The New M.E. Generation











In spite of having attended a Catholic school my 12 years of school, I developed a spiritual side at an early age that I don’t know where it came from. Perhaps it was me trying to find some way to deal with everything.

I remember being put to bed, but having difficulty falling asleep. My parents would leave a night light on just in case I got scared. I never had that situation where I wondered if there was a creature under my bed or else.

What really scared me was thunder, which made me run to my parents’ bed to find comfort by squeezing and hiding between them.

Another detail was that my mom never gave me a pacifier. I guess my brother had difficulty letting go of it, but I had the habit of sucking my thumb, which you can’t take away. Once in my bed, she used to say to me ‘don’t do that’; I would move my hand to the side of the mattress, to quickly doing it again once she was gone.

On those nights that were calm, I would stand by the window in my room. The glare from the lamp would reflect on the glass, and I imagined it was an angel sitting there. I would talk to it like it was a friend. I would even say ‘good night’ to it. Don’t know what I spoke about, but whatever it was, it was the one thing that gave me the peace I needed to rest well.

When I became an older child, my mom told me the story that I was born on ‘el día de la Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre’, a very important day for Cubans. She would show me TV footage of processions made to honor her in that island, and encouraged me to always pray to her, as she believed I would always be protected by her.

All this was very amusing and made me feel special. My brother didn’t had a special birthday like mine, so at least that put me at another level. For once I was ‘better’ at him on something.

Still, understanding and blending religion and spirituality has not been easy. You see, in spite of being taught the first, I’m still struggling to grasp the whole essence of it.

On the other hand, my mom’s comment has had a lifetime effect on me. I have turned to ‘Cachita’ in the best and worst moments, and feel a special connection with her that has never gone away.

I don’t know how to explain it, other than when I think of this Lady, I feel a warm fuzzy feeling that calms, keeps me grounded, and reminds me that things will be fine.

Call it divine intervention, perhaps touched by an angel. Whatever it is, it’s a blessing that just keeps on giving.

 

 



The next memories of my childhood are when I began school. My parents started coaching me early for the transition. I was fascinated by this new chapter, but my brother wasn’t that thrilled about school per se.

The most difficult part for me was actually waking up. I always wanted ‘5 more minutes’ of sleep, which I still long for in the present, even as my alarm clock is ringing. I admit it, being a morning person has never been my forte.

My mom used to walk my brother and I in the earlier years. But, surprisingly, around the third grade on, we walked to and from school with other kids from the neighborhood by ourselves.

Those were fun moments away from my parents. One time we were chatting so much, we lost track of time. Someone said, “what time is it?”. “It’s 8am”, another replied. “We have to hurry”, another said. “What for? We’re already late”, said another. We all looked at each other not knowing what to do, and then kept walking. (If my memory serves me well, I think we made it to school at a descent time.)

Getting to do my homework was a bigger challenge. My brother would get to it right away after lunch, and without needing help. He was the one who got straight A’s and excused from all final exams. He also had an artistic side which he expressed through cartoons and humor. He was a natural at all these.

Me, I just wanted to play a little before studying. You see, having discipline is a skill that needs to be developed. It wasn’t that I had a learning disability or anything; I was one that needed more time and patience, as well as organizing the assignments and else.

This didn’t go well with my mom. She having to sit and do homework with me took away time from her to do other things. And that bothered her, a lot. How much? Enough for her not to treat me well.

Seeing her anger and frustration towards me affected my self-esteem extremely (I had none) and created a self-fulfilling prophecy; the more I tried to be what she wanted me to be, the more I failed. So why try?

Instead of looking for a way that worked for me, or treated in a favorable way, I concentrated on avoiding mistakes or anything that would turn my mom against me.

Yep, my brother was her favorite and all I could was watch from the sidelines. I couldn’t understand why a guy was smarter than a girl. Without knowing it then, this was the beginning of my love-hate relationships with men.

With him I was hoping that some of his intelligence would miraculously come to me like osmosis and make me be like him. That way, all my problems will be solved.

It would take years later for me to understand my mom. For starters, she had a difficult relationship with her own mother, then add to the mix that her marriage was falling apart. Even more, she admitted to me when I reached adulthood that motherhood wasn’t something she enjoyed. Overall she wasn’t happy, and if I saw it, everyone else did.

As for my dad, he was more patient with my studies, but still wasn’t that happy when my grades were average. I don’t know if he understood my situation or thought I wasn’t giving it my all.

Whatever it was, homework became something I did because I had to, that’s it, much like making your bed or picking your toys. You didn’t thought about it, you just did it.

Although life at home was an unhappy one, my dad found relief in hunting and fishing since an early age. Incredibly, I found interest in doing the second (considering both are things guys do), and accompanied him in many trips around the island.

More than liking it, it gave me the chance to be away from it all and be myself for a few days. It also allowed me to see my dad in a much better light. We had in common enjoying being disconnected from the demands of our lives, which helped us bond greatly.

I also saw the beauty of nature through his eyes, and how planning ‘an expedition’ (as he used to call it) would teach me skills that always come in handy.

I didn’t know what my mission in life was back then, but if doing what guys do is the way to survive, then that’s the way to go.

But, wait, I’m a girl. How am I going to be ‘one of the guys’?

 

 

 

 



Spending time with my maternal grandparents was a good thing for me. In spite of my non-eating stage and occasional trips to the hospital, they still loved and accepted me for who I was. Maybe they went the extra mile for me because it was grandsons central.

They were also family-oriented and their marriage was an early lesson of what a good relationship could be. They also set the example that you may come from humble beginnings and still manage to achieve a comfortable life.

Most importantly, they were protecting my brother and me. They knew my parents’ marriage was on the rocks. I was too young then to label it as that, but I clearly remember seeing that my parents were never affectionate, nor expressed loving words towards each other (or the two of us), hold hands, or anything else, which was odd to me.

Then there were my paternal grandparents, the opposite of the others. My grandfather had married 3 times (widowed twice), being my grandmother the last wife. This relationship was probably more out of convenience of joining 2 prominent families together.

They didn’t sleep together in the same room and my grandfather wasn’t fond of women, including his spouse. He was definitely from the old school in which men didn’t display affection and ruled the home with authority.

My brother and I had to visit them (mainly for him) on Friday and Sunday afternoons. We would be dressed to the nines for every time (and if we weren’t, my dad would hear it), and as soon as we walked through the door, walked directly to my grandfather’s room where he would sit on his antique rocking chair and worked out of a desk. We would bow our head slightly, say “bendición” (bless us), and he would tap them.

He gave us both a weekly allowance; $3 for my brother, $2 for me. He would also fill a small metal container with spare change that, at least, we could divide equally. But the inequality on the first was proof that on that house, men came first.

As for my dad, he was the last child and second son out of 5 daughters. Although he was a male, my aunts in later years commented that he happened at a time that his parents were too old to be having kids; that he was pretty much on his own because the other siblings were out of the home already, meaning he basically raised himself. Anything here sounds familiar?

It’s sad to think how this affected him in his marriage. From where I was standing, his relationship with my mom, and that with his own father, looked confusing and scary. All he could was go with the flow, and probably hope that tomorrow would be a better day. Pretty much how I’ve dealt with everything myself.

Even with my aunts and uncle, I could see a distant relationship with my grandfather. As much as they wanted to be close to him, there was this coldness that separated them.

And what my grandmother could only do was just sit on the sidelines and watch it all happen. It must have been horrible marrying someone who probably treated you like crap and still had to give him children.

At least she channeled her affection on her children and grandchildren. She would play the piano, which introduced me to music. She also kept these Danish cookies in the fridge for me, which I would eat while sitting in a small rocking chair in the balcony and listening to her sing to me: “Arroz con leche se quiere casar, con una viudita de la capital. Que sepa tejer, que sepa bordar, que ponga la aguja en su campanal.”

I still remember being surrounded by the garden and the simplicity of those moments that you later take for granted.

There were also other memorable times, like my grandfather’s stories when he came to college in the U.S., and my father teaching me how to play hopscotch, among others.

Everything left a print within me, like recognizing that I still like to sit in a rocking chair and enjoy eating butter cookies from time to time.

Perhaps it’s recognizing that, in spite not understanding so many things, others did the best that they could; that I miss them sometimes and wished they would still be around; that even though we say that we will do things differently, we mirror them a lot more than we bargained for, not realizing it until our world is rocked to the core.

It’s learning to sit back and appreciate the good that’s in front of us; it’s enjoying that moment before we have to get up and go face the unknown.

It’s understanding that in spite that our lives have been difficult, there were those close to us that had it more complicated, who gave a lot of themselves in the hope of making ours better than what they had.

For better of worse, in the good and the bad, it is what it is: family.

“Family is not an important thing. It’s everything.” – Michael J. Fox



Day 1: I make my entrance into the world and it’s not that welcoming.

Why? Because ever since I was born, I’ve had this love-hate relationship with men that, until recently, been able to finally figure out.

For starters, my brother was the first grandchild and male born from my mom’s side of the family (there’s my aunt and uncle as well), which remained like that for about a year and a half. He was a big baby, with really blond hair, and looks that equaled any child from royalty.

Me? Not so much. I was an average size, with brown locks, and cute, I guess. There were also 2 other grandsons born the same year as me. In the end, the headcount was 6 boys, 2 girls.

My earliest memories of my brother and me was that I always walked behind him. Staying the weekends at my maternal grandparents’ home, he would say, “stop following me!!”

He also had a good appetite. Not me. I guess I figured out that by not eating I was finally getting the attention away from my brother. It worked so well, rumor has it my family would go to church to ask that I put some food on my stomach.

When it was time to sleep, we were both placed on the same bed on a room right across that of my grandparents. My brother though, he didn’t like that, and would cry because he wanted to be with them. I would look at him like, ‘what’s wrong with you?’

One time he got off the bed and wrote a note to my grandparents. He then knocked at their door (me beside him, off course); it read that he wanted to be with them. I guess it worked with my grandmother, as we ended at their bed. Honestly, I would been fine being left sleeping on my own.

Came Sunday morning, he would walk to the third room to watch cartoons and I would be doing the same thing. I looked up to him on anything I would do, even when my baby teeth were falling out and I needed encouragement to give them that last push.

What he did manage not to do was have falls. I had a talent while playing that would make me hit my chin bad enough that required going to the hospital for stitches.

One time it happened at night. My grandmother all nervous sat me with my pajamas on the hood of the car while trying to put my shoes on. My shirt was stained with blood and felt embarrassed for all the commotion I was causing, so much I wanted to hug my grandmother and calm her down.

Once at the hospital, I looked at the male doctor right into his eyes, letting him know that I was in full control of myself. I didn’t cry or make any noise while lying down on the bed. My stare was so strong, he covered my eyes with a light cloth before stitching me up. I still saw everything he did.

Interestingly, I don’t recall having anyone next to me giving me comfort or even holding my hand.

Like my brother said when he accompanied me when I arrived to college for the first time, and was about to board a cab to go to his own school, “You’re on your own kid.”

Memo to myself: there will be a lot more falls and stitches to come. So get ready ’cause they’re going to hurt, a lot. Here we go…



It’s Thanksgiving weekend, so I usually take this time to call people I haven’t heard of during the year. Top of list, Ivan, of course. In spite him never calling me, every so often I get this feeling that I need to check upon him.

I know the moment of us having anything is way gone, but I still contact him as an indirect sounding board (or ‘a person you run things by’ – Your Dictionary.com) to prove to myself that, yes, I’m doing fine, and better than other people I know (especially him).

I recently had also seen that he had opened a separate social media profile. There was a photo of him in what seemed a hotel room, which was odd to me. So it got me curious.

I dialed the number and was waiting to get his voicemail, which is what always happens, when he answers.

“Hey Ivan, it’s Emma, how are you?” asked I.

“Hi…!” said he with a tone that he didn’t immediately recognize who I was (am I in your contacts list by any chance??), plus that the top of the world fell on him.

“I thought you wouldn’t take my call, so, this is a first,” said I.

“I’m sorry Emma,” replied he. “I lost my phone once before. And my employer passed away about 2 weeks ago, so I’m out of work. She got really sick.” His tone now was one of being very nervous.

I never asked much about what he did, but my understanding was that he was the personal assistant to a wealthy elderly woman. He lived in a room in the big mansion she had and was allowed to drive the fancy cars she had. He even escorted her to trips.

I always felt there was something awkward here, but, hey, we all got to pay the bills.

Personally, he was always stressed. He had lived in another state before, his family is on the other side of the world, has no relatives here in the U.S., all which gave me a sense that he was very much alone and had no idea how to make his life less complicated.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said I (referring to the old woman). Him without work? Not so much. He knew this day would come. If he didn’t planned his next move, then he dug his own crave.

“So what happens now?” asked I.

“I don’t know… the family wants me to leave the house immediately… I need to get myself a place to live, a car…” said he like someone who’s still on panic mode.

“Ivan, stop, you’re making me anxious!!!” I got so out of focus, I had to breath slowly to get my mojo back.

Ivan apologized and the conversation continued normal. Among his other comments was that he was planning to go into the financial real estate sector (good luck with that).

I let him do the talking, the reason being that I wondered if he would ask if I was dating anyone. If he does, it means he’s on the same boat as me.

“Well, you read my mind,” said I. “No relationship yet. And that site you told me about, lots of fake users. Very disappointing.”

“I don’t understand. You’re such a pretty woman,” said he.

“Thanks. It’s nice to be told that, but after you move beyond it, there’s not much to look for in guys, unless sleeping with them is fine with you,” replied I. “How about you?”

“I’m going out with a girl from my country. We’re sort of together, but nothing serious. She has helped me a lot with some things,” said he in a tone that he doesn’t even know where he’s standing.

“Sounds to me that you’re with her more for what she’s giving you than your feelings for her,” said I. (And the 5-seconds delay starts now!) He was speechless.

“Like I’ve said before, I don’t know who’s having it worse, you and your bad relationships, or me being alone because guys have turned out substandard,” continued I.

He gave me the usual disappointment sigh and changed the subject by saying, “we should get together and have coffee or something.” (You don’t have a car, remember?)

“You know how long you’ve been telling me that? 4 years. That’s the same time I’ve been living in my present apartment,” continued I. “I haven’t seen you since I moved.”

“Really?? Sorry, I’m not a good person sometimes,” said he.

“That’s not true! I wouldn’t have called have I thought that. You just need to get a grip on your life. Maybe now’s your chance to do that.”

The conversation lasted close to an hour. The next day I called again; he was riding his bicycle (and the wind background noise sounded like that scene in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ where the twister blows the house away) and said that ‘he needed to leave town for a day or so’.

Kudos to him for ‘blowing off some steam’. And like the Wicked Witch of the East, riding fast to Neverland (oops, wrong story) and staying there for a while might be the start of his ‘happily ever after’.

Will I ever call him again? You bet your sweet B I won’t. It’s time to close the book on this one. The End.

 



{February 20, 2017}   The Swipe 22 – Here fishy, fishy

The day after having the odd conversation with Kevin, I decided to send him a text message to thank him for taking the call because I thought it was the right thing to do, and added that ‘I hope to hear from you soon’.

A few days passed by and no answer. Needless to say, I started worrying and wondered if it was something I had said.

Although the conversation mostly centered on him, he did ‘wake me up’ at moments with his questions, such as why I was single (“guys pretty much disappear at the beginning of anything, so not quite sure about that answer. I honestly think they just want to bed me.”).

I believe that I also said that I didn’t exercise as much as he did, obviously, but tried to keep it up, and that if being in shape was sort of a dealbreaker for him, to please let me know. I was also serious when I said that “if you tell me you will call, then do so.”

Yes, I may have sported a strong attitude, but after experiencing the stupidities of the previous guys, I’m definitely not wasting time deciphering someone else’s secret agenda again.

Eventually I send him a message through the dating site. His profile was still active, so when no response didn’t happen either, it got me confused.

I decided to then call and solve the mystery. He once again sounded glad that I did and as monotonous as before.

When asking him ‘are you okay?’ and saying I had messaged him, he said that ‘had been busy with work’ or something like that. It was as generic as moronic.

I decided to leave it as that. About a week later, to my surprise, I get a call from him. “I told you I would call,” said he. (Hip, hip, hooray?) But he made no mention of meeting. So, yeah, nice effort. Still half-ass.

Another day I finally got a reply to my long-lost text. ‘Hi baby how you doing?’ (Baby? Since when??) I bet this was probably intended for someone else. Good luck with that.

How things unfolded afterwards went down like this: he never called again. I was the one doing it. And if we spoke, he never talked about meeting, in spite him saying he did want to.

If I threw the question at him, he always gave me the runaround of ‘need to check my work schedule’ or ‘have to find out when I will be in your area’.

The last time I called him was during Thanksgiving weekend. I thought he would have some free time, but I was wrong.

“I have to work on Friday,” said he. “Ok, but we could meet at night,” replied I.

“My kids are visiting from college and I want to be with them as much as possible,” continued he.

“No problem,” said I in an upsetting tone and ready to hang up, when…

“What are you wearing?” asked he.

“What??” said I in a ‘what the fuck dude?’ mode.

“I want to know what you’re wearing.”

“I don’t do sexting or anything in-between. You’re not the first guy that asks me that,” said I in a ‘go fuck yourself’ tone.

“Because guys want to know. Don’t you want to know what I’m wearing?”

“No,” said I in a ‘no means no’ tone. “I know how this goes. It starts with a phone call, then you want to do photos, next whatever else. It’s not happening!” I was fuming mad, but able to maintain my composure.

Realizing how deep in shit he has gotten himself into, and that I wasn’t going to bite on the bait, Kevin abruptly ended the call. Honestly, I should have been the one to do that. His triathlon experience served him very well here in running fast from the situation.

After hanging up, I figured out why I was feeling weird with this one: he’s Fish #2. What Kevin wanted all along was the same as the first, a booty call. That’s it. So much for the family history and else that I thought made him different.

I immediately blocked him and deleted anything related to him from my phone, just as the other guys before him.

I then allowed myself to feel and think whatever I needed to for 24 hours, 48 tops. I keep what’s important in my mental handbook for future reference. Last step is going back to life as if nothing has happened. This is how I do it.

But the repeated patterns from guys has burned me out and I need a break.

I’m tired of guys with a self-centered attitude; how they over-correct themselves when dealing with their daughter, only to treat other women as if they were disposable; how they will say ‘don’t take it personal’ about anything that they tell you, but ‘I don’t want to hear it’ from you; how they will never admit that they’re wrong or say ‘I’m sorry’; how they don’t see anything wrong about being arrogant, but you ‘living in the past’ is.

I’m tired of being perceived as weak because I’m nice, to then getting my respect when I act (and react) like them.

As the lady in Cuba told me when she read the cards (see ‘The Reading’ chapters in the The Ex-Friend story), “No one wants anything with anyone. Nobody wants to be responsible for you. Nobody wants to give you anything. To get something from you or be comfortable with, yes, anything else, no.”

So what do I feel like doing now? Honestly, swiping left and logging out for a while. It’s probably the best hand to play at this time. Game over.

 

 

 

 



I’m not quite sure how much time passed after finishing my Kevin research, but we exchanged a few more messages over the dating site before I asked him to give me his number and what would be a good time to call him (“any time is fine with me”, answered he).

Once I got his mobile, I checked it against the one posted on his social media and the white pages to make sure it wasn’t a VoIP number or had a bad history of any kind. All checked fine accordingly.

So I gave him a call that very same night around 9pm. First impressions were that his voice sounded enclosed and nerdy, speaking with such low speed that it made my eyes close after the first few minutes of listening to him.

I would make questions to confirm the information I read online about his family to keep myself connected to the conversation. But when he would start talking again, I had difficulty staying awake, just like it happens in the morning time.

Still, I was able to learn more about him, including that he competed in triathlons and volunteers once a week at the hospital wing his mother helped create.

What didn’t coincide with what I read was that the family’s company was sold as a result of his father’s passing. I didn’t find the specifics of what really happened that prompted for this to happen.

I mean, I know there’s the possibility that the stores were not doing that well. And there has been cases where the family has not been able to keep businesses afloat once the ‘face of the company’ is gone, or simply because the children have been unsuccessful in running it accordingly. Times also change businesses and with that the people managing them.

But the stores still exist and have kept the name. I haven’t seen any of them being closed or read that they’re financially bad. Maybe the family got “an offer they couldn’t refuse” and decided it was best for everyone to part from them?

But instead, Kevin made it sound like that after his father’s passing, and having worked hard in the company for so many years, it was time for him to go another way.

At no time did he mention his brother in all this, which was also odd to me. If this is another example of sibling rivalry in which the main guy told you to go, then go ahead and tell me.

In other words, I’m not a business expert, but if the numbers don’t add up, then that uneasy feeling that you’re not telling me the truth will point straight at you.

The conversation lasted a little over a half hour. Kevin decided to end it because it was almost time for him to go to sleep. Guess what? I’ve basically been there since the beginning of this phone call.

The usual comments of ‘nice talking to you’, ‘looking forward to meeting you’, ‘will call you again’ were exchanged.

But regarding the second one, when he said that ‘I have to see when I will be in your area’, it made him sound like that he had no intentions of making an effort in getting together with me.

He did react positively when I called, but his personality turned dull and boring afterwards. Coming from someone with a family of so much history, I expected a guy with a lot more energy than the one he presented.

And why am I feeling that I’m having a “Groundhog Day” movie-like moment here?

“Life has a funny way of repeating itself.” True, but in my case, it sucks every time it does.

 

 

 



{February 6, 2017}   The Swipe 20 – The basics

I will be honest with you. This swipe thing has not turned out as I had expected. Quite frankly, I think the experience has been worse than in other years.

Before there used to be a level of intrigue as to what would happen next. Now I seem to be waiting (or expecting) for the punch to happen at any moment. It’s not that I’m being negative or setting myself for failure, but it feels as if guys have ran out of ideas and are recycling their old tricks that once worked for them.

Or it can be that women in general, including myself, have smarten up with experience and years, and now catch almost immediately what motives are behind the guy you’re dealing with. In other words, the element of surprise is way gone in more ways than one.

Take for example the next guy I met online. I was just browsing on the other dating site that have been using, when I notice a message received (the generic ‘you’re pretty; how are you?’).

(Note: if a guy gives you his email or phone number right from the start, because they claim that ‘they’re barely on the site’ and will make it easier for both parts to get acquainted, “run, Forrest, run!” The person is either a cheater or a catfish.)

Yes, it’s generic because all guys will tell you this line to lure you in. But once I go past this part and want to get down to the ugly truth, that’s when their facade falls apart.

The main profile photo of this guy wasn’t bad. He seemed tall and lean, mentioned that was in his late 50’s, and physically didn’t look that intimidating, nor someone I would not consider right from the start. The other images were taken from group photos.

Overall the information seemed to be in place, but there was something off with this person that I couldn’t figure out. Even using my photo ID app didn’t give me any results.

I didn’t reply to his message right away. I wanted to be sure if I was to reply or not, so after much analysis, I instead wrote: ‘How do I know you’re the actual person in the photo?’

The guy, which I will call Kevin, replied: ‘Search this name and you’ll see who I am.’ He gave me the full one and I did that while having lunch.

Because I thought my search would be over rather quickly (meaning I wouldn’t like what I found, to eventually deleting his message), I did so during my lunch break. In other words, I was to dedicate the same amount of time that my food needed to be cooked in the microwave, as finding out who this guy was.

Turns out he was more than the real deal. I came across an article about his father’s passing which talked about the elder’s humble beginnings in the community after relocating from NY.

The father had also opened a spirits store that eventually grew into other locations. Although currently still existing, the company was sold after his death. Even more, the guy’s mother founded a charity that raises funds to support a neonatal intensive care unit at a major local hospital.

Although I did find some personal information about Kevin, like the names and ages of his children, and that he had a brother who is (or was) the CEO in the business, I couldn’t find much about him in the present, so I did another search for his professional and social media profiles.

What I found was that there was no main photo on the work one and it stated that he was no longer involved with the father’s company. It seems that he went from a high-level position, to now being on sales for the competition. This doesn’t sound right.

On his personal profile, there were almost no posts or photos of him throughout the years. His amount of friends wasn’t that big either, which also caught my attention. It looked as bare and boring as the work one.

Worst part was that he kept it public and even went as far as posting his mobile number in response to someone else’s post. I may be tech-challenged at times, but this is internet security basics 101.

I mean, how stupid can you be regarding privacy, especially when you’re probably a public figure?

And like I’ve said before, why bother having profiles if you are not going to keep them up-to-date?

The more I thought about it, the less it made sense. For starters, if you’re part of a well-known and respected family that has allowed you to meet many people, why are you using a dating site? You mean to tell me there’s not a single woman that others could introduce to you or you can meet among your many circle of friends, which I assume you do?

Wouldn’t you be interested in having a relationship with someone that has a similar upbringing, values, religion, and social connections? The norm is that you go for what’s familiar to you, not venture into something that’s totally outside the box, unless that’s what you want.

Why would you want to go for the unknown, when the opportunities to meet someone are most likely to be right in front of you?

And why are things always so complicated with me when it has to do with a guy? Is the universe warning me again way ahead that this will be another failure?

Here comes that old feeling again. It ain’t happening.

 

 

 



I called Bob the following Monday and Tuesday, but he didn’t answer my calls. He texted me saying that he was going through a cold and was asleep both nights I tried reaching him. Feels more like another ‘cold shoulder’ incident to me.

Wednesday came and I didn’t reach out to him. He was MIA from his part.

Thursday came and about half-way through my work afternoon, I get a text from him which read: “I am sure you are wondering what is up with me!!! I need to put us on hold for a while! I am going thru some personal issues. And need some time to let them pass. The next time we go out I would like to be the four of us. I am not asking you to wait for me. Just feel I should tell you.”

Oh boy, here comes Cameron #2 with the issues and contacting you at the best moment for them, but worse for you, to do so.

If Bob got to learn anything from me would be that he knew I wouldn’t make a scene at my job by calling him at work and raising hell over the phone, especially when having my GF’s husband sitting close to him.

But just like Cameron, he was also a coward, not having enough balls to tell me straight forward that he no longer wanted to have anything with me. My bestie was right, E.D. for sure.

I waited to end work for the day and went home, analyzing what my response to him would be. This guy may have tried to get away by entering the no-spin zone, but I just took my time to circle around in gravity until I was ready to land.

Once at my apartment, I edited the message on my phone until I felt it was the right one. Let’s say it was the calm before the storm.

“So nice of you to tell me over a text like millennials do and in the middle of work. You did and said exactly like the last guy I dated. We all have issues. You knew you had them. You just used me to alleviate some of the emotions while dealing with this. And I can meet with my friends on my own. I don’t need you for that.”

I then texted my bestie with his and my text. “Boom goes the dynamite”, replied my bestie.

“There’s something here that doesn’t fit,” continued I. “Maybe my GF’s husband said something to Bob that made him walk away, like, ‘Look, my wife and I know what Emma has gone through these past years. She is someone we care about and don’t want see her get hurt. You’re a great guy, but you’re not for her.”

“I don’t know,” said my bestie. “I think guys don’t sugar-coat anything to one another, but tend to keep things more to themselves than confronting their buddies. But don’t dwell on it. It’s done.”

Some weeks later my GF came over to my place for a drink. After some conversation, there was still no mention from her about Bob. Her husband happened to be traveling for work, so I took advantage of the moment to finally ask her.

“Didn’t your husband tell you that Bob and I had been going out?” asked I.

She gave me a look of ‘no, I didn’t’. I gave her a quick overview of what happened (including the selfie), to which she said something like, ‘I think his ex-wife is bipolar or something’, and that apparently he has been seeing other women. I guess his boat has traveled more miles than what I thought.

Just as we were in that talk, her husband called. “How come you didn’t tell me about Emma and Bob?”, asked she to her husband.

“My husband says that he did look at the picture, but didn’t see that it was you. He doesn’t pay attention to details. He never does,” said she upon finishing the call.

Now things were starting to make sense to me. But the part of him disappearing, not exactly there.

My GF tried to get to the bottom of it, basically making me look as the one who brought it upon myself. I didn’t tell her about the comment. She even questioned my lack of enthusiasm for the boat.

“If you sleep with them, they leave you. If you don’t sleep with them, they also leave you. And I’m not going to pretend anything. If I’ve had, then he would have said that I had lied to him and the outcome would have been the same,” said I.

Needless to say, she and I engaged in a discussion about men that almost escalated into an argument, which was totally ridiculous.

We couldn’t find a middle ground, so I literally raised my arms and said, “I don’t want to talk about this any longer.”

I didn’t wanted to talk about Bob, any guy before him, whether I was right or wrong, if I had acted well or not, if I was to blame for him dumping me, my past. It’s like all that baggage I had struggled with since becoming single decided to suddenly wash up shore.

I think my GF called me about an hour later after going home to apologize. “Emma, I’m sorry. I got carried away. You know I only want the best for you.”

“I know. And I’m not upset with you,” said I in a tone pretending to show I wasn’t taking it personal.

I listened to her, but in my mind I kept telling myself, ‘I’m not crying over this or anything else.”

The last I heard of Bob was on Christmas Day at my GF’s home. She referred him as Bobby, and can’t recall what she said about him. I gave her a look of ‘don’t care to know’. Quite honestly, I don’t give a shit.

This is just a repeated story that ended with a swipe left.

 



et cetera