So, my first date in months happened the same day I found out my ex-boyfriend is dating someone new.
Though I was taken out of the right headspace, this stranger I met on the yellow app seemed too polite and had even reserved a table for us at this cool Japanese restaurant, so I held off the urge to bail and soldiered on. I told myself it’s okay; I’ll have dinner, probably some drinks—and who knows. I needed a distraction from the news anyway.
It was my first *real* date with someone since my breakup with my long-term boyfriend in February, so I had quite the jitters. I couldn’t remember the last time I met a stranger for a romantic dinner (it was probably with that ex-bf six years ago at college), and the fact that it was with a foreigner made me extra nervous (and vigilant of my safety, to be honest, haha). I was traversing uncharted territory, grappling with this feeling you get when you just jumped off a cliff and were about to hit the still water's surface.
But off I went, shedding some sappy tears on the way to BGC (with Juan Karlos’ ERE playing on full blast as the thought of my ex being happy with someone else sunk in). Truthfully, while my ex-boyfriend and I couldn't be more different when it comes to our personalities, being with him was one of the most enriching life experiences I've had. We've tried to make the relationship work with all our might, but sometimes, life just happens. We went from twenty-year-old lovestruck kids who once vowed to be each other's endgame to two adults who barely wanted anything to do together.
Still, the hopeless romantic in me—the one who would bawl my eyes out over stories of star-crossed lovers and soulmates and will never get enough of romantic gestures like candlelit dinners and sappy love notes—felt surreal about letting go. He was my first true love: the person I shared a dog with, and the only one I ever envisioned marrying someday. He made me feel like I was on top of the world the first time he told me that he loved me, and made me slump to rock bottom when he fell out of it.
Months after our breakup, I tried as hard as I could to block things out but found myself floating aimlessly, questioning things I knew to be true and contemplating all the stuff I had to unlearn and relearn. Crying in the most random places (in our office as I wrap up a cover story interview, at a music fest listening to shared favorite artists Phoenix and Men I Trust, at the rooftop of our condo right at the center of Manila's skyline) and drowning myself in work barely made things better.
There's nothing quite like reaching the other side once I started moving forward, though. And for my enlightenment, I'd like to thank the great Margaret Atwood's timeless wisdom:
“Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. It's like the tide going out, revealing whatever's been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fishbodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future.”
After nine months and a whole season of just being in my ~feels~, I finally declared that I was ready to return to the dating scene, and stuck with Bumble a bit longer this time. (I tried it months ago but uninstalled it shortly after matching with some nasty people, LOL.)
This time around, I let go of the girl who's into cozy, long-term, textbook monogamism and vowed to make the most out of my ~*single*~ era. I took matters into my own hands and curated my profile like a modern-day damsel in distress, ready to date for the plot. I write relationship stories for a living after all, and what's a good writer if not a collector of experiences—the good, bad, and crazy combined?
I took matters into my own hands and curated my profile like a modern-day damsel in distress, ready to date for the plot.
It took me several weeks to finally find the right guy to meet up with IRL (my friend’s advice, “It’s your first date, so I hope you get treated right”, stuck in my head the whole time). It was with someone I hadn’t chatted with for too long but had the most ideal situation for casual dating. He was an Indian-Aussie guy traveling through, obviously not for anything long-term. He had it going: incredibly good-looking with his beard and brush-up hair (the Zayn-ish looks that are riiiight up my alley), fun and respectful to chat with, annoyingly charming with a serious, mature guy energy. He told me he would love to meet me but understood if I was looking for something long-term, a challenge I took personally and downplayed.
My life's slowly becoming a structured Netflix series ala The Bold Type or Sex and The City, and I was ready to be Carrie Bradshaw.
You see, I've just gotten back into the dating scene, and was just looking for a warm-up act to ease me through the ins and outs of it. The thing is, after losing the person whom I thought was The One, I wanted to keep it chill. I wanted to act cool, not care for once, and guard my heart for as long as possible. I slowly realized that dating the likes of John freaking Mayer when I was supposed to be meeting up with lesser-known indie acts wouldn't make a good case for that goal, though.
Something about the fleeting nature of our date made it all the more free-flowing, and romantic. Like existing in a state of happiness without dwelling on when or where it will end. He was only temporary, just passing through—someone who would soon move on to a new city and a new person to share intimate moments with.
We stayed up late until 3 a.m., just laughing, flirting, and telling each other the most random life stories. I told him about my big dreams, which I only tell people close to my heart. I told him how much I love my dog, whom I owe a lot for saving me on my saddest days. I told him about my love for my grandmother, who has always been my heart and guidepost.
He kissed me gently, took me home, and cuddled with me (though he said he was a non-cuddly sleeper) while I tried to fall asleep.
He sent butterflies in my stomach with his peculiar, boy-next-door confidence, making me constantly shy with eyes intently darting around my features as if he were trying to memorize me.
I did things I only ever did with my ex-boyfriends, things I have never thought of doing with someone I just met, much more a person who will leave to go home to the other side of the world the next day.
I was pleasantly surprised by the good experience I’ve had dating this man, and even joked about giving him a five-star review the way I’d rate a Grab driver who was reliable with the ins and outs of traffic-laden Manila on a buzzy Friday night. I hope he knows how much his company meant to me and that he finds whatever it is he's looking for.
I guess what I'm trying to say from my experience is that after healing from a breakup, the more natural challenge is to deal with your cynicism about things. To grapple with trust issues and the need to protect your feelings.
Nobody talks about how hard it is to hope, to sustain it, to endure after having your heart broken by someone you thought you'd spend the rest of your days with, or to be comfortable sitting in a temporary love affair without having it destroy you afterward. All the big and small heartbreaks. It's never easy to open your heart again, to feel, to let go, and maybe to come back for more.
I don't know what the future brings, but I'm sure of one thing: I'll always have a heart that loves and wants to love everything and everyone. I take comfort in the fact that I have yet to meet the people I'll share the most intimate pieces of my soul with, that I have yet to experience the highest of highs. And that my heart will probably take a beating again and again, and I'll still go back and give more. Everyone who has loved me and left can take away their favorite pieces; it's theirs to keep. My love tank has always been overflowing, anyway.
My heart will probably take a beating again and again, and I'll still go back and give more. Everyone who has loved me and left can take away their favorite pieces; it's theirs to keep. My love tank has always been overflowing, anyway.
I've learned that feeling and loving deeply isn't the weakness that I thought it was now that I'm living in a time and place that is so full of death, suffering, and reckoning. “Maybe we're just born to love and worry about the people we know, and to go on loving and worrying even when there are more important things we should be doing," Sally Rooney once wrote. Maybe.
