The American...

At one point during the year, I had thought that the reason why I was so unlucky with guys is because most of them were Lebanese; so when an opportunity to meet an American came my way, I was more than a little excited to test the waters.

I had actually heard about American boy before I even met him. See, the funny thing about the gay community in Lebanon is that they get all excited when there is the prospect of a newbie making an appearance in the gay scene; so while I was vacationing in Canada, I kept on getting Facebook updates about American boy. To be honest, I sort of disliked him at first because I felt as though he was honing in on my territory, i.e. my friends.

The first few times that I did meet him were brief and he was always buried behind his Mac laptop, and I wasn’t in the market to look for new friends. However, in November, out-of-nowhere I received a text from him asking if we could hang out for coffee. Deciding that I had nothing better to do that night, I agreed to meet up for coffee. Our coffee became a four-hour conversation where we discussed various topics and I found myself enjoying his company. For once I was having a mature and intelligent conversation, that wasn’t focused on the gym, sex, dieting, who was doing whom, and where the latest parties were being held at. I was excited to see where this friendship would go...

By the time December rolled on by, we had spent almost every day of the week together. Our days were filled with lunches, coffees and snacks at cafes in Hamra, followed by walks on the Corniche with the sea’s breeze ruffling our hair, dinner and drinks would ensue, and we would have a nightcap at a pub in Gemmazeh. There was never any tension or awkward silences; the conversation kept flowing. I never found myself at a loss for words or things to say. When he was spending Christmas with a friend’s family, we continuously texted each other, and I felt as though he was rapidly becoming one of my dearest friends.

When the shit hit the fan...

Do you know the saying, “There is no such thing as a good thing?” Well, that was so true in the case with my American encounter. As we continued with our weekly rituals of meeting up for lunches and dinners, his conversations became more personal and at one point, very odd. Although we had been hanging out, I still didn’t know much about him; yet, he had already made plans for us to spend the summer in the US together, have me meet his family in July and stay in their summer lake house, and he made vast promises of getting me a job for next year, telling me that he’d move back to the US once he was done with Lebanon. Who makes promises like that to someone they don’t know too well?

Over coffee, one day, he started telling me how unhappy he was with the dating scene in Lebanon. “I’m a foreigner. I should be ‘fetishized’ and desired because I’m American. Lebanese guys should be all over me because I have white skin and green eyes!” I thought it was bizarre that he would think of himself as a “hot commodity” just because he has a lighter skin tone and fairer hair. But I didn’t dwell much about it because it was partly true; Lebanese gay guys become vultures when they see foreigners, hoping to have a few “foreign fucks” in their little black books, or they think it makes great conversation topics: “OMG! I had the best sex with this Italian guy...” Probably that Italian guy never got any ass or cock when he was in Italy, but let’s not go there now.

In January, an ex-boyfriend of his was visiting Beirut; so a week before his ex’s arrival, he tells me that he wants me to hook-up with ex. When I asked him why he would want me to do that; his answer was, “So I can show him how over him I truly am.”

Wow! That sounds like an amazing plan... That’s what I do all the time too. Have my exs hook-up with my friends to see how over them I am.

Although, I thought it was more than a little strange that he would ask that of me, I laughed it off, hoping that he was, on the off-chance, just joking. When I met him and his ex a few days later, he acted all strange and jealous whenever he saw me talking to his ex. Hum... I thought you wanted us to hook up? I couldn’t imagine what he would act like if I did sleep with his ex... I mean, he was acting like a crazed teenage bitch when I was simply talking to him... I guess someone wasn’t really over him as he claimed to be.

After his ex’s departure, his behaviour got even stranger... He started believing that my feelings towards him were more than platonic, that I was secretly in love with him. He would over-read the context behind my messages and our Skype chats and conversation. Like if I were to send him a text that said: “Hey... Hope you’re okay!” He would read the exclamation mark as an attack or as a patronizing comment from my part. He even went through my phone once and read my messages. He would over-dramatize everything that was said or that happened between us; his behaviours were theatrical and too dramatic for me to handle. When we did spend time together, he would be arguing with me over a misunderstanding, and I would have to spend the rest of the time trying to clarify what was either said or done. He was becoming exhausting to be around. At that time, I was seeing Mr. Nags A-Lot (he’ll be in another post; he deserves a post to himself... He was something else!) and he got weirdly jealous that I was spending time with him.

When I introduced him to my co-workers and friends, neither of them could stand him. He acted socially awkward and he would drink his wine like it was water. He would call our time together as “dates”, when in fact, they were nothing that I would call a date. There is nothing romantic about having to carry a drunken 23 year old back to the car while he makes obnoxious comments.

My friendship with American boy completely deteriorated once March started. I was fed-up with him and his bullshit; and the fact that he only contacted me when his other friends were busy with their own boyfriends or out of town. Although I was never romantically involved with American boy, the allure of foreigners died along with our friendship. Although I ended the relationship in what I considered a mature way; I had e-mailed him, wishing him the best of luck – he took another route. He blocked me off Facebook and acts like a bitch when we bump into each other at Bardo or other dinner parties.

My experience with American boy taught me one thing, that it’s all the same shit and drama, but with a different accent!

My Big Greek Mistake...

I've decided to start a new label for my blog titled, "My Biggest Dating Mistakes," and I thought it would be best to start my new blog label with my latest dating disaster - the 40 year old Greek.
Throughout my dating experience, I've encountered my share of losers, douchebags, and biggest mistakes - you can say that my dating CV is pretty extensive; every freak you can think of, I might have have dated or gone out with. At one point, my friends used to nickname me the "Freak Magnet" and that is no compliment! So you'd be surprised to know that I was not shocked to find out that my latest flavor of the month (I had chosen to go Greek this time) was nothing more than a major pain in my neck and hence here he is in in the Biggest Dating Mistakes I have made in my journey to find the 'One'.
If there is one thing I've learned from my dating experiences is this (1) older men are kinky bastards and one needs to tread that path carefully and (2) men with accents, no matter how sexy they sound, sputter more bullshit than anything else. Mr. Greek did not fail to meet those criteria! So there I was, for once deciding to study at Starbucks in Downtown - in all honesty, I wasn't really studying; I was more people watching - and before I knew it, Mr. Greek walked right up to me and took a seat in the empty chair opposite of me. I would be lying if I didn't say that I wasn't impressed by his ballsy move and then, with his heavy accented English he said, "Hello honey, let me get to know you." He added a wink for emphasis.
Gag... But seeing how bored I was, I thought I could use the entertainment - a sort of pass the time until I was done "studying".
Within the next fifteen minutes, Mr. Greek thought he should tell me his entire life-story: I was enlightened to know about his whole family tree (Stifling a yawn), his first wet-dream, his first sexual encounter (apparently it was when he was 10 - do guys even ejaculate at that age?), and about the sibling rivalry between him and his brothers. Of course, Mr. Greek thought I would be impressed by him telling me about his sexual conquests.
Um... A little note to all you guys: Talking about your sexual conquests does NOT make you more attractive, in fact it just shows that you are a pervert. Also, just because I'm a psychologist it doesn't mean you get to shit your problems on me - Go have a verbal dump elsewhere, thank you.
Throughout our (um... more like his monologue) conversation, he kept on throwing sexual innuendos at me; such as: "Let me help you study my body." [Wink, wink]
No thanks, I'll think I'll pass...
However, I was interested in seeing how far this little meeting would go; so we decided to exchange numbers. Mr. Greek told me his name is Antonio and that he is 45 - but between us, he looked much older.
The next day, Antonio messaged me and said that we should meet up for drinks in Gemz (that's what I'm calling Gemmazeh these days - pretty neat, huh?). We decided to have a nightcap in some dark pub. In our own little corner, Antonio told me that his name is in fact Georges and that he is 50 - also, everything that he had told me the day before suddenly changed.
Red flag anyone?
Again, more sexual comments; my favorite is when he leaned towards me and whispered in my ear (what I'm thinking he assumed to be sexy), "Let's go back to my place and let me drill a hole in your ass." For some reason, that cracked me up. When I told him that that would be pretty unnecessary since I already have a hole why would I need another one, he frowned and said, "I don't understand."
Yeah... I wasn't surprised.
I spent the rest of the evening, gently pushing him off me, and laughing whenever he suggested he drill more holes in other parts of my body... He's a real charmer this one!
On our third date - yes, I kept on going back for more... I'm masochistic - Antonio/Georges threw another bombshell in my face; his name this time was Alexandros and he is 52 years old.
Okay, another red flag anyone?
As we sat in the back booth of a restaurant in Monot, I realized that my short (very short) courtship with Whatever-His-Real-Name-Is had truly run its course; I had tuned him out most of the time, and in fact, I reached level 12 on the Word-Mole game on my BlackBerry (a real success in my opinion - and that was the highlight of my evening). As the waiter placed the bill on the table - by that time I had decided to thank God for answering my prayers - Mr. Cheesy Greek guy leaned over and said to me, "How about I pay for dinner, and you can give me dessert in your car." [Wink, Wink]
Hurl.
In the past, when I was young and naive - Awww... how long ago those days seem to be, I miss being that dumb sometimes - I might have swooned at all the bullshit that he said. He did nothing but compliment me; saying that I was the most handsome guy that he has ever seen. But how many other guys did he feed the same crap to? Did he think I didn't know he was just trying to get into my pants? He thought he was a pro, when in fact he was nothing more than a stupid amateur; Please bitch! I've dealt with worse fuckbags than you.
As I watched him lick his lips; he had a piece of black sesame seed stuck in his tooth, I realized that I've become so mistrustful of men - I've surrounded my heart with a metal fortress that has become impenetrable; and that, I think, is pretty sad to realize.
He followed me to my car, spanking me on my ass more than twice, and licking his lips. Once we reached my car though, I turned to him and said, "Lose my number and don't bother me again." The stunned look on his face was priceless. He literally stood there, mouth open. He probably thought he was being so suave, so debonair. He probably used all of the oldest tricks in the book: he complimented me every chance he got; gave me the "I'm so lonely excuse"; the "I have nobody in Beirut" excuse; the "I want to be more than just sex" excuse; and my all time favorite excuse of all, "I want to make love to you, not fuck you".
And just like Greece's failing economy, Mr. Greek failed to get into my pants.

Spinning Around...

We had always chatted about him DJing, but I had never actually seen him play before that night. Dim lights and cigarette smoke set the ambiance inside. As I saw him setting up near the DJ booth, he looked at me with his charcoal dark eyes and smiled in surprise. "So it seems you've come to see me play," he said with a wink. I didn't want to tell him that it had been by coincidence that I happened to be there that night. "Well, tell me what you think about the music afterward," he slid back onto the stool that faced the turning-boards.
From where I was seated, I had the perfect view of him. I watched in awe as he effortlessly changed tracks and CDs; his fingers seemed to move in complete synchrony and harmony to the tunes that seeped out of the speakers, giving a soundtrack to the smokiness of the room. He was one with the music; he bobbed his head to the lyrics, moving his body to the rhythm as well. It's as though he was oblivious of the fact that there were others in the room; it was as though he was playing to himself. I smiled as I watched him spin a CD on his index finger and gingerly slid it back into its protective case. That was when our eyes locked onto one another.
My heart beat as fast as the drums that played in the background. He gave me one of his cocky, but sexy half smiles, and lifted his glass of red wine. He took a sip and finished it off with a wink. In that moment, I imagined what it must be like to be with him... in his bedroom, even if it was for just one night. I started to wonder what kind of music would he be playing while we explored each other intimately and physically. Soft rock? Barry White? No, a bit too cliched I suppose. House music? I hope not... As I sat there, drinking him with my eyes, I zoned out everything and everyone around me. It was just me and him... The DJ.
When our eyes met for the third time that night, I knew they were beckoning me towards him. As I made my way to the DJ booth, my eyes never left his. His dark, almost black eyes, bore into mine with an intensity I had never felt for a while. As I approached him, he stood up and placed his left hand on my lower back, pulling me closer to him.
"So, how are you liking the music so far?" He whispered in my ear. As he spoke, I could feel his hot breath on my neck. The feeling sent tingles up and down my spine and I knew that at any moment I could melt right into him, right there and then. I wanted him to undress me with his light fingers; I was willing to let down my guard just for that night and not worry about the consequences that might happen the next day. I struggled to speak, but I managed to say that I was enjoying the music. If only he knew that I had enjoyed his touch far more.
Once 1 a.m. had rolled on by, I walked towards the glass door exit when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around and saw him. In the dim light, his face and eyes seemed ethereal; he was beautiful. "I just couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye," he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on my cheek.
...And just like the records that he had spend the whole night spinning; he sent my head, and heart, in a tail-spin.

One Is The Lonliest Number...

I am sometimes afraid to admit this to anyone, let alone myself, but I am very lonely. The type of loneliness that I'm referring to is the kind that makes you feel as though there is a void inside of you that no matter how hard you try to fill, it just always seems to be there. Friends may provide temporary relief from that feeling of "emptiness"; however, at the end of the day it's just not enough. The truth is, even when I'm surrounded by friends, I still feel that bone-crushing sense of loneliness; one that, at times, just seems so overpowering that I start to zone-out. Plus, the fact that most of my closest friends are in relationships doesn't make it any easier on me. In fact, it just emphasizes how single I really am. As I sit across from my friends, a happy couple, I start to ask myself: "Why can't that be me? Why can't I find a guy who would love and care for me like that?" When I voice how lonely I truly am, my friends would roll their eyes and say, "Gary, you don't need a man to feel good about yourself. You don't need anyone to validate you." I would look at him and want to point out how hypocritical he sounded; he couldn't even go to the bathroom or make a simple decision without consulting his boyfriend first - but I decided to spare myself the drama and not bring that up; instead, I just nodded.
I've always made "excuses" to myself to why I'm still single: "I just can't find a guy who's emotionally mature for me," "The guys here are just too intimidated by how comfortable I am with expressing my sexuality," "Guys here just want sex and nothing else..." But I know what these all are, they are nothing but excuses; lame attempts from my part to try and rationalize how come I'm still desperately alone. At first, I blamed it all on myself: "I'm too picky," "I'm too needy and clingy," "I'm too feminine for some guys to handle," "I'm too this and too that..." However, I stopped victimizing myself when I realized that that is not true. Everyone deserves to be loved and appreciated; regardless of what and who they are.
"Oh, you'll find the right guy someday. Just be patient." I hate when people tell me that, it's like they are shutting me up. I feel like saying, "For how long must I wait? I'm tired of being patient! When is it going to be my turn to be happy? To gush about that guy that makes my heart beat a little faster? To want to share everything with him? When?" But just like I did with my friend, I just nod and pretend to be taking their "pearls of wisdom" to heart.
"Ugh, you have no idea how lucky you are to be single! I miss dating!" One of my friends actually said that to me recently and I wanted to smack him right in the face. "Lucky to be single?" He obviously has no idea what he's talking about. Dating in the gay community is like a tedious chore. I know dating, whether you're straight or gay, is awkward; but it's a whole different ball-game to us, homos. Because the community is so small, you're bound to know, have dated, or slept with a friend of his or an ex-boyfriend; the conversation doesn't always run smoothly; there is always this weird sexual question lingering in the air, 'Is he in it just for the sex?' 'Is he interested in something long-term?'. So no... I don't like dating, because I always end up more disappointed than hopeful.
The thing that really boggles my mind though is the fact that I'm not looking for something that is impossible to find. I just want a decent, normal (okay, that might be hard finding in Lebanon), intellectual guy who's interested in a stable, long-term, honest, monogamous relationship. In a nutshell, I just want someone who I can love and who can return that love to me. I feel as though I have all this bottled-up love inside of me that I want to share with someone, but I just can't seem to find. No wonder gay men adore their pets so much, because they displace all that pent-up love onto them. Who knew that finding someone to love unconditionally could be so hard? Plus, I'm not asking for much; a simple text message that says, "Hey, just thought I'd see how your day went so far," or a "I love you just because you're you," are more than enough for me.
I truly believe that everyone, including myself, are entitled to great relationships, ones that enforce the idea that we do need and deserve to be loved. So I end this post by saying, "To all those lonely single people out there, you're not alone..." I hope that was comforting enough for some of you!

That Afternoon...

It was late December, a few days before New Year's. The walk on the Cornish was his idea, but I didn't mind; I was enjoying his company. With my hands deep inside the pockets of my jacket, we walked side by side; the hustle and bustle of the busy sea-side sidewalk all around us. Neither one of us spoke; however, I, for once, didn't find the silence to be so unsettling. As we passed the lighthouse, his white canvas laptop bag with the red-linings slung over his right shoulder; I moved towards the silver railing and leaned forward against it.
I've always enjoyed walks on the Cornish; although it had always been difficult to convince one of my friends to come down with me. They all thought it was a "Towney thing" to do, so I was glad to know that he enjoyed the walk as much as I did. He stood next to me, casually placing the bag on the ground between his legs, and gently crossing his arms over the railing that separated us from the sea below. Again no one spoke; both of our eyes focused on the horizon. Although it was December, the weather hadn't really turned cold yet; it was chilly, but manageable. In the distance, a few fishermen in their tiny rowboats were still casting their nets into the Mediterranean Sea; hoping to get one last catch before the sunset.
"If you could throw one thing in the sea, what would it be?" I asked him, it was more of a thought that I had spoken out-loud, but I was interested to know what he would answer.
"That's a random question, but I'm not really sure. You?"
"I'll throw away my cell-phone," I replied, toying with the device that lay in my right pocket.
He laughed. Even though we were surrounded by people, my ears registered his laugh only; it was as though there was no other sound but his laugh. "Why so?"
"I just think it's strange how obsessed we've become with having to know who's contacting us throughout the day. Like, why would I need to be reached at all times?"
He didn't reply and I didn't continue.
The sun cast its last rays, shading the sky in a fiery shade of orange. The waves splashed lazily against the rocks, spraying the locals that stood on the rocks, splashing in the shallow ends of the sea. A light breeze ruffled the leaves of the palm trees that lined the edges of the Cornish... And throughout all of that, I was watching him out of the corner of my eye. He had goosebumps all over his arms and he rubbed his hands over them; hoping to warm himself a little. The sun seemed to bathe him in a warm glow that made my heart-rate quicken a few beats faster. There was a simplicity in the way he looked and dressed that, to me, made him look beautiful. It was the way he carried himself that had drawn me to him; like a magnetic force. His white cheeks and the tip of his nose had turned a light shade of pink because of the cold; I fought the urge to wrap my arms around him and offer him warmth. I think it was at that moment, when neither of us spoke, that I started to fall in love with him. Even though cars passed, children screamed with giddy laughter, bits and pieces of people's conversations wafted around us; I felt as though, we were the only two people standing on that strip of the Cornish. All the sounds seemed to mesh together, creating the perfect symphony that described the emotions, feelings, and thoughts that were going through my head.
"Coffee! Coffee! It's good for your brain! Coffee! Coffee! It gives you power!"
The moment was over and I was brought back to the present. We both looked at each other and started to laugh.
Evening was well on its way and tiny stars started to dot the night's sky. A plane flew in the distance and I knew that in a few days, he would be leaving as well.
"What do you say we head back?" He suggested, zipping up the front of his gray windbreaker. I nodded and cast one last glance at the sea.
I followed him back to my car, all the while knowing that I'll always remember that afternoon with him...

Hungover You...

Through the smokey interior of the room, I saw him make his way towards me. He was wearing an almost translucent white button-down shirt that showed just a tad of his bronzed smooth chest and toned abs. His smile was sly and sexy; his eyes twinkled with mischief, the kind that is accentuated with the help of alcohol. He danced to the pulsating music that radiated from the speakers overhead. He pointed at me as he mouthed to the lyrics. I gave him one of my 'Come on over here' smiles, followed by a wink. He took the bait.
He sat next to me and I leaned forward; making sure I placed my hand on his knee. "So you enjoying yourself?" He asked me, his eyebrows shot upwards as I moved my hand up to his thigh; making it seem as though I was oblivious to what my hands were doing.
"Not really. This party is pretty lame. What are you thinking of doing afterward?" I rolled my eyes as one of the party-goers attempted a lame striptease. Thank God I had drank at least three glasses of wine before seeing that; there was no way I could have handled seeing that awful sight sober.
"I'm not sure. What are your plans?"
"It depends..."
"On what?"
"Whether or not it includes you..." The words coming out of my mouth were cheesy and corny; as though they were written for a horrible porno movie.
Cue in sex music.
He liked that answer because the smile on his face said it all. He brought his face closer to mine; our lips only centimeters apart. I smiled and pulled away. The party was lame; I needed to entertain myself and he would do just fine.
He was an acquaintance of mine and he had slept with half of my other acquaintances. I always knew he had a thing for me because I had always said No to his advances before; but I was willing to make an exception tonight. I was feeling down and dejected; I needed some release and he was the perfect outlet for it.
He stood up and danced to the music some more; moving his index finger over my chest, under my chin, and then placing it on my lips. I turned my face away - let's see how long this chase can last. That was when he grabbed me by my shoulders and roughly dragged me towards a secluded area. I never minded being rough-housed...
The hallway was dark, the only light that was supplied was courtesy of the street-lamp outside the window. He had me pinned against the wall, his hands exploring every inch of my body. I could feel his lips all over the nape of my neck; his breathing was heavy. His body crushed mine and my hands ran up and down his back; at times digging my nails into the thin fabric of his shirt. His lips searched hungrily for mine. My heart was beating wildly in my ribcage. It had been a while since I've acted this way; made-out with a guy I didn't know that well in an isolated area. It looked so shady and yet so sexy. Like the expert that I had heard that he was, he ran his hand under my black T-shirt, caressing my abdomen. I shivered at his touch, his hands were cold. With his other hand, he encircled it around my waist, pulling me closer to him. What am I doing? Do I want this to go further? The thoughts went through my head. But then I heard another voice, one that was saying that I was thinking too much, one that was telling me to just let go of my inhibitions and to enjoy the buzz of the alcohol and the moment I was experiencing with him.
"Let me fuck you Gerry," he slurred.
Gerry? Ugh...
I had suddenly lost interest; I was no longer in the mood. I put my hands roughly on his chest and pushed him off me.
"What's wrong habibi?"
I stared into his red-rimmed eyes and drool dripping off the side of his mouth. He looked and smelled like a Vodka bottle with arms. I shook my head and made my way back towards the party.
A few minutes later, I found myself drunkenly entering Bardo. The place was packed with bodies blocking the entrance. I forced myself inside. I never admit it to a lot of people, but I actually enjoy crowds. I like the feeling of being lost in a sea of people, our bodies moving as one, a collective mass and force - and if you're lucky, you can always have some stranger grab your ass!
Classy, I know.
He saw me entering Bardo. He waved me towards him; I was just glad I had found a familiar face at that point. He frowned when I approached his table. "Are you alright?" I can hear the concern in his voice. "I'm fine. Just a little tipsy, I had more drinks than I usually allow myself," I admitted. He nodded and stood up. "Here, take my seat," he offered. I declined at first, but he insisted. He then disappeared but returned after a minute with a bottle of water. "Here, you're going to need this," he handed me the ice-cold water. I gulped it down, enjoying the feel of the refreshing liquid; it was as though, I was washing away Buttons' sloppy kisses and Vodka breathe off me.
He was a Medical Doctor (MD); he was charming and a true gentleman. He kept talking to me saying that it would sober me up. He made me laugh and he ran his hand up and down my back, sending some thrills up my spine. His chocolate brown eyes were welcoming and sincere. My purpose for going to Bardo that night was to see whether I'd "accidentally" bump into Glasses and then a scary realization dawned upon me. I had acted the way I did because I was hurting; I was upset and didn't know how to express my frustrations. I was trying to mend a broken heart by acting like a complete idiot. I was feeling lonely; I wanted to feel desired and wanted, and that was exactly what Buttons had offered me - but it wasn't the way I wanted it to be... Not with him at least and not in some sketchy looking hallway that smelled musty and in a bad need of a cleaning.
I was still hung over Glasses... I thought that if I drowned my sorrows in alcohol and meaningless hook-ups I might feel better; I'd be able to move on and put him behind me. However, as I stared into MD's brown eyes, all thoughts about Glasses seemed so far away; I almost forgot why I was there in the first place, I couldn't care less if I did see Glasses or not.
"Listen Gary, I want you to message or miscall me the minute you get home. I want to make sure you get home safely," he said.
Later that night, once I was settled into my bed; I messaged him. In less than two minutes, my BlackBerry buzzed. He had replied. As I read his text, my head started to clear up. I was no longer hung over... In fact, I'd never felt more sober in my life.

Delete You...

Delete. Erase. Block. Remove.
How easy it sounds removing people from your electronic and communication portals these days; it got me wondering: Would it be that easy removing people from your real-life? It would be nice if, with a click of a button, one could erase another from his life; never having to contact them ever or see them again.
Maybe, as with the improvements in technology, we have evolved into specimen that can easily "remove" others from our lives. Could we have developed an ability to just 'forget' about those we once considered friends and loved ones? Perhaps we have created a 'mental switch' in our minds that automatically shuts and deletes people from our consciousness and memories.
"You have to remove him off your Facebook! Then you delete his number from your phone! Do you understand? You just have to!" My friend told me on the phone as I recently relayed to him my recent run-in with the usual boy-drama.
"Why do I have to delete him?" I asked.
"You just have to! It's the only way you can move on with your life," he replied with an exaggerated sigh; I think he felt as though he was talking to a five-year old.
As I sat in bed deleting every message he ever sent me (even though I later on found out I could have 'mass deleted' everything), I couldn't help but feel childish for doing that. Did by deleting a "Hey, want to have coffee?" message going to change the way things ended between us? Was it going to bring him back to me? No, it wasn't. But I decided to listen to my friends and continue with the task at hand.
"Whatever you do, don't read the messages! It'll just make you want to call him or text him again!" I could hear my friend's voice in the background - but I did read the messages. Every single one of them. I reread the 122 messages he had sent me in the past two months. I smiled at some of them because they were simply so lame, like this one: "Here I am trying to shit, but all that came out was a fart!"
Poetic, I know...
I would be lying if I said I didn't want to message him and be like, "Hey, this really was a misunderstanding. Let's just start over." But for some reason, something held me back. It was that 'mental block button' I think we acquired throughout the 90's.
After I had deleted his messages, I took a long deep sigh because I knew I had to do the hardest part next: I had to remove his contact info... and that included everything: cell number, e-mail address, and even birthday (yeah, I'm one of those people who takes their 'Contact Info' really seriously...)
Delete contact from Phone-book and SIM Card?
Yes.
Are you sure?
Yes.
Done.
It's like he never existed. In less than one hour, I had managed to remove him from my life - figuratively speaking, of course. For some reason, I didn't feel 'exhilarated' or 'liberated' as my friend described it would be. In fact, I felt immature and pathetic. I had spent an hour rummaging through my phone erasing text messages - how sad was that?
As I turned off the lamp on my bedside table, I stared at my cellphone. With its sleek black cover and shiny buttons, I wished my heart was programmed the same way my BlackBerry was. I doubted my BlackBerry felt hollow or empty after deleting everything about him like my heart did.
Right before I felt sleep making my eyes heavy, a thought crossed my mind and I couldn't help but smile. What if I didn't really delete him but sent him to my 'Recycling Bin' instead? I could always restore him, right? As memories of our time spent together came back to me as I drifted off to sleep, I realized that no matter how much I tried to rationalize things, the truth was evident: No matter how hard I might try to delete him from my life, he'll always hold a special place in my heart...