There comes a time during your (somewhat) dating life, that you start to discover a pattern. The pattern being that every male encounter that you've had has ended badly. I need to clarify that badly does not equate heartbreak. There are times where I yearn for the simplicity and beauty of heartbreak. No. This "badly" is a combination of a lot of emotional labour on your part and a lack on theirs, it is a disjunct in expectations, it is a sudden cold response - simply put, it is the beginning of the end that you are not ready to face. The last straw for me was my most recent bad ending.
I was bored one night and he messaged. His bio was kinda funny - something about shuffling between the courts of law and basketball. I think he suggested coming over after barely a few days. I remember being super hesitant. I didn't want another situation where I meet with someone with the intention of hooking up, but then simply changed my mind or realised I wasn't attracted to them. So I made it clear: can we walk around and talk a bit first before we decide? And he was completely amenable and said something to the effect of, "I wouldn't wanna do anything you wouldn't wanna do."
It's a bit of a blur now, but it was such a nice night. He tried to act cool and aloof at first, but somewhere along the way we broke the ice. I brought him to the Berlin Wall with the intention of him making a move on me (I came to learn that he hated PDA). I made a shoddy excuse about being too tired to climb all the way, and sat (seductively) on a bench. He said ok I'm gonna go see the wall, and left me. Which I find/found hilarious. Eventually we found ourselves in my room. I let my candle burn the whole night, while we caressed each other in its warm light. I felt like he was touching every part of me at the same time, tenderly. I remember laughing. It was purely sexual. It was purely hot and heavy. It was funny. It was fumble-y. I honestly don't even remember if we had sex. I just remember waking up in the morning and both of us not wanting to part. We got Starbucks and talked a little bit more about our lives, near the Utown bus stop, in broad daylight. Usually I never wanna be seen in public with any of my "conquests". He showed me his ID and sometimes I wonder if I should've memorised his address so I could've mailed him a letter when things went to shit - a letter he wouldn't have been able to ignore.
We had 3 months of bliss. Of seeing each other 3, 4, 5 times a week. Having sex. Eating breakfast. Making chai. Cleaning. Packing. Watching old British comedies. Watching some trashy Youtube comedy. Watching Brad Pitt scale mountains. Almost watching a Hindi movie (thank god it was buffering too much). Watching a film about basketball.
I still think about one night in particular.
He had just come for my theatre show the evening before. I was out with C and A. I was going on and on about missing him. Suddenly, we see him. I remember being so happy in that moment, my heart was floating. We gave him a ride back (he was drunk and made some weird Indian humour jokes, telling A to go "left-uh, left-uh"). I cringed, apologised for his behaviour and went upstairs with him. Bear in mind I was wearing a leotard and fuzzy sleep shorts. We were both so tired. He just finished a game and I just ended a show. He sat on the big armchair, I sat on top of him straddling him, my head buried in his neck and chest.
"I'm so happy I bumped into you tonight."
"Me too."
Then we talked about death. I talked about how I was sad that G couldn't watch me. He talked about someone he knew who died at a college party, I think he fell off the building.
This was our most tender moment. It was pieta-like. Frozen and slumped into each others' bodies. I'm almost tempted to end here, on this tender moment. But that wouldn't be representative of what followed, it wouldn't be an accurate story.
Contrary to the title of this post, this was the only time I felt that I hadn't done anything wrong. I was on the right page this time. I don't know where he was, or where he went.
Maybe I should sidetrack and talk about my past encounters.
We love a good listicle right, so here's a list of the mistakes I'd made in the past:
- rushed to try and define what the relationship was
- hyped the relationship up in my head during the texting phase
- settled because he loved me
- ignored the fact that we didn't vibe
- hoped that he was in love with me (even though I wasn't in love with him)
- passive aggressively texted
- ignored the fact that they were in love with someone else
- continued having sex even though there was a lack of chemistry
- travelled all the way to his house on his birthday, only for him to ignore me and play LoL
- didn't say "no" convincingly enough
- settled for less, while expecting more
- tried to find reason or rationale where it didn't exist
With V, I did what I wanted and received the respect and attention I've always wanted to expect so easily. If I ignore how things ended, this was the most healing relationship I've had with a man. It was the one that matched my mind and expectations the most. I finally let myself get comfortable. Because this man wasn't hurting me and so in my eyes, he wasn't capable of hurting me.
Okay but, the reality is that, he did hurt me. And because I didn't see it coming, this one hurt the most, it hurt the most deeply.
He brought the blissful 3 months to an end. Out of all things, he ghosted me. Something you expect from a tinder chat. Something you don't expect from someone you have been intimate and vulnerable with for 3 months. He finally did some half-assed explaining when I couldn't take it one night, and told him he was affecting my mental health. He was stressed out, having panic attacks about his masters program. I needed more of an explanation. Icing me out couldn't just be a result of academic pressure and stress. I couldn't just be reduced to a factor. But I never got an explanation beyond something to the effect of, "it's not you, it's me".
I begged for closure. I begged him for an explanation. I didn't even care what it was, I just wanted to know. In that moment, I understood fully and empathetically why people do crazy things - why they wait beneath houses, why they reach out to someone's siblings, why they want to pin someone down, why they want to scream at someone.
When someone denies you hope of closure by denying you an explanation, denying you the simple favour of explaining their feelings, it's enough to make someone simultaneously depressed and furious.
So ironically, the only man who treated me with respect, hurt me by not honouring that expectation of respect that I had come to associate with him.
Nothing I write about/to him does justice to the intensity of what I felt. The intense security and happiness I felt with him, and the intense depression and pit in my stomach that I felt at the end.
I, equal parts, am grateful for meeting him and also wish I never had.
