By Gabriel Bernales
It was Christmas Eve. I was drunk and having a great time at our family party on my father’s side. My vision was blurry, my body shook from the alcohol I had consumed, and then—I saw my reflection. Rugged, pupils dilated. I actually looked good, except for the fact that I was wearing an elf sweater.
I tried to keep myself busy during our once-in-a-blue-moon reunion, but I couldn’t. He hadn’t replied to my texts in three days. I supposed charging his phone took so much time that he somehow managed to update his Messenger notes with an evil eye and a four-leaf clover emoji.
This wasn’t the first time it happened. The signs were there as early as November, but I shrugged them off. I always try to see the good in people. I usually communicate instead of getting angry. But this time, I’d had enough. I messaged him, knowing deep down that the relationship was going nowhere. I typed a long message something I normally wouldn’t do but this time was an exception.
He replied with just one sentence.
“We can still be friends.” With a freaking heart emoji.
My mind was all over the place. I was fuming. And then, to my surprise, I saw him hard launch a guy I had seen him with at a club a few weeks ago, someone he once insisted was his cousin. Well, I crashed, but only for a moment. He wasn’t worth my time. He was just a compulsive liar. I wasn’t going back for more.
As a hopeless romantic, I couldn’t help but wonder—are there any eligible bachelors here in Roxas City?
I’m already a queer femme, considered full-figured in my community. In the dating scene, survival of the fittest is real—this is my natural selection. It’s already hard enough to spark a conversation with a stranger at a party or a park, let alone find common ground and have a friendly debate about whether Donald Trump is really orange or just the victim of a bad spray tan.
Meanwhile, in the digital space, dating apps offer… well, chaos. Some lead only to hookups. Some introduce you to the most insufferable or the most lovable people you’ll ever meet. And don’t even get me started on conversations in these apps, it’s a wild card. One person can be insightful and engaging, while another can’t even carry a conversation. Like, please bore someone else with your dry texting.
We’ve reduced genuine connections to transactions. We follow social cues, play the game, and make calculated moves. We pressure ourselves to conform to some standard of what a relationship should look like, and when we don’t meet that expectation, we push each other away instead of valuing what truly matters: being known, understood, seen.
But what if I don’t want to play the game anymore? What if I’ve had enough?
Instead of valuing sincere communion with one another, we collect options. We hop between talking stages and situationships, searching for something, anything to make us feel. I’ve been there, talking to three guys simultaneously and catching feelings even though we established it was nothing from the start. I don’t want to do that anymore. I hate feeling numb. I hate that sinking feeling when the one person you thought could be different turns out to be the same as the rest. It feels like swallowing my own vomit.
I’m also tired of going to my ex-situationship’s apartment, knowing exactly where it will lead. I hate the uncertainty of what comes after. I’m done.
But is it even possible to fall in love again in a world where it’s all about strategy, not spontaneity?
