My Cristina Yang moment
juxtaposed with the desire to not just to be wanted, but to be wanted back
I have liked three men romantically in the last decade. Well, from 23 and beyond to be precise. Before that, from ages 20 to 22 I was too hyperfixated on other things that didn’t leave me any bandwidth for relationships.
One of them was my long term ex whom I met at 23. Another was a married man with kids so I knew apriori there was no potential there, we stayed friends from a distance and he never knew how I felt (I think). The third happened recently.
This doesn’t mean I didn’t like the other men I have met and later dated, but with everyone else, sooner or later I eventually arrived at a point where was I no longer attracted to them anymore, no matter how brief our time together was.
my Cristina Yang moment
I met the third guy, a journalist, during new year’s week. We’d been speaking for over a month at this point and he had seemed respectful and refreshingly secure - a unicorn among the dating app subpopulation. Yet when we met it felt like a wall was erected between us, or perhaps he was the wall, and I sat there thinking so this is why you’re single. I wish he proved me wrong.
A week later (which also happens to be two weeks ago), when I was still moving on from him and doing a loop in my head of Why haven’t I found somebody? versus Maybe he got mad cos I booked my John Oliver tickets without asking him a third time (ugh the shit I let slide), I remembered my late 2024 resolution : to be kinder to myself, to give myself more credit.
So I opened my journal, a 2023 TedX diary I got at work, and started writing. I made a list of things that’s transpired in the last 5 years since I moved away from home to the US. It began with got a master’s, and went on - navigated an ankle injury, had a breakup, cut off a toxic family member (and a significant one), moved states by myself twice, etc. Half-way through making the bullets, I paused.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
I knew I’d done all that, but why did I never stop to look back these 5 years?
And then I laughed. I laughed at everything I had proven I could do, for myself and others. And I laughed that I’d been sad - over a boy. A boy who couldn’t communicate his emotions, a 30 year old who couldn’t act his age. Who couldn’t be vulnerable and had shown me what kind of a boyfriend he would make if we even made it (hint : a bad one who stonewalls you in times of crisis).
Here I was, taking care of my second-hand car for over 3 years now. Learning about suspension belts and researching brake pads like neither of my elder brothers have had to, because I live in a country that doesn’t afford you time and space for intellectual freedom over someone else’s cheap labor and time (and cos labor is affordable in my country). I had created for myself happiness in this boy’s city like he couldn’t be bothered to (not that he owed me that). Another guy had stepped in, less for me and more for himself of course, but I’m not expecting generosity on Hinge. And I had cried over a boy who couldn’t even be bothered to cook.
There I sat crying over a boy, and then I laughed about crying.
It didn’t mean I cared about his cooking or the lack thereof all of a sudden, I even found it endearing and admirable how he prioritized his work. But when they can’t be kind and are even cruel to you, everything else falls flat.
I am human after all
Once I was back home, for two weeks I didn’t venture out. I deleted my dating apps, I decided I was going to be smart about meeting men - nobody I wouldn’t meet or entertain in real life was allowed in my life anymore. This would also save me wasting my time on 6’1’’ men with perfectly curated profiles who wait until you end it to tell you they just got divorced which is why they’re emotionally unavailable (aren’t they all).
The third week, I showed up at a meetup. A friendly couple tried to set me up with another guy at our table, he gave me his number, shared his plans for the next day and asked to join if I was interested. I wasn’t, but I lied in bed the next morning wondering if I should go. Was this a chance for me to make different decisions? Yet though our conversation flowed easily, all my interaction with him reminded me of was, though we spoke for almost 2.5 hours ignoring everyone else at our table - I don’t wrong the others for trying to set us up - I knew it wasn’t the same as when I really like someone.
I wondered how my face might look when I’m enamored by the person I’m speaking to. I’m sure I’m smiling the whole time, I’m surprised by little things I discover about them but staying unfettered in my feelings, which I know now only grow stronger when I find out they don’t care about cooking cos it affords them more time in their reporter work. It’s unimpressive for an adult to not having survival skills, so it’s also easy to build a case against the boy later, if you ever need that. I’m not proud.
I never texted the guy, but we run in similar circles so I might see him again.
A couple days ago, I was at another meetup. I was in line at the bar, speaking with someone I’d met there. He waited at the back when it was my turn at the counter, when I met another guy in the line. A few minutes in, when I realized he wanted to know if I was single, I told him I was 30, he was probably too young for me. (Also too boyish). He said he was 26 and there with his friends.
I spent the rest of the night there talking, playing games and generally having a nice time with the first guy, who was much older, but there was a point where the two met and he asked to meet the friends. It was weird cos I had a drink he bought me, weird cos he did walk us to his friends sheepishly, and the first guy just ignored them and walked me to a game nearby without saying a word. Yet I remember in that moment wishing, if at least one of these were men I was actually attracted to.
Not just enough to spend a 3 hour night out with, after which you leave because you don’t want to have burgers with him cos you can’t be bothered to find parking in atrocious Lenox Square. Or just enough to talk non-stop one on one for hours on end but not want to see them outside of a group. Or enough to spend two whole evenings with up until midnight but make sure they leave you alone after, cos you know you don’t like them that way. Or even at all.
In these moments I realize how mindful I am in knowing just when I like someone, and just how much, and just how rare it is. I like that I’m still, at 30 and single, tactful enough to remember compliments don’t mean much when they come from the wrong person. They can’t fill your heart or your soul, not even for 3 hours does it get your mind away from someone you truly felt connected to, not even when they are right in front of you claiming all your attention.
Being wanted isn’t the same as being wanted by someone you like. I never thought I’d experiment with it because I had my convictions, but when you’re older you are bored, and after years of being single and dating the wrong people, sometimes you yearn for heterosexual validation, which you always knew comes cheap (and perhaps it’s cos I’m 30 and young and maybe it actually says nothing about how attractive I am, but I’d be lying if I said I completely believe that). The endorphins from compliments only last moments, sometimes it stops meaning anything at all cos you remember these people hardly know you, which is emotionally emptying because what does that mean if you never find your person? You can only hope the next person might be the person.
I am human, after all, even after my Cristina Yang moment. I can still cry over boys, I just have to make sure I don’t waste too much time over them.
final thoughts
Overall, I think I do prefer meeting men irl. I’ve met 4 guys in the last three weeks over 3 days, none that I want to meet again. 3 would have been profiles I’d have swiped left on in an app (and who knows, maybe they’d have swiped left on me too, but they don’t own this substack, life’s unfair). But I’ve decided maybe my swiping etiquette is not all that great.
And this way I don’t build false hope for a future with these men I meet, none of those illusory visions that men from dating apps manage to conjure up in your mind, cos you meet their fine-tuned version devoid of any context of what they’re really like.
You don’t waste your time, they don’t break your heart. But then what is a life without love and romance, which is what it all comes down to?
I guess that’s the point - that you don’t break your heart for the wrong people. For boys.