Text messages.

I suppose, it’s true when they say we learn much about ourselves through how we respond to the people around us, what they say and do to us.

“So where’s a good place to celebrate JT’s birthday?” I asked, sending a text message to a male training buddy.

“Oh, this place at Queen’s Street is awesome. Great place I go to for my dates and special occasions.”

That kind of left me with one eyebrow up.

Because forgive if I’m being oversensitive or some kind of a prude, but “for my dates” kind of sounded like there were different girls in the same place, tried on like polo shirts on different occasions, as if it were some sort of retail therapy.

I never realised how naive I was. Just some time back when I saw him (not my training buddy)standing there, I felt so relieved I had said no. I said no because I’m not the dating type. I don’t like to try. I don’t like the word nice or the word like, which is what people say all the time when they’re trying out. Nice is what people use when they don’t think someone or something is breathtaking or amazing. Like is what people use when they’re not committed or fired up. Have you met a triathlete who just liked his sport? Have you met an artist who didn’t love his work?
Like. It reminds me of the Facebook button you click on.

And though you kept saying you were all for missions and the poor and were the serious kind who takes everything seriously, I said no. Because I guess I never told you I had a dream about you entering my house wearing a black mask- God speaks to me like that. So when I saw you standing there that day, not quite buff or in shape anymore, I suddenly remembered that day when we were in the lift and you mentioned there was something on my face. “Is it gone now?” I kept saying, rubbing the spot. And you kept saying no, it’s still there, took one step waaaay too close to me to advance which alarmed me, totally frightened me. I whipped around to avoid that unecessary closeness. I kept telling myself to give you the benefit of the doubt, that maybe you were trying to be helpful. But looking back, seeing how you turned out with someone else, and remembering how the speck miraculously disappeared after I whipped away from you to avoid your closeness, I realised how close I was to a yucky memory. I was so naive.

I’m not that sort of girl. I’m glad you know it now.

Which brings me back to the text message: “for my dates”.

Not that I could ever understand how someone could return to the place where things didn’t work out. The whole place would be filled with memories. All over the place- from the menu to being plastered all over the walls to the smell and the texture of the food. I could never eat there again.

I never mentioned it but I really, really hate it when my training buddies sometimes treat me like a boy and slap my shoulder like a buddy. Too close, keep the distance, brother. It’s nice that way.

I guess, I shoudn’t have been surprised that this confirmed, that I’m a serious relationship kind of person. It’s always been all or nothing, for most things. (Extreme? Maybe. Good? Not necessarily- I mean, ask me how 4 torn muscles and a pelvic fracture occurred while…cycling. I don’t know.) It made me think about the times people took me out and bought me meals… because you know, I wish I could say it didn’t count, or at least I don’t want it to, ha, because I thought I was paying. Because until the right one comes along, I’m not available and not interested. Even though I’m bored to tears on a weekend night because I can neither ride, run or swim without pain. God, have mercy.

For now, I suppose, there’s only one groom.

And this is a site I think worth visiting.