A few years ago a friend told me to “be careful” about what I write on Facebook because people, not knowing me, might take my words a bit too seriously. “I know who reads, and I get to set custom audiences,” I told him. He said oh okay.
Recently I met an old friend too who told me not everybody could “get” what I’m talking about unless they give it a thought. That just because I see a word and branch it into different possible meanings doesn’t mean other people do the same. That people usually jump to conclusions. “Is it my fault that people jump to conclusions then? Am I not teaching them to stop to ponder about its meanings before coming to a conclusion?” I responded. He shrugged.
This is a new blog and I haven’t had a booming crazy popular post that people keep coming back to (SalWalks skincare posts were popular), so I roughly know who my audiences are. I didn’t mean for my blog posts to be about a guy I met twice. But because we only have two mutual friends, I felt safe in the comfort of knowing the guy I have a crush on wouldn’t read my stupid blog posts. It’s also because I know where he is located and my blog didn’t report any visits from that place at all. Besides, why would he bother to read my posts?
It turned out Google Analytics didn’t accurately report my visitor locations.
I received a message from a friend this morning. I am extremely busy in the mornings. No time to sit down with phones. But my friend’s message caught my eye.
“Oh my god, what’s going on with W? Did you see his posts? Do you think it’s about his new girlfriend?”
This friend of mine doesn’t read my blog. I know it 90%. I mean yeah, I sorta told her, and my other friends, about how it turned out W already has “someone else”. The cheek of him to say that he’s single!! The responses I received were “move on” and “oh my god” and “you are so you for asking him like that!” and I’m just like yeah yeah yeah okay I’m cool.
Then I went online to read what W wrote. He explained what being single means to him and told me he hoped “you’ll” find someone “better”. I told my friend. “I’m a 100% sure that’s about me.” “Why,” she asked. “Because I wrote about him in my blog.”
She read it and told me to apologise to him. “Guys are a bit sensitive.” Me being stubborn I said NOPE.
He gave, to me, the stupidest meaning of what being single means. Ever. He said being single means as long as he’s not married to someone, he’s single. I shook my head for as long as you can say pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis (See, W, this is in reference to you telling me chickens can cause allergic reactions). I read it and I wanted to just take this chapter about him and throw it into the woods where it’ll get devoured by wolves and never again remembered. But I can’t. I wrote a book about facing your fears, feelings, and truths. I can’t do that. I have to tell him what I think. That that’s NOT what being single means.
So I went on to write about how my dear, being single means being emotionally unattached to anybody. “I thought you were different,” I wrote, in the most melodramatic sense of me I could imagine. I was feeling it. YES. I am going to write THIS TO HIM. Melodramatic is the way! Dance in extravagance! I control the weather! Let me flood with these feelings! “Many guys tell me they’re single when they’re not,” I typed. It’s true. It’s so weird when married/attached men text me just to say hi. Don’t. I don’t want you to be friendly with me. Only text me if you have something to say.
“If you’ve already met her parents and had given her hope, you’re not single!”
“And I didn’t know you read my blog,” I concluded.
That was perhaps the real sadness I feel. I didn’t feel anything not being liked back. I’m sad I can’t exaggerate about how I feel like scraping parts of my brain to erase him or how I feel like my fingers have evolved into a boxing glove and I could give him a punch and send him flying off to India without him thinking I’m forreals. My freedom of expression is more important than this guy. I’m exploring storytelling elements where I want people to imagine me doing things like transforming into a Hulk, be entertained by it, and knowing that it’s just my storytelling style.
He explained to me that he told the girl who came with her parents the same thing he told me: that he told her not to pin hopes on him. So it was I who misunderstood because I assumed they’ve already agreed about each other. Because I was the one who immediately backed away.
“Don’t leave me hanging,” I said, and I imagined me saying this in the sassy hip-hop woman kind. “When you met her parents what did you guys discuss?” He said they just talked normally. Ah, dammit. I was expecting to hear things about “You Will Marry My Daughter In 2020” or her father being a man with a mustache and deep voice saying, “You Shall Not Break Her Heart Or I Will Break Your Ribcage.” Stuff like that. Then let me feel heartbroken, right? So I can write some more, right?
“Oh, so he is different,” the sentimental girl in me that needs to be kicked back to sleep said to me in her annoyingly soft voice. I stuffed her head with a rice gunny bag to shush her.
“I don’t want to say yes or no,” he said.
When I read this I wanted to surface from the ground like a banshee in front of him and howl into his ears, “Stopppppppppppp saying that!” Because I’m not a beggar who comes in with an empty coconut shell, showed him it’s empty, and expected for coins in return, and walk away disappointed when turned away. I’m perhaps more relatable to the flyer girl. I give out my flyers, but when you throw them away I won’t feel anything. You’re the one not recycling and saving the earth. If you take it you get to benefit from whatever’s on the flyer.
“I’m sorry but from the way you wrote on your blog, you do seem like you wanted an answer. I felt guilty,” or something like that he said. I shake my head. My blog is safe to be read by anybody but him. He wasn’t my intended audience. It’s like advertising Pepsi to a diabetic person. It’s not right.
I said if he had said yes I would not talk to him anymore. Because then it would feel totally haram. Right? That’s why it’s called a crush. It’s not meant to be reciprocated (unless I’m like totes gorg and 100% desirable). I’m the not-so-secret admirer.
Then I gave it a thought. Do I actually want an answer? Is it real or just another crush? But I’m 24. Is it even appropriate to have mere crushes?
I didn’t think much more, but here’s my answer:
1) My current long term plans cannot take in anybody.
2) I’m not a doctor and I’d never cross your mind anyway, so why would I bother? It’s okay, I know where I stand socially. (my friend suggested he’s too good for me)
So that’s the end. I wrote this whole long thing, raw, vulnerable, to help you girls who ask me How I Did It, How Did It Turn Out, How Am I So Fine, etc. People say they wish they were as daring as I was but they let fear get in the way. It’s because I’m not empty in the first place. I’m not missing a jigsaw puzzle or needing a hand to hold. Again, I emphasise, if I really was lonely I would’ve gotten married a long time ago. If I really was looking for my “other half” I would have found him. What you seek is what you’ll find.
And no, I won’t “move on” and “find another target”, as friends suggested. Unless of course I meet a handsome and rich guy because you know, handsome and rich is my currency.
(you’ll have to read parts of this post in jest and with a light heart gosh you guys really need to be chill no of course I don’t spend money using handsome and rich unless that’s a truth but who knows!)
Girls, there really isn’t anything wrong with telling the guys you like you like them. If he accepts it then cool. If he doesn’t and insists on the traditional way of things, then let him live in 1950 or if you’re Muslim, slap him with history. Our historical role model that is the powerful woman Khadijah who proposed to her husband The Prophet. There’s nothing wrong with you, gurl.
P.S. W, I hope you don’t mind me posting the screenshots here. I love screenshots. Nobody knows who you are. It’s for people who a) don’t believe my stories are real b) need inspiration.