NOVEMBER 2016
After a few months of getting back into shape and rediscovering the outside world, feeling better in both body and mind, I have the feeling that I am in a hurry to make up for lost time, to meet new people and, hopefully, to meet THE person.
I then decide to return to an old habit: creating a profile for myself on a dating app. But one should not think it is a walk in the park because, while apps seem to make the dating game easier, people often forget to mention how much effort is required to go from being a candidate to being chosen.
It all starts with creating a profile and selecting the photos that go with it.
“This one isn’t bad, but I was heavier back then... Here, I’m on vacation, but you can’t really recognize the place... And here, I’m with friends... Those same friends who are much better-looking than I am. Anyway, these damn dating sites are a bit of a lottery.”
I find one that speaks to me, guitar in hand, with a small black-and-white filter that gives the photo a more mysterious look. It suits me well! But just as I thought I had done the hardest part, I find myself facing the dreaded blank page syndrome when I have to complete my profile description.
“Looking to meet people without any drama.”
Yeah... That’s a bit like sending a résumé and insisting that you’re motivated.
And why not:
“Holder of a bachelor’s degree in sarcasm with a thesis on irony. If you too enjoy overthinking whether the glass is half empty or half full, I invite you to conduct a study on the matter. Kiss.”
It’s lame, but it suits me quite well too. Besides, if I’m going to meet someone, she might as well know that I’m a bit crazy.
And here I am, like every good customer visiting the supermarket of long-distance love, liking profiles, at first very carefully. Well, at least for the first few days, because after a week of matching only with infected bots trying to make me click suspicious links, I quickly switched to another technique: liking everything that came along, like throwing a stone into a pond and watching the ripples afterward.
As it turns out, after a few weeks of patience, I receive a match in return from the profile of a potentially interesting encounter.
— “Hello, dear Miss M, should I conclude from this returned like that you too appreciate these existential questions?”
Not sure the conversation is going to continue after such a questionable opening...
But what do I see? The three dots indicating that she is replying.
— I’m mostly here for the sarcasm and irony!
— Could it be that we attended the same school?
— Maybe... But my thing is mostly attracting creepy people...
— Good heavens, have I already given you that impression?
— That was irony!
I must say that I like this kind of opening. It’s curious how only a few exchanges are enough to know whether a person matches your personality. The way she expresses herself makes me think that there is a certain complexity to her character. We quickly discover a few things in common—movies, video games... A certain connection develops, and I must admit that she intrigues me.
— You’re weird, but less creepy than the last ones I met.
— Oh yeah? What, like complete lunatics?
— Yeah... Not exactly the brightest streetlights on the highway.
— Tell me!
— I’d rather not. The last one became invasive very quickly. I never should have met him, let alone told him where I lived.
— What, did he come throw pebbles at your window during the night?
— Laugh all you want, but when a guy who’s dead drunk stands outside your house to make some dubious declaration of love, it’s a lot less funny.
— Yeah, that’s rough... sorry for the questionable joke. I imagine it wasn’t very funny to go through that.
— No, not really. So now, I’m pretty straightforward. Don’t get your hopes up, I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and above all, I don’t give out my address!
— Are you here to have fun?
— Not that either. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I don’t feel like dating sites are for me. I prefer real life.
— More the type to see what happens without any specific plan?
— Actually, I just want to talk to people. I think I’m feeling a little lonely at the moment.
— Yet you seem like someone worth getting to know.
— That’s because you don’t know me yet.
It is curiously then that I realize how much what seems most inaccessible is what most makes you want to conquer it. This mysterious side that she subtly puts forward has an effect on me; she intrigues me.
For several weeks, we talk a little every day. More and more, she arouses my interest and I quickly adopt a harmful behavior, out of pure emotional dependency after all those years of isolation—a behavior of which I was not fully aware at the time. I am talking about the savior role, playing the knight of the “lost souls.”
Although she remains firm in her position, I manage to convince her to meet me by playing the card of a purely friendly encounter. I am obviously lying to myself, since I secretly hope to be the person who might change her mind about what she is looking for.
Everything goes well during this first date and, by the second one, she even agrees to let me pick her up at her house. What I interpret as an opening is nothing more than a sign of trust toward a potential friend in the making. Then, during the third date, when I make a move and invite her to go out with me, I have to face the facts: she is not attracted to me and I am now trapped in that famous situation I got myself into—the infamous friend zone.
I am very frustrated by it, but perhaps she just needs a little time to trust me. She keeps coming to talk to me after all... I imagine she must still feel something.
And who would not be tempted to confide in someone offering such an array of comforting gestures and empathy, under the guise of an ear that could not be more attentive, and one that had been warned in full knowledge of the facts?
We talk for nearly two months and, after once again making it clear that nothing would ever happen between us, she tells me that she has just met someone for whom she is already developing feelings. I then transform the savior mask I had been wearing into that of a victim, while delivering a jab worthy of an executioner— the third angle and missing link in this dramatic triangle—before continuing on my way.
Goodbye, Mélodie.