Life in Ink and Footsteps

A few months before moving to New York, my relationship of almost four years ended. We decided we were more friends by then, and since I was planning to leave anyway, we broke up. It was still painful, even if it was in good spirits. I personally think that what we miss most in our partners is the friendship—the rock and safety when things get hard, someone to confide in. And then, right before my departure, I got smitten by that dude. To say it was an emotional rollercoaster is an understatement. The point is, for the first time since I was 17, I was single. Truly and fully single. And it was scary as fuck. Reading through my old pages now, I see the fear of being alone, the loneliness creeping in, and the need to boost my ego with men’s validation. I was insecure. I never felt pretty or attractive. I was also chubby from a mix of thyroid dysfunction, contraception, stress, and my unhealthy relationship with food. Oh, and I’m lazy. That’s definitely a factor. Naturally, I started gaining weight after my move. The oversized portions, massive packaging, sugar everywhere, and my love for chips were to blame. So, what did I do to make myself feel better and not spiral too hard? I kept swiping right and left.

Most of the time, nothing came of it because men in their early twenties aren’t the most desirable creatures to date. Sometimes I went on dates. And some men were memorable enough to make it into my diary.

Disclaimer: I don’t have a clear memory of almost anyone except Mr. FoodAdventure A. and Sir MagicalCarpet S. That’s the charming Arabic guy who got me high as a kite a few entries ago. I’m not sure if I’m being rude with that nickname, but it feels kind of fitting. I mean, he’s Arab, and I was high on our first date. Not to mention, he did sweep me off my feet during the upcoming months. Anyway. They both became good friends to me, but while Mr. FoodAdventure slipped into the friendzone—our relationship fun and real—Sir MagicalCarpet was heading straight for the “I might fall in love” zone. And I did not want that. I was single and had the magic of online dating at my fingertips, damn it! So, off on more dates I went. Two men stood out during the approaching holiday season.

First was this cutie pie named P. He was slightly weird; something was off with our communication, but he had the coolest date ideas. He took me to Dyker Heights on our first date to see the insanely decorated houses. Insane how? Just Google it. It was Christmas time, after all. Dozens of people strolled through the neighborhood to enjoy the sounds, lights, and general atmosphere. I loved it… and was slightly nauseated by it at the same time. I started learning that this weird emotional mix was probably going to follow me all year in America.

The next date was on Coney Island. It would have been awesome, except it was December and deserted. The ride there, though? One hell of an adventure. It was a cold evening, maybe just late afternoon. But it was dark, snowing, and P. had no liquid for his windshield wipers. So he rummaged through the mess in the back seat—seriously, it was gross—until he found a pet bottle with some water or soda and poured it on the windshield. Within minutes, it froze, and he could see practically nothing. So what did he do? He drove with his head out the rolled-down window or, probably when he got cold, with his head pushed as close to the front window as possible, trying to peer through a tiny hole in the low middle that thawed thanks to the heater. So basically blind. I was so terrified, I couldn’t even laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Why didn’t he stop the car? I wish I knew. Why didn’t I tell him to stop? I want to say I did, but that might be a lie my brain’s trying to invent to make me feel more responsible. There’s no mention of it in the diary, and I don’t trust my memory here. So I wish I knew.  But hey! We survived. Took some pictures of the weird art sprayed on the walls, ate Chipotle, and drove back home. Was it worth the stress? Well, the Chipotle was good.

The last time I saw P. was at brunch at a place called Witches Brew. I already knew I wouldn’t see him again—it was too weird, and I’d lost interest—but holy shit, I fell in love with that little vegetarian/vegan spot. I may have ditched the boy, but Witches Brew became a haven for me and the girls. Saturday or Sunday brunch with their sweet potato fries and spicy mayo, cakes, pasta, and endless tea and coffee options… and the coolest witchy vibe ever. I loved it so much that when I visited this past summer, I had to go back. I’m happy to say it’s still absolutely delicious. I might have gotten a little emotional and told our waiter how much I loved this spot several years ago. To which he replied that he remembered me and my friends coming there. I have no idea if he really does or if he just wanted a higher tip, but it was such a sweet sentiment that I’m truly grateful for it. So, even if you’re not vegetarian, check it out and show them some love. They deserve it all. So thank you, P. You left a mark on my time in America—and not just because I thought I might die in your car.

The other guy was sophisticated R. He was in his early thirties, educated, and opinionated. I had a weakness for older men who liked to act superior and made me feel insignificant. So, naturally, I was honored that he deemed me worthy of his attention. We never actually met up. Something always came up for one of us, and we had to cancel last minute, be it my fever or a sudden snowstorm that kept us from leaving the safety of our homes. But for some reason, we kept trying throughout the year. Unsuccessfully. How weird is that? I don’t know why, but my stupid younger self thought he was cool and that we should make it happen. I blame it on the fact that I find intelligence attractive. And this type of man could talk about fascinating things that I knew nothing about. Politics, economics, patriarchy, war history, etc. And since I knew nothing, I didn’t know if what they said was bullshit or not. Interesting how some things change and some stay the same. I still find intelligence highly attractive, but now I choose partners with similar interests so we can have an equal discussion. I no longer have the need to be put in my place by an “important” man. Thank the fuck.

Oh, and just a fun fact: he’s still snobby. How do I know? Because until not that long ago, I followed him on Instagram. He still has that distinguished professor vibe, like Ted in How I Met Your Mother when he started teaching at university.

Huh, I might have had a type.

And in the spirit of love, here we go:
Love Potion Number 9 – The Clovers