhaustion, regain my faith in humanity and the odd chances of finding love, and remember that the right one is out there somewhere. He had seen my true colours, and while it ended up being a total train wreck, he did prove me right: The right person could see right through me and like what he sees. Still, I was too hurt to get back out there every again, until maybe 5-6 years later. This may sound odd to some of you out there, but it’s my coping mechanism with heartbreak. 

Then, I moved to UK.

After a while, i started struggling to find inspiration in the small city I’m living. I felt lonely. For the first time in my life I felt like I was wasting my life with something that’s just not letting me hit my full potential in life. Life was weighing me down. So i said, it’s time to get back out there. Explore this thing that’s called ‘dating’, which did not exist in my culture back then yet, thinking I’d at least be out having drinks with people instead of home. looking at the ceiling, 

Then i had a few underwhelming dates, with men who were clearly attracted to me (to my surprise), to whom I was nothing but an exotic bait. I continued to be my genuine self, hopelessly assuming they’d see how different I am, but they were after something totally different and had no interest in my personality whatsoever. A complete change on the course of things for me. I wasn’t used to being seen as someone men would be attracted to, let’s say on an app or in a bar, and it was happening. So far so good. But then, I was scratching the surface, and only found more surface. There was nothing genuine about those interactions, nor did any of them make me feel special. I did not know how to take this, seriously. What would be left if my personality is less-than-interesting? I had nothing else to hold on to.

So when I met ‘The Avalanche’, I had lost all the faith in love. In every sense of the word. I had actually taken a break from it all, and had recently installed a new app to give it one last shot. I was in fact planning to move away from the city I was living in, and was only thinking. I could use some company until I do.

But as the saying goes, life’s what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans. 

[dateandmate]

Update on ‘The Devil in Details’

Hey.

So I ended up managing to oversee the you’re/your mistake and find out that the guy was actually more than worth getting know to.

And I’ve been on this magnificent ride for the past 4 months, a snowball ever growing, feelings I forgot I was capable of feeling, and an immense pain at the end of it all.

It’s ended very recently (only 2 days ago) and my heart’s too shattered to write about it, but at the same time I feel like writing may be one of the best ways to get it out of my system. Well, at least a little. 

So I’ll get back to this story some time soon, let’s call him The Avalanche for future reference purposes. 

[dateandmate]

The Devil in Details

I’ve been talking to a guy for the past week, and boy, he was doing so well. 

He was culturally aware, didn’t mind my interest in politics and was able to pursue a serious conversation on the political regression in my homeland, the heckler in Amy Schumer’s show had caught his attention (and he liked her), he was using words like idyllic, made me smile without trying too hard.

... and then he used “your” instead of “you’re”. 

[dateandmate]

Uhm, so, I’ve actually used the words “GDP per capita” on a date (don’t ask me how, and why) and he still wants to see me again.

I guess I can call that a success?!

Oh dear, I’ll never fully belong to this world and its stupid modern dating rules.

[dateandmate]

The Wrong Questions

OK, I’ve hear a few friends talking of similar experiences so next one in line will be the nomad teacher I once went on a date with.

I had met him within that brief let-me-see-what-this-tinder-thingy-is-about period I mentioned in one of my earlier posts. Given that I did not like to app, nor did I find people and ‘things’ I’ve seen on there very attractive, this guy stood out with his nice guy approach sprinkled with just-enough wit, his knowledge on the matters of the world and his enthusiasm to talk about politics - yes I’m a nerd, kill me -, his little efforts to wish me good night in my mother tongue, et al.

We talked for about 2 weeks or more before we decided to meet for a drink. I suggested a modern pub that I like, he said he’s been there once and liked it, so that was the plan. I got there slightly earlier than I was supposed to, so I got us a nice corner and started waiting for him. He was about 15-20 mins late, not cool, but not a disaster as he was in the middle of moving into a new flat and was coming from a borough outside the city centre. I’m a bit obsessive with being on time but didn’t mind it that much.

He was tall and good looking, and given the nice start we’ve had the past 2 weeks that was a plus. We got down to talking, about my move to the UK - which is always the main topic in first dates -, the time he spent working in Mexico, his experience in teaching Ethics to high school kids, and what eh wants to do in the future. We both seemed to be a little nervous at first but it was just a nice chat from there on.

When we had our beers he asked if I want to go to another place (the pub was a bit too crowded) and we went to a new cocktail den. He attempted to buy the drinks but the bar had a minimum limit for credit card payments and he did not have enough cash with him (like, 10 gbp), so I ended up paying. Another “well, uhm.. ok” moment of the night, even though I always try to share the paying obligations on first dates. I just prefer an equal share.

Over drinks we admitted our guilty pleasures in music and talked about places we’d like to go. I was surprised that we had the same musical guilty pleasure. He asked where I lived and made a few uncomfortable remarks as ‘wow you’re in the fancy part of town’, or ‘wow so you can afford to live on your own’ or ‘you have a proper travel budget don’t you’. Not cool, but I managed to smile and continue.

Anyway it was mid-week so we called it the night around 10 pm, he had to wait for his bus for another 25 mins and suggested to walk me home. While I dread the goodbye part of first dates as they’re almost always a bit awkward, I said he did not need to but he insisted. Just as we were approaching my block he turned to me and said: “I’m sorry, can I ask you how much you pay on rent?”

Now I have to make a few parentheses here. I’ve worked extremely hard with non-paid overtime throughout my career and earn just about ok, so I don’t make a million bucks nor do I have rich parents. I grew up in a standard working middle class family. But I do live in a small city so the rents are nowhere near London, and for the sake of my sanity I’ve made the conscious choice to sacrifice a little more from my salary to be in the city centre. I live in a very normal apartment block, not a fancy residence or an individual home. I just have different priorities in life, money just isn’t one. And I get very, very uncomfortable talking about rents, earnings, or anything related to money, even with acquaintances, let alone dates. Last but not the least, a comparison of how much you earn or the financial status of your date should probably be the last topic ever to bring up on a date, the first date in specific. 

Anyway so there I was. What do I do now, do I tell him off? do I joke about it? Do I tell him what it is? 

I don’t know why but I actually gave him a number that’s like 70% of what the rents actually are and that I was actually fine because I got rent support from my company - I don’t -, joked around it and changed the subject. I don’t know why I didn’t refuse to tell him or didn’t feel comfortable telling it as it is, don’t know why I chose the middle ground that makes absolutely no sense. I guess, after hearing his story and employment challenges and the dorm-like house he’s been living in I just did not want to make him feel bad. I felt so incredibly awkward, and bad for some reason. I could see the clouds in his eyes as he thanked me for the evening and we said our goodbyes.

I was really confused when I got home but considering his enthusiasm over the last couple of weeks and his will to prolongue the night by going to a second bar, and given the nice conversation we had except the awkward money-goggled questions, I thought he would probably want to see me again and wasn’t sure if I would see him again. I liked talking to him, but was looking for someone I could have a relationship and a potential future with at the time, and wasn’t sure if that was the destiny of our encounter. 

Anyway, he never said a word again. Went utterly and completely silent.

Did I tell you I’m awful at reading signals?

Next!..

[dateandmate]

The Sleepyhead

Dating has a different meaning where I’m coming from. Or at least it used to, up until the last few years.

For starters, it’s a lot more serious than it is over here. If you ask someone out for a date that would be perceived as a sign for.. erm… feelings. Which is a bit silly if you think about it, especially if it’s someone you’ve just met. With every date you go on with that person, you make this tiny little commitments that are difficult to break unless you’re ready for some confrontation. So ghosting is not an option.

You would not see multiple people in parallel either. You would just focus on that one specific prospect and see how it goes. 

Of course there are exceptions to the rule and I have to admit that the dating concept itself started to evolve into what the rest of the world understands from dating (which makes a lot of sense, if you remove online dating habits from that equation). Unfortunately, I was busy trying to recover from a terrible heartbreak while this major cultural shift was happening. Yes, you guessed right, I take my time with healing. 

So, as embarrassing as it all sounds, this whole dating thing was -and still is- totally new to me. I found myself flopping on the shores of modern dating in foreign lands and I had not even managed to decipher all the codes of basic cultural norms yet, let alone boy-and-girl-swipe-right-on-each-other kind of situations.

Anyhow, I decided to ‘put myself out there’ - hate this - and be open to meeting new people, pushing my boundaries a little. To be fair, I have lots of friends around but they do not tend to go out that much as most of them are married or in a committed relationship (and you know how it is when you’re married or in a committed relationship). I have never been a party animal but chances of meeting new people while you’re out for a fancy dinner with a group of friends is next to none. Let’s admit, this city has a limited choice of eligible bachelors anyway and I’m awfully fussy. Not a big help.

So, I said I’d give dating apps a chance. Dating apps I had been despising all along.

I hated Tinder instantly and uninstalled it within a few days. Then I gave Happn a try. You know, the one shows you a list of people you’ve ‘crossed paths with’, as in, have been within 250 m distance from each other, or closer. It did have that slight hint of what the old school romantics would call serendipity so I said why not. It’s not like John Cusack wouldn’t like Kate Beckinsale if he’d come across her profile on a dating app. Times change and so should we, right?

This is the story of the first Happn date I went on, In fact, it was my first date from the ‘virtual’ world and something tells me it will hold the title of being one of my weirdest dates ever, for a long time.

The hero of our story was a surgeon, a few years older than me. Quite tall, good looking, witty and a little overly flirtatious. He invited me to a gig on a very short notice and as I was a true rookie in dating at the time, I accepted right away, thinking I was being playful and spontaneous. Why are the Gods of mating game never around when I need them to talk some sense into me?

The gig was alright, though he did not seem to care about the quirky singer-songwriter on stage except for the snarky comments he made on her appearance, like, “she could’ve worn something that’s more flattering.”.

Dude, you’re on -sort of- a date with a girl for the very first time, and let’s admit, while I’m 5′11′’ I don’t really look like a model. Also, you seem to be kind of a dick, and it’s been less than 15 minutes since we met in person.

He also cared little about personal space from the very first moment we met. All in all this was in line with his flirtatious vibes in general and gave me a pretty good idea about what he was after. Having said this, I could not judge. That’s the thing about these apps, intentions can be vague unless they’re openly stated in one’s profile. As I was already there with him, and hated being rude, I did not mind getting to know him a little bit better and to see if there’s any potential.

He suggested we move on to another place for drinks and I did not decline. After all it was the first time I ever went on a date with someone I met via a dating app, I thought I should be more open-minded and avoid being hung up on the first impressions as I usually do. Also, I needed some distraction at the time and he seemed like a prospect, to be fair. Someone that would not keep my mind busy but might be fun to spend time with.

Looking back I think it was a hilariously ironic fact that we went to a pop-up bar, a temporary place with minimum effort (and funds) spent on the looks or the atmosphere. One that was destined to be swept away in a few weeks’ time. Hard to miss the resemblance, in hindsight. 

While we were sipping our first drinks he started asking all these frisky questions like ‘the weirdest party I’ve been to’ or ‘the craziest thing I had ever done’. He seemed slightly disappointed to see that I wasn’t THAT crazy. 

Then he said it was the first time he was on a date with a Muslim (I come from a country where majority of the population is Muslim yet had made no reference to religion, nor was I showing any conformance to the typical Muslim stereotype he must have had in his mind so I had no idea where this came from). 

I was utterly irritated but handled it well with a snarky response and saying that’s not a label I associate with myself so neither should he.

We had finished our drinks so he said we should get another one. It was around 11 pm on a weekday and honestly I was really tired so I asked whether we should maybe call it the night. He insisted to get just one more, saying he’s enjoying ‘getting to know me’. Needless to say he chose to give short and elusive answers to all the questions I was asking, guess mine were not frisky enough.

But I had made a decision to push myself when it comes to the dating scene, and while I had low expectations from the city and its inhabitants, including this fella, I knew I needed ‘dating practice’. And his slightly annoying cockiness and aside, at least this date wasn’t boring. Or so I thought.

Somewhere along the line I went to the loo - ”TMI!”, you might think, I swear it’s not, just bear with me. 

Coming back from the loo, I found him napping. Or sleep-sitting, if that’s a thing. Like literally, sleeping on his chair. 

I could not help but laugh, thinking what a great start this was to my dating life over here. I mean it could only go uphill from there right? 

(Spoiler alert: It didn’t.)

I must have laughed a little too loudly as he woke up, and apologised immediately, holding my hand and everything. I said it was ok He said he was on call the night before and could not get any sleep but did not want to pass on the opportunity to meet me. Blah blah blah. YOU FELL ASLEEP ON A DATE, DUDE.

[Legal Disclaimer: I swear I’m not that boring. Weird, maybe. Nerdy even. But not boring! If there was one thing that date wasn’t among all things, it’s ‘boring’.]

Anyhow, I was trying to be cool about it, thinking I would probably not see him again anyway, and told him we should maybe call it the night.

To my surprise, he suddenly leaned in and kissed me.

I was caught by surprise. I mean it was clear that he messed up earlier as falling asleep is not adequate social etiquette, not even with a friend, let alone on a date. And he was trying to clean up the mess. But kissing me? 

I was like “Whoa dude, you were sleeping, just a few minutes ago”.

He laughed and repeated his apology. Then he said ‘there was something different about me, he liked me, and would like to see me again’. I did not say much but smiled and said he has a funny way of showing it. I still don’t know why I was still trying to be nice & polite.

And then, OF COURSE, he made it worse by saying: “Wow, I think you’re the first Muslim girl I’ve kissed”. I swear I could hear a thousand face-palms rolling down the street.

I said we should really call it the night, I was tired, had an early start the next day (white lies) and he was.... well, sleepy.

When we got out he insisted to give me a lift with his taxi. Not sure he was being a gentleman (he wasn’t) or playing his last chance to get invited upstairs. 

On the way I found out it was rather the latter.

We said goodbye, he said ‘I’ll see you later’. I got home, with a weird feeling that resembled disappointment, but thinking, ‘Eh, it’s a start. Maybe not a flattering one, but it’s a start.’

He texted me the next morning to thank me for joining him on such short notice, saying he had a great night and apologising for the whole falling asleep thing. I don’t remember what I said but I remember that I responded nicely. 

It was a certain time in my life where I needed some ego boost and a perfect distraction, but I did not intend to see him again. He might suggest a second date sometime soon, I thought, I’ll see how I feel about it at the time but will most probably turn him down. So I better think of a kind way to do it.

Then he disappeared.

So there I was, ever so confident he would text me again, trying to think of a polite way to decline and everything. And there he was, just playing ‘the game’ to score. The ‘I like you’, the ‘there’s something special about you’, the kiss, the lift home with the final moves in the back seat, the text in the following morning.

I did not try to contact him again either - I did not want to - so I think we had a silent agreement to just leave it there. And I really did not care. As a matter of fact it was kind of a relief as I did not know how to deal with it anyway. Still, this whole story made me question how well I can read people’s intentions - not too well it seems, and time hasn’t proved that wrong either - and earned a special place among the weirdest dating experiences I had - but to be fair to him, I don’t have that many to begin with.

As all players do, he must have gotten bored at a point because he texted me a few months later. Turns out he had moved back to London in the meantime, and was back in (my) town for a few days day.

As you might have guessed, I did not see him again.

Little did I know at the time that someone’s silence can speak millions and every unspoken word could cut you in pieces inside. It just depends on how you feel about the person. Funny that I couldn’t give less of a shit when men I am not attracted to do not call me again, while falling asleep with my phone in my hand every night, expecting a text from the one I genuinely liked. No, I’m not talking about this guy. Little did I know that a few months down the line, another man would drive me crazy by pulling a nasty Casper on me. But that’s a story for another day.

Long story short: Some men just have the ‘nerve’. Those men mostly come back, one way or another. Don’t question why they did the things they did. Just stay away from those men.

Also, I am terrible at reading signals. Like, awfully terrible. THE WORST. Which -unfortunately- gets proven to be true over and over again. You’ll see the absolute proof once again once I tell you the story of (my) Dr. Jekyll who turned out to be yet another Mr. Hyde. But I still need to get over the disappointment of that one first, before I can write about it. So hold on! I promise to keep you busy with smaller failures in the meantime, I have plenty of those. 

x   peace   x

[dateandmate]

The ‘Hello’

Hey there.

I thought long and hard about the first post on this blog. Thought of a million reasons that made me look for an alternative way of expressing myself, more than a couple of mistakes that led me to where I am today, a few good decisions I think I’ve made that still caused me a lot of pain, and a handful of douchebags that will unintentionally contribute to this blog.

Then I decided to cut it short because if I can manage to find the right words, this blog will do the job for me and tell you my story. One post at a time.

Just like I’m growing into the woman I’ll eventually and semi-unintentionally become. One lesson at a time.

And hopefully I’ll learn brand new ways of picking myself back up. One heartbreak at a time.

But I’ll give you a few treats for starters: What you need to know about me for now is that I’m a 30 year old woman, who has never really been in love. 

Sure, I had that one case where I thought I might be utterly and completely in love and ended up being completely torn apart by the last person I would’ve expected it from, and I had people who made me believe they did feel genuinely special about me, but looking back from where I stand now, I don’t think any of that classified as true love. 

And then it happened.

Having been single for a few years and very disappointed when it comes to the matters of the heart, I decided to change my whole life on the verge of 30. 

Coming from a culture that embodies so many things that I love but has the constant dilemma between being ‘western’ and ‘oriental’, I moved abroad for a global job, ironically enough. 

Having lived in a chaotic metropole with more than 15 million people, a small city in Northern UK was in my destiny, of all the places I could have ended up with. 

Having failed miserably in most of my attempts at love, I now have to survive in the world of dating, in a country where I’m a legal alien, with a dating culture that I wasn’t accustomed to. At the age of 30. I mean, as if I needed any more challenges in that whole area.

I’m not necessarily looking for love, at least to begin with, nor am I looking for a potential husband, at least not yet. But I am after something genuine. And I choose to believe that there’s some greater sense in the unexpected way this city has ‘happened’ to me. There’s no way of knowing how I will feel a few years down the line, but I’m sure it will be memorable.

And I need a vent to let some steam out. 

(Apart from my amazing, understanding, patient friends).

So here I am. Confused, naive, fussy, and already exhausted.

Welcome to the dating (mis)adventures of a confused legal alien in her early thirties.

Fun reading, you say?

Life begs to differ.