What better way is there to celebrate love than the commodification of it? We complain that valentines day is capitalistic (at least I hope so). It is not cool to take valentines day seriously anymore. The day does not scream indie romance. Slipping into instagram dm’s though.. now that is hip.
I was misinformed that subway was giving away free cookies in the spirit of love. Fake news. I walked all the way only to be told that this sweet offer exclusively exists in Australia. That was fun (Thanks Ramsha).
I spent the day binge watching a reality show – “dating around” coincidently debuting on 14th of Feburary. Netflix is cool that way. I deleted tinder after a recent experience. We all have that recent experience. Especially women. Mostly women. I got tempted to reactivate it after watching the “reality” show.
You cannot blame me – you get swayed when a trash show has a nice soundtrack. I want to walk around with a fierce look in my eyes as music blares. The novelty of the show wore off because I am welcomed on tinder with the message “I want to fuck you so hard.” I gave this gentleman my ex’s number. My ex sent me a a few unpleasant messages after he got graphic texts. I said happy valentines day sweetie!
Going back to my recent experience. It is not related to an ex. It involves a date with one man – The History Teacher. A tale of millennial short lived romance. So short that I cannot even finish the word romance. I roll out the R and call it a day. This date involves one more guest, my least favourite word to ever exist – baggage. Less commonly known as accumulation of experience rooted in gender dichotomy. Baggage has a less boring ring to it and of course it conveniently places the entire blame on women.
My interest in men is not consent to be treated like shit. I have scars on my body for being fetishised. These scares may not be visible but I carry them with me every fucking day. All the lies I have been told, empathy and kindness never returned back, wasted time, participating in a patriarchal system and yet claiming to be a feminist because you are not outright physically abusive. You have not hit me yet, cheers to that! Should I reward you for your decency? I am your second grade citizen? Experience after experience has left me emotionally bankrupt. I have nothing to give anymore but feel free to call me the woman with baggage.
The History Teacher and I meet on our first and last date. I am no second grade citizen to this man. We have a connection and we should explore it. Momentary idealistic safety created by false promises of meeting again. We spend the day – just me and him and our connection. In an ideal isolated world, that is how it would remain but I welcome my baggage. It is not mine to keep. It is enforced upon me by entitled men. I am the only one left to take ownership.
The History Teacher claims it is unwarranted pressure to alert him to the fact that despite his genuine interest, trust in my context does not come naturally. My lack of trust is not a hobby. It is not something I chose to have. I did not give birth to it in a vacuum. It exists because of the privilege men exploit, sometimes unknowingly so.
When you are frustrated by my baggage, by my lack of trust – do not look at me. Look at the world around you. When you fail to observe the world, it reflects in your limited sense of empathy. I am simply an accumulation of my lived experience.
And so my first date with the History teacher turned into the last but only after he left one more scar on my body. Valentines day propels me to send the History Teacher spoilers to all his favorite shows. I hope it removes some of the unwarranted pressure that comes with the unknown.
Do not say sex in South Asia 