“Raise your hand if you have had a whore phase!”

The question was unceremoniously tossed to the group. Some squirmed in their seat. Some squinted their brows, some others sat back in the chair. A few pursed their lips almost as if in pain – deep consternation of a forgotten era. But beautifully, no one expressed any offense.

When I was in college, there was a birthday celebration in the college canteen. There were 4 of us seated in the middle – the “celebrants” – who were given “truth or dare” challenges. I chose to say the truth and was promptly met with the question from a classmate (a guy) – “Are you a virgin?”.

I remember being caught off-guard with that question. Somewhere I knew it was offensive, not because it was a senseless invasion into a private matter, but because of the holier-than-thou implications it held. Apparently as a 20 something old, un-married Malayali girl back then, I was expected to still be treasuring my virginity. But above everything, I was to immediately look scandalized and answer the question with an “Ofcourse!” within 2 seconds of the question hitting the troposphere. Expectedly, I failed.

I looked at him for a long 5 seconds. In the background, I could almost see my friends (guys and girls) urging me with their death stare to answer promptly. Eventually, I caved. “Yes”, I answered, and funnily enough I could sense almost the entire room breathe out a sigh of relief. Clearly, my lack of chastity would have been very awkward for everyone else to deal with, except me. Seemingly satisfied to have established decorum in the society, my friend moved on to the next celebrant with his creative truth or dare questions.

From there, fast forward 16-17 years, I raised my hand for the “whore-phase” question. This time, some of the audience looked up, acknowledged and started sharing jokes and fun facts about their whore-phases. An insane paradigm shift in mentality that has swept through my generation and beyond when it comes to relationships and the physicality that lies within.

Casual and serious. ONS and FWB. ENM and situationships. It’s a plethora of vague physical connections drawn under blurred lines. What’s wrong with that? Nothing – if you are okay with that. If that makes your cup full, if that makes your heart sing and the whole shebang.

But what if you are unable to swim in that torrent force that the rest seem to fly in? What if you are wrapped in old-school definitions of love and companionship that were shaped and defined by generations of movies, love stories and hopeless optimism?  Oh, then you are fucked.

Consider a divorced single mom such as myself. In my late 30s, thriving in all aspects of life, except for the presence of a partner. I started my journey on the dating apps with fantastic optimism. I swiped, chatted, met and met some more. Two years later, I’m still single.

Does that mean the men were all horrible? No. Does that mean I was too good for all of them? Bloody hell, no. So then what the hell happened? Well. Sometimes I ghosted. Sometimes I got ghosted. Sometimes, we mutually agreed it’s a mismatch and gracefully walked away.

Now, why do you think the ghosting happened? Here’s what I think – I was scared. I had a vision of what kind of person I wanted to be with. I had drawn the outline, and my mission was to find someone to squeeze and fit into that outline. So when I met and talked, I assessed. I scrutinized. I evaluated.

Lived in Ajman? Too far. Can’t do.

Liked only Indian food? Nope. Need a worldly palate.

Did not drive a car? That’s a deal breaker.

Did not have an active lifestyle? Sorry, that won’t work.

Made fun of therapy? Walk away, boy.

The outline grew sharper after every date. I knew precisely what I did not want, but my clarity on what I wanted saw no improvement. I was irritated at bad matches, at men who took ages to reply, at conversations I was single-handedly driving. I was a single mom with a full-time senior role, who hit the gym daily, pursued my passions and investing time in speaking to men with the intention of finding a companion – and I was getting no worthwhile return on that investment.

Needless to say, I was disappointed. But it also got me thinking.

Hang on, am I being too harsh on these options? Am I holding this outline too close to my heart for the wrong reasons? Am I just scared to settle because I was once bitten?

And then it came crashing down on me. Fuck no.

For the first time in my life, I was having standards. I knew what I needed in a partner. Because you see, I was not looking for a savior nor a child. I did not want to “take care” of anyone’s poorly brought up son, nor did I want to be a princess expecting to be driven around. My ask was simple – I wanted someone to hit the banter button with (because God knows I’m good at it) and explore the world with. A delicate balance of emotional quotient and intelligence. Safety and security.
Challenging? Yes, clearly.
Possible? Yes, definitely.

Smudging the outline seems like a thing we can do, but for the right person. Until then, if the vibes are not giving you the butterflies, say no to that match. You are not being a tough one to crack, you are just aware what will keep you hooked. And it is that hook which will stop the ghosting and the situationships. It is that hook that will have you sit in comfortable silences, get on airplanes and order octopus and rump steak to the table. If I sound like a hopeless optimist, that’s because I’m one. No shame there, my friend.

See you another day, when words decide to flow my side, and you decide to read your side.

And We Meet Again.

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