Sunday Kind Of Love

Wives saying goodbye to their loved ones in the Navy, 1963. The reality of love and marriage continues to ruin my life.

When it comes to matters of the heart, it seems that I’m not just old-fashioned. Apparently, I’m very nearly prehistoric. I’ve always depended on my parents’ enduring marriage as the barometer of true love. On one hand, I feel extremely blessed to have such a solid example of love and marriage existing under the same roof as myself to aspire after. But as I venture further out into the wilderness, the fog is beginning to lift. And it is scary, you guys.

According to data published in 2011, the average length of an American marriage is 8.8 years and more than 5,000 couples were getting divorced each day in China that same year. Professor David Popenoe of Rutgers University mentions in an article that some 40% of American children are living apart from their biological fathers, and majority of these children aren’t in the habit of seeing their fathers regularly or often, if at all. Worse still, a third of children are now born out-of-wedlock, many of who grow up without ever knowing their fathers.

It’s become painstakingly clear to me, marrying your childhood sweetheart at a young age and staying by each other’s side even after 40 years, is not a common occurrence in the real world even if I may be coming home to it every single day. I repeat; it’s a complete fluke. Back then, if you found someone you could stand who could stand you, you’d hold on to him or her for dear life because meeting someone new wasn’t so easy.

Today, we’re just a swipe, like, retweet or click away from someone better because any social media app or website can be used as Tinder/OkCupid if you’re good looking. It’s distressing how similar the Internet algorithms for ordering mini skirts on ASOS and finding a life partner are. By trying to emulate my parents’ relationship all these years, I’ve basically set myself up for failure and condemned myself to envisioning life as a hopeless romantic.

Mind you, it isn’t just the concept of love that this wonderful bubble I’ve been living in has sugarcoated – it’s the concept of life. Allegedly, dresses aren’t just pressed, foie gras at brunch isn’t just served, and gallivanting around Europe for several months doesn’t just happen. How far removed from reality have I been all this while? That deserves an essay all to itself.

Dating is just trial and error after all, isn’t it? We actively seek out people we’re interested in, we try these people out for a bit and see how they fit into our lives, we learn about ourselves and grow from the relationship, we bounce once we’ve had enough or discovered it’s not for us, and then we start over again and slowly figure out what it is we do and do not want. This operation does get tiring and disheartening at times, but I’ve found that by just appreciating the honesty and simply moving on, we can avoid becoming blasé. As the Japanese proverb goes, "fall down seven times, stand up eight."

Lust At First Swipe

The blossoming of a modern day romance. A severe case of genital ADD. The importance of pizza. A love for British boys.

With a long track record of being in a series of unfortunate but serious monogamous relationships almost back-to-back, jumping head first into the deep end of the dating pool has proven to be not my wisest decision yet. (Why am I not surprised?) My experience thus far fluctuates between giving me butterflies in my stomach and between my legs, being a culture shock, and an endless stream of anxiety, confusion and frustration.

This modern day romance began when both our kindred Tindered spirits decidedly swiped right. “Nice smile,” he texted. “Nice abs,” I replied, almost three hours later. (For the purpose of this article and in honor of the name given to him at birth by his parents, let’s call him Sean.) It was our 21^st century rendition of “did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

With online dating gaining mainstream acceptance and its taboo dissipating quickly to zilch, more people are meeting each other through this medium, on websites such as OKCupid and mobile applications such as Tinder, which have now become the unofficial playground for twentysomethings who aren’t typically into online dating but are tired of being single. (Hey, what’s up? You too?) Frankly speaking, I’ve only been single for something like 4 months, so I’m not sure if I actually belong to this category of bored singles. Online dating is certainly not for everyone, but it’s an option at our disposal today.

This phenomenon has greatly broadened our horizon of potential dates we have at our fingertips. Consequently, reinforced our hyper-casual dating attitude and given most of us a severe case of penis and vagina ADD. Meeting new people has never been easier and it’s become super trendy to cycle hastily through lots of suitors and to date multiple people at any given time. What else is one to do with a seemingly endless catalogue of singles who are ready to mingle? (Eat Pringles?? I didn't think so.)

Getting to know new people adds spice to the adventure we call life. You don’t have to marry the guy or even kiss him; just talking to him will open your eyes to new experiences and outlooks on life. What makes this situation even more appealing is that there’s no context at all; you owe them nothing. You don’t know their family or friends. You’re in, you’re out. Good chat, mate. Don’t Facebook me. Cya later/never.

Admittedly, I wasn’t very interested in continuing my conversation with Sean at the beginning. He called me “dull” after I’d confided that my favourite pizza topping was Quattro formaggi. At the other end of the spectrum of the bold and exciting were his picks, BBQ chicken and pineapples, so you kind of already know that he’s a real daredevil himself. #sarcasm #Britishhumour #funnynotfunny

Aside from how people speak of their mothers and treat waiters, it’s my personal belief that you can tell a lot about someone by his or her favourite pizza toppings. Ie: at first glance, I'm just glorified cheese on toast. But a couple of bites in, you slowly learn that I'm four types of cheese, and pretty intense flavours at that. The devil is in the details after all, is it not? With regards to Sean, I don't know him well enough to churn out a complete character analysis at this moment, but what I do know is that he is kind of old-fashioned when it comes to courting, fancies routine or some sort of structure, finds comfort in familiarity, and always wears his seatbelt even in the back of a cab unless he is too drunk.

In reality, I was worn out from repeating the same “getting to know you” conversation, which initially started out like that catchy tune from The King and I but was fast becoming vapid. I was also almost brain dead from deciphering cycles of text messages all day, which – not to brag – requires the code-breaking skills of a cold war spy. Now don’t get me wrong, I love checking my phone and reading nice messages from four different guys at once (Maz, especially, just cuz he is SO FUNNY AND SMART), but always having to be on my ‘A game’ and constantly dishing out flirtatious and witty responses can be pretty taxing.

To add to that, I have a super soft spot – reportedly located 2-3 inches up my anterior vaginal wall between the vaginal opening and the urethra – for British boys. Talking to them is extremely exhausting, mentally draining even. If you’ve had a conversation with one, you’ll know exactly what I mean by that. You’d have either loved it or hated it. I just so happened to absolutely love it and was talking to a handful of them. (And they are a handful.)

All in all, playing the field took a lot more brainpower than I’d imagined, and I commend those who do this regularly or for extended periods. (Let’s not confuse this with cheating, you guys.) Despite all the sleazy people you will probably have to encounter en route to finding prince charming, taking a (skinny) dip in the dating pool is worth the experience. My month-long stint moonlighting as a professional serial dater has taught me a lot about who I am as an individual. And even more about my own personal tastes, preferences and standards for the kind of person I want to involve myself with in the future. Although, for sanity’s sake, I would recommend sticking to a smaller number than 18 men in 30 days – that was a bit overwhelming.

“What are you doing right now?” he texted. “Devouring a chocolate bar,” I replied. And then my phone rang. The notion that nobody picks up the phone and calls anyone these days suggests that if someone does actually pick up the phone and call, he or she is a gem – a keeper, if I may. Yet the very act of calling someone on the phone takes about a whooping three seconds of extra fingering. Worth the praise? I don’t know. But this was a unique selling proposition (USP) of his and it made him stand out, which I would later learn at lunch that he quite literally does stand out in the crowd at an astounding 193cm.