soul-searching

Stuff I Learned About Japan Only By Going

~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

I thought I knew jet lag before. But I’m now convinced you don’t truly know jet lag until you’ve travelled halfway across the world and dove into a half-day time difference. I write this as I still climb from its depths a week later, still in awe, still waking up from the dream of finally having visited the destination that’s held a place in my heart since childhood.

During my blissfully surreal pilgrimage, on which my family accompanied me, my mom took every opportunity to drag my long-term ardor of Japan into each conversation she had with the locals, and so they inevitably turned to me to inquire further: Why? What brought this on? When exactly did my seed of interest in Japan get planted?

My earliest memory was viewing the credits of old games like Sonic the Hedgehog and Mortal Kombat (remember, repeatedly beating these games weekly meant end credits rolled often) and seeing the “funny-sounding names” as a child, not yet knowing they were simply foreign. Then, as my cousins paved the way further down the anime road, I fell in love with the deeper themes and recurring values until my interest progressed beyond that gateway. I found myself drawn to reading and learning more about the Japanese customs I saw in anime, daily life, societal standards and habits, innovation. I carried around a notebook with Japanese terms and the hiragana alphabet as a child. I played Japanese language CD-ROMS, took a college language course, and casually self-studied purely out of personal interest.

And as much as I researched the Japanese culture for fun, there will always be things you can only truly learn through experience. So I made a list of all the unexpected elements I encountered on my thrilling journey.

1) The Jingles.

Everywhere you go, you are hearing some kind of charming music and I absolutely loved it. The Yamanote line jingle gave me pleasurable delight each time it graced my ears. Each train station line plays its own mini-ditty as folks enter and exit the train doors. As weirdly quiet as the streets can be sometimes (no, really, even traffic down main arteries sounded oddly muted), company trucks driving through gently interrupted the traffic silence playing pop music. TeamLab Planets might have the most memorable music of my trip; that ish sounded like some Koji Kondo orchestrated masterpiece or something. You will constantly hear music playing from stores and shopping complexes outside of the buildings, though somehow, it’s not loud, jarring or blaring inside. The constant tunes gave main-character-background-music energy. Even the ramen shops and bars had me and my sister pulling out our phones to Shazaam Kinetic. Japan does ambient music extremely well, and it seems like an exceptional integrated daily mood-lifter for mental health.

2) The Vending Machines Dispense Tiny Bottles.

As someone who has argued with waitresses over my right to order a kid’s meal, I appreciated that the abundant vending machines where you can get a lil’ drink for as low as 190 yen (approximately $1.20) dispensed the cutest little less-than-half-size bottles. Perfect for quenching an immediate thirst, easy to store in your bag without taking up space or adding much weight, leisurely to finish and savor at your own pace. If we had this option at home, I’d 100% be opting for that over the standard 20oz everywhere.

3) MAD People Climb to the Top of Fushimi Inari.

I take a lot of pride in the fact that I hand-created my travel itinerary. I did not input anything into ChatGPT to throw ish together for me, because this was my dream trip, and not a compilation of “Most Popular Things Everyone Else Did in Japan.” I Googled every location I was interested in, read blogs, scoured reviews, and mapped distances myself to group sites and activities together by location. Oh, and, of course, read copious amount of Reddit opinions. Fushimi Inari Taisha was one of the shrines I’d always had on my list to visit ever since seeing Memoirs of a Geisha (of which the boo still remains on my Top 10 list), but was now an uber-popular destination with every online post telling you to GO EARLY to avoid crowds (early being sunrise to 7am), that most tourists just stopped at the base for pictures and moved on, and that if you only went up about 1/3 of the way, most people have given up and gone back down so you’ll pretty much have those gates to yourself.

WELL.

Maybe it was because we had to move our Fushimi day from a strategic Thursday (because it rained all day) to a Sunday morning. And “bright and early” for me was making it there at a good 7:30am, best I had, and it was pretty jumping already. Our fellow visiting climbing-comrades must have been largely non-Americans who really loved walking and climbing because while sure, it was a BIT less crowded the further you went up, ERRYONE WAS STILL GOING UP. It was not even our intended plan to make it all the way to the top, but in trying to get ahead of the packs of people, we accidentally made the Fushimi Peak Achievement. If this is what online folks thought of as “less crowds”, I would hate to see what it was like in the afternoon. By 9:30am, we were back at the bottom to enjoy the street vendors.

4) My Regular Sneakers Were Fine and My Feet Never Hurt

Keeping in line with the online warnings, you’ll see waves of posts on Reddit talking about how many steps you’ll take in Japan and echo chambers of, “Buy a new pair of great walking sneakers!” “What kinds of sneakers should I buy for Japan?” “Don’t get new sneakers; wear a pair of broken-in ones already!” “I’m from New York, will it still seem like a lot of walking to me? – YES, EVEN IF YOU’RE FROM NEW YORK, YOU WON’T BE READY FOR ALL THIS WALKING.”

Somehow, this New Yorker was unphased by all the walking. What DID affect me more was simply the lack of available seating (more on that further down) but I alternated between a pair of Vans and Blowfish sneakers (my usual shoes, which my sister found too flat for her liking) and my feet did not protest once. No blisters, no discomfort, just a tired back at the end of the day. I’m one of those weirdos who doesn’t track their steps in these modern times, so I can’t tell you how many I take in a normal day, but I’m a New Yorker who loves walking, and trust me, we did a lot of it.

5) Don’t Expect Sweetened Tea ANYWHERE.

They don’t do that here. Our first Airbnb stocked the cabinets with honey thankfully, but if you’re consuming tea anywhere in the public sphere (restaurants, vending machines, etc…), be prepared for pure, bitter flavor. I lament a little that I did not try the staple bottled green tea once, because I already knew what was up, but I did choke down a bottled Earl Grey flavor, just for immersive experience purposes. It was oddly refreshing if you got past the lack of enjoyable taste.

6) Sprouts in Ramen Ain’t Really a Thing Here.

So why do we see it so much in America?? I would say only about 20% of my ramen bowls in Japan came with sprouts. Why is it so often a default here? Do they think it’s authentic? Apparently it’s not. And good riddance.

7) The Phenomenal Bathroom Culture.

We’ve all heard about the heated toilet seats and the “privacy sound emission”. But Japanese bathroom culture is in a whole different league. Yes, the toilet seat auto-heats as you approach it somehow, without you having to press anything (what witchery is this??), inviting your bottom cheeks to its throne. I finally had my first bidet experience, and while I was intimidated to try at first, by the end of my trip I knew I would miss it.

But then, let’s look at design. Since we basically stayed in Airbnbs the whole time, we got to see what the standard bathroom setup was. You have what I lovingly refer to as the toilet closet, a tiny room with just the toilet (sometimes with a handy mini-sink in the back whose faucet only activated upon flushing), which I initially thought I’d get claustrophobia from, but turned out to be completely fine. Then you generally had your bathtub room, where there was a deep tub and an open shower right next to it (because scrubbing before soaking is the historic norm here); the floor in here is completely tiled with a drain in here, so while it felt weird at first to just shower in the open right next to the tub, I adjusted pretty quickly.

Then generally there was another separate sink room, with just the sink and mirrors. All of these compartments were usually cut off from one another with their own doors, wonderful for travelling families so different members could do their business in the different parts of the bathroom without interfering with the others.

Add in the fact that public restrooms were extremely accessible, abundant, and clean, and most of them even had this thoughtful “child seat” in the stalls, for mothers to plop their kid into while they did their business. Thoughtful innovation.

8) The Buttery-Soft Public Transport Conductor Voices.

The majority of the time on public transportation, it is quiet. And even when the conductor makes an announcement, their voice is soft and soothing. One night on the bus I was absolutely entranced by the driver’s voice; this dude should have had a contract somewhere doing some kinda voice work. It was around 8pm or so and as each stop approached, he gently whispered, sometimes dragging out the ends of his sentences with a slight hiss. As if he didn’t want to wake anyone who might be napping on the bus. I lowkey felt like this man’s voice was seducing my ears. Someone hire him for an ASMR bedtime track. I’d pay money.

9) Yes, You Must Adopt to Less Seating and Trash Cans.

I had already read that there would be less seating and a noticeable lack of trash cans due to their push to minimize loitering and that ’95 terrorist attack; it still took some getting used to. There are seats on the train which half the time I gave up to the elderly, in restaurants, and I guess, parks. And that’s kind of it. While my family perused endless stores in malls and shopping complexes, I had much difficulty finding a place to sit and wait for them. At one mall, I finally found some seating at the top floor, only to find it was maybe a row of 5 seats, all occupied by the elderly. Outside, you’ll find less benches as much as an interesting “seating” design of two long poles, one to rest your back on and the other your bottom. Be prepared to stand much more than usual.

10) Do Not Expect to Actually SEE The Imperial Palace.

Somehow, nothing I read or researched online warned me about this. I saw multiple accounts that the private tours you can sign up for are not worth it because you don’t actually go into the palace so I didn’t bother with those, but I at least thought I’d get to SEE it! Every higher vantage point we climbed to from the surrounding gardens had no views of the actual palace. Not even a spire or a rooftop. I was pretty huffy over it.

It’s hard to explain the inner joy I felt as I wandered the narrow streets, stared up at the dazzling buildings, made konbini-runs, and chirped “Gochisou-sama desuuu” after a meal. Even bumbling around trying to count out yen quickly enough for a purchase or pulling out a Google Translate scan on packages and instructions detracted nothing. The culture shock hits you hard, but to be in the midst of it, navigating the train system, getting lost in Sunshine City mall, figuring out how the hell to communicate with the waitstaff, and racking your brain over which tickets to insert to get on the shinkansen; I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

*Bonus Element*: Street Crossing culture.

No cars in sight, but the Don’t Walk sign is still up? You ain’t going nowhere then. Lest you want to be the lone person crossing while hordes of patient crowds wait on either side until the Walk sign says you can now cross. Because rules are adhered to here. Oh, and when the green Walk sign starts to blink rapidly, HAUL ASS.

~Tael

Watching Porn Daily: Unhealthy or Nah?

~ Tael ~ 1 Comment

Hisashiburi! Ya’ll know I love a healthy, intellectual, inherently controversial discussion that most would commonly avoid initiating out of fear of judgment. But since I prefer boundary-tolerant boldness, I found myself commencing a study (haha, it was just an Instagram poll) to try and glean what the masses (of my personal, shimmering oblong of associates) equated with “normalcy” regarding pornographic consumption. And yes, I still prefer to use real, unedited words like “porn” and “sex” because we’re adults and I find the new standard of censoring dictionary-approved terms that social media now deems too harsh, demeaning, and, quite frankly, soft.

I never thought I’d become one of those “My therapist said” people, but honestly, that woman was smart, and I learned a lot from her before she “graduated” me from her sessions this past summer. One of the primary lessons being that things we might have grown up with or observed everyone around us doing, that we perceive as “normal”, may simply be accepted because the majority is participating, but not necessarily healthy. We have tons of tangible examples in America, as statistically our majority is overweight and lacking exercise, with major addictions to fast/processed food, alcohol and substances, and the leading cause of death is heart disease. Common? Yes. Healthy? Ruh roh.

As the “study” responses started rolling in, the women were united in their responses that nah, daily consumption ain’t it, while the male responses were much more…forgiving. My stance was already solidified with my female brethren before I even started the poll. Yes, I believe daily smut consumption is unhealthy. Why? Because at one point I did it.

Let’s set the stage.

As a millennial, online porn was birthed in our era. Before that, you had to be 18+ to go past the rope into the Adult section of the DVD store, or the “LIVE GIRLS” peep show joints that littered Times Square once upon a time (any Millennials ever had a chance to go IN one of those before they all got swept away?). So the only access us young souls had (which we probably shouldn’t have had) was coming across someone’s poorly hidden Playboy magazine stash, or the softcore stuff on TV that, once the adults in the house were sleeping (or maybe they just left you while they went out for the night) you whipped out the aluminum foil for and messed with the rabbit-ear antenna trying to get a clear-enough picture of naked bodies, meanwhile you’re getting moist down there sitting next to your best friend and not at all understanding the feelings you’re feeling because you don’t even really know what sex is yet, just that it’s naughty and hidden from you and your body has already inappropriately been initiated into the sexual world by curious relatives. Or you somehow found a way to watch Showgirls on someone’s TV in an HBO household.

But then the Internet rolls around and you learn that along with your illegal music file-sharing, you could also add a 3-hour download on your dial-up modem connection of a 25-second clip of hot lesbian action that you hope completes with time for you to view, process, and delete the evidence before your parents get home.

Then you get your very own laptop to take to college, and while the Internet connection in your dorm is OODLES better and faster, platforms like Napster and Limewire have come under heavy fire in the news and music companies are threatening to come and bust in on you downloading your fast porn, and I can’t be the student that gets caught, shamed, sued and expelled, becoming the disappointment of my very Christian family, because my campus network can certainly track what I’m downloading, right?

So imagine, when you graduate and you’re finally out on your own for real for real, and you no longer have to worry about school networks or parents walking into your room (or you know, the family living room if that’s where your computer was), you can finally dive into all that illicit hentai and debauchery and explore the underworld those Girls Gone Wild commercials and pop-up ads taunted at us, always behind a paywall, or a firewall, or a purple-velvet curtained wall…

All the freedom.

Now you’re over 18, so it’s not just about household internet speeds progressing and private computers; you now have CREDIT CARDS where the bill doesn’t go to your parents. You can now go into that roped-off Adult DVD section with the Middle-Eastern arms-crossed man watching you as you peruse the scandalous material even though you’re of age now, checking the “preview” screenshots on the insert to see if it’s worth parting with your cash for. Pre-redtube.com days (I used redtube.com in a sentence in an IG message with one of my friends, not realizing that it would actually link the damn site there and I screamed at him NOO DON’T CLICK IT!!! WordPress, please don’t link this.) But see, Redtube and Xvideos and the others effectively destroyed the last barricade to access cheap, easy, sexual content without fear of an accompanying Trojan Horse virus.

You now have unlimited access to the most primally stimulating, pleasurable content as an adult, with nothing standing in your way.

And so…you indulge. You watch. You ready your vibrator. You play the voyeur, acting along with the scene. You learn new things you didn’t know turned you on that you would never admit to others, new positions that seem cool to try, new situations to add to your fantasy-bank. Being able to immediately pull up gratifying carnal titillation at the slightest knock of boredom is thrilling. You save favorite videos to your library and surprise yourself at the genres that turn you on.

But that euphoria doesn’t last forever. When it’s no longer new and fresh and it starts taking longer to come because you’re overstimulating your sensitive bits. When you realize it’s been 25 minutes of tedious scrolling to find new material, because not every video is a banger (yes, all the punz). But there’s always another page, another page, another chance to strike orgasmic gold. Maybe. Could be right around the corner on page 9. Or 12. Or 23. And then when you finally finish it’s been an hour-and-a-half, and all you’ve done is stare at a screen and play with yourself.

Because it’s not real sex. But it sure does make you want to have some. Which is the whole point of pornography. It’s to turn you on. It’s to get you aroused for…what…? Well, for me, it’s freaking intercourse, a main course (also wordplay) that was usually missing. Otherwise I would have been indulging in that and not porn.

I can’t remember exactly how long the daily porn-viewing phase went on for. Maybe a few months? Maybe longer? But cracks started to form. Cracks in the pleasure facade that drained the appeal. Behind-the-scenes clips of women admitting how sore and raw they were from the screen time. Men who ain’t lasting that long without some kind of pharmaceutical assistance. Awful, over-the-top acting with cringe voices and ridiculous facial expressions and glaring phoniness that grated on my authenticity and made it hard to get off to. The 80%-of-the-time money shot of the guy finishing on the woman’s face because yay this is what sex is (and that shit burns eyes). The darker themes you uncover…So much glamorized incest…(Wasn’t the whole “fucking my stepsister on the washing machine” genre recently trending? Kind of sick.)

The biggest crack I could see through, was how this could lead to an addiction if one stayed on that path. How, little by little, you needed more to stimulate you. Watching basic sex stopped cutting it. You sought out variety. Different positions. More taboo scenarios. New kinks to spice up the viewing. Something different, something different, things socially unacceptable, forbidden shit I’d never actually do; this situation is morally wrong, but it doesn’t count because it’s not real so I can enjoy it guilt-free, right? As I condition my senses to find grossly unethical scenarios arousing in secret until cognitive dissonance is born.

I could see how someone could become an isolated hobbit, furiously thrusting into a fleshlight with the blinds drawn in the shadows. Just because it was there and accessible. Easy for the undisciplined. The distance to achieve the same (or greater) high would always continue to extend (giggity) and require…more. And we all know what that sounds like. Like drugs. As you stared at choreographed and controlled pleasure, trying to hold out and orgasm at the optimal point in the clip. Relying on the content to take you to a new level of arousal. And my creative ego would be damned if it was going to let some commodified lust fuel override and control my own sexual imagination and expression.

That just didn’t feel like “freedom” to me anymore.

Porn is controlled and rehearsed. But the passionate, spontaneous dance between two lovers’ bodies in the real world? Mmm mmm… Unless the dance is above my skill level, I prefer to do it, not watch it.

So I tapered off and willed myself to stop. When I was unentertained, rather than just reaching for the laptop and pulling up some XXX for easy pleasure, I just…found something else to do. Or pleasured myself without porn. I went back to using my own imagination for masturbation resources because what was I gonna do when it was time to passion dance with a real person, recall PORNO scenes? Or, follow my own instincts of what feels good, and improvise a sultry wanton tango I wasn’t expecting in the moment, working off my partner’s energy. Because watching the explicit scenes on-screen is always tantalizing, but never comes close to my body reacting from the low, sensual tone of a man’s voice drifting softly into my ears or his warm, strong hands on my body. What turns me on most, I didn’t learn from watching porn scenarios. I learned from feeling lips on my skin, weight sinking deliciously into me, tongue play, and shivers from stroked pleasure points.

The most frustrating part about porn would always remain that it left me wanting the real deal. Wishing someone was actually there to “finish the job” and quench the blazing desire ignited by it. Yeah, you douse it yourself, but it’s almost like I was stoking fire after fire just to do it.

My most euphoric points, my highest highs, the prurient experiences I replayed over and over again that made me flush with warmth reliving them, never came from porn-generated desire. They either came from my own mind, or a real-life encounter. Life introduced them to me.

What’s real will always draw me. I’ll always choose the quality of soul-feeding authentic stimulation over everyday cheap thrills. Daily porn consumption didn’t enhance my sexual life in any way. It just made me horny and kinda threatened my natural sexual dance instinct with unnatural moves. It became pointless to arouse myself every day artificially and then get no sex.

Now, I can’t remember the last time I pulled up a porn site. Might be years. I haven’t banished it to the land of evil, but it’s just whatever to me; my mind doesn’t seek it out. Instead, my mind seeks out organic stimulation and excitement. But it also reminds me that it has no problem generating its own eroticism. Like that one time I needed to quickly change out of some uncomfortable underwear and meet my family downstairs, so, keeping my bubble jacket on I stripped from the waist down and felt the cool air tease my delicate lower lips, while my upper body remained wrapped up like an Eskimo. And in that moment I imagined how hot it would be if a man bent me over just like that to slide into me from behind for a quickie. All it took was an instant for an authentic primal instinct. Our minds can be something if you nourish them properly.

I’ve also been a reader of Sandra Brown novels since like 2nd grade. IYKYK.

~Tael

Fuckboys Over 40 – A Story

~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

You said you weren’t a playboy.
But I guess that’s what they say.
I don’t deal with them too often, so I missed flags straight away.

We crossed paths overseas, in the “loveliest” of ways.
In a sea of Spanish speakers, your English cleared the haze.
No interpreter necessary; I felt comfortable to play.
Touch escalated quickly, as you sought to mark your prey.
Your hands up my shirt; the way your fingers strayed.
And “water on a rock” put your commitment on display.

Hours passed of tennis banter, hand in hand down empty streets.
Awkward silence never showed while the world whizzed by our feet.

“Lover of women.” “Translucent redheads are my type.”
Phrases that seemed innocuous, when I had you for the night.

There was no doubt I would kiss you; Chemistry a violent fire.
Our melded lips became a match.
My will burned with desire.
Your fingertips traced smolders down my flesh and took me higher.
You gazed into my eyes as if my being was a pyre.

“It feels nice to be wanted too.”
So I tried to make sure you knew.

And though we didn’t consummate, I saw you once more.
You spent time just to chat,
as if I was good company, as if sex wasn’t foremost,
though I was shiny out the wrap.

Before our time was up, I asked was this goodbye.
You promised that it wasn’t; that we’d reunite in time.
That you’d come visit my city, resume pleasurable sighs.

Perhaps I should have realized then, that it was just a line,
since as soon as we were separated, I was out of sight and mind.
I wondered why you didn’t even text unless I tried.
But when I called you out on it, you assured me it was fine.
“There’s no Internet here, so it takes me a long time, but I’m thinking of you darling.”
SOUNDED genuine and kind.
Till you took days to answer, disrespectful of my time.

“I’m not good with online communication.”
“I just don’t check my phone often.”

(WhatsApp and IG status updated though,
so that one’s purely grime).

This what you meant by let’s keep talking? I thought you wanted to know me.
So maybe if I went to YOU, impatiently re-ignited that chemistry brew,
maybe THEN you’d show me?

But thrice the universe said “Nope” and then sent forth a plague.
Solidifying her message to me: “Thou shalt not get laid.” (By him).

I thought this meant we should keep building,
until our inevitable reunion.

I genuinely showed interest in your day to day life.
But my name escaped you 4 months in (you claimed you found names trite).

You never asked anything about myself, though I longed to bond over dancing,
video games and nerdy things, and shared fitness passion.
But you just seemed more attuned to would-be bedroom action.
Though you reached out for favors to eyeball your work
and my mind felt appreciated; my heart went berserk.

So much in common you didn’t bother to notice.
“I’m emotionally distant and work is my focus.”
But every time I asked if you wanted to keep talking,
you always said yes, so I pumped the breaks on walking.

How could I not open my heart more and soften?
Okay, he did a gay short once; #actors do those often. (Yeah?)
He has a belly button piercing… well, his stomach’s taut and…

Why do I cry tears for being just an afterthought then?

You said your heart was once broken, that you were sensitive too.
Yet you’re unable to empathize with another in your shoes?

You said your heartbreak wasn’t crazy, though you wouldn’t indulge me.
But you’d indulge a public podcast, for the whole world to see
you’d like to hate-fuck your ex, and other wicked fantasies?

Tiptoed around my feelings, so as not to overwhelm you
but why hold on when you equated me to just a shell who
could easily be replaced by your revolving harem options
when all I wanted was to feel I was special in your clock and
instead you just saw fit to pull a vanish and just drop in
when you felt like I was worth your time, “Oh have a crumb, my OPTION.”

Because dance is the gift of seduction.
Acting, the gift of pretense.
Public speaking, when you can’t actually communicate personally?
A mask of fraudulence.
An inauthentic mirror of immoral decadence.

You log your sexual conquests on a spreadsheet.
I write poems of catharsis for emotional relief.

I showed my vulnerability and stripped bare,
only to realize I’m standing alone out there
and the hardest pill to swallow is…
After 5 months, you don’t care.

To say…
I could have contracted Covid and passed away
without your notice is fair.

But the honesty of your true intentions could have spared me. (It’s called stringing).

Mixed signals are the devil, and your follower cannot read
where to step next in the dance when the leader doesn’t lead. (It’s called breadcrumbing).

But maybe it’s better to be the loser…

Because why choose cold and distant over caring and kind? And close-hearted aloofness over glowing warmth in brine.
And clinging to angry ex memories that keep you stagnant in time.

And anyway, I think you’ll be hard-pressed to find
another slender, gaming badass, awesome locks ran down her spine,
with a chain around her belly,
and a heart as big as mine.

~Tael

Unlearning: Discomfort = Love

~ Tael ~ 4 Comments

Not too long ago, I asked my crush about a past relationship and he informed me that he didn’t want to go into detail about it. My first reaction was hurt; I wanted to connect and grow closer by learning about this part of his past and I almost felt shut out by it. But the logical part of my brain reasoned with me: why was I making this about myself? It had nothing to do with me. He just felt uncomfortable sharing it.

Boundaries.

Some time ago, my therapist (AND my boss haha) brought some very valuable information to light concerning my tenuous relationship with my mother; that our relationship lacked boundaries, which then translated into boundary-trampling in my other relationships. I put aside what made me uncomfortable in romantic relationships, and suffocated my partners’ limits, because my upbringing had taught me that discomfort equals love.

I want to say “in my family,” but maybe this wasn’t the case. Maybe it was just my mom in particular, who never took my personal mental comfort seriously. Sure, the normal PHYSICAL comforts were taken care of. But never my psyche.

She’d buy clog-shoes that felt uncomfortable on my feet, but insist I wear them because they were “fashionable.” She’d force me to wear a graduation dress that exposed far too much side-boob than my 13-year-old self was comfortable with. She’d demand that I hug so-and-so, despite my visible uneasiness, and call out that uneasiness as problematic because she didn’t understand it (or care to ask), putting me at war with my internal feelings.

We weren’t allowed to have boundaries as children, it seemed…because adults knew better what we should properly feel.

She’d drag me to the forefront of an audience to recite a pleasantry (knowing full well I hated being the center of attention) and stand idly by as her shadow as they asked me questions and she answered for me, until I had permission to flee. Or she’d shove me into a group of children at a gathering against my pleas and demand I make friends, where anxiety got the better of me and I’d break down and sob.

Once I reached adulthood, moved out and got my own job, apartment, and self-sufficiency, those habits never ended. She continued to pull me into the spotlight to show me off, cut me off to answer questions directed at me, and automatically make plans for me assuming it was a given I’d go along with them. Any time I expressed discomfort as an adult, manipulation tactics, guilt trips and gaslighting were used to coerce my submission.

Eventually, I resorted to ignoring her phone calls and texts most of the time, or preparing ironclad defenses like a lawyer as to why I couldn’t attend an event, simply because I was afraid to say “no” and the drama that would ensue as a result. But as an adult, why did I still need to live with this fear? Why couldn’t I ever say “Actually, I don’t feel like it,” or “I think that request is unfair, so no,” or “I feel uncomfortable,” without getting the 3rd degree for it and made to feel that my emotions were insubstantial somehow?

Always made to feel like a selfish person to choose yourself first, guilt became interweaved with the concept of “no,” and responsibility for everyone else’s feelings paramount to your own. And discomfort became a way of life; normal even. And boundaries ceased to exist between those who love each other and the more uncomfortable you feel, the stronger your bond and the higher your love must reach. Until distress spills over everywhere because you don’t even know what boundaries are anymore, or the source of your unhappiness.

But…you do know a state of constant discomfort doesn’t feel good, so you wonder…why would someone who loves me continue to put me in situations I don’t feel comfortable in, for their own satisfaction?

I don’t want to continue that cycle.

Unlearn that love.

~Tael

Why I Deleted My Dating Apps During The Quarantine

~ Tael ~ 2 Comments

Yes, during the very time that more people are flocking to them than ever.

I was over “dating” a long time ago. Like, before there was online dating. It was a fresh new “sport” to try out back in college but then I quickly realized people suck, and I don’t like perusing through them romantically the same way I once did library books.

Something about dressing up and presenting yourself in the best artificial manner possible comes across as very job-interviewish, and I’m not the biggest fan of those either but they’re necessary to survive.

Dating is not.

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I’ll admit i’m not very good at it because I hate it. Looking back at my track record, i’ve mostly slipped into relationships the “normal” (non-dating-app-initiated) way, with very serial monogamist tendencies. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy being alone; I live alone, enjoy the hell out of it, and am one of the least romantic women you’ll encounter. I never had girly dreams of a fancy expensive wedding (the cost of which could be a down payment on real estate) with a glamorous white dress, kids and a house outta Martha Stewart Living. I’ve only dabbled into the online-dating world in the past 3 years or so, and I wouldn’t call the experience pleasant. I’ve met gamers I didn’t click with, psychos who I’ve fled their apartment, friends-with-benefit failures who couldn’t even be counted on to show up, ONE actual relationship I don’t think I should have been in, and an incredibly disappointing sexual encounter that I had to try twice just to confirm the first was not a mistake. And this was after weeding through incredibly dull conversations, dudes who unmatched me after I said I wasn’t into orgies, dudes who fall off the face of the earth because they were the ones you might have actually been interested in, and a guy who just wanted to be friends but not meet up to hang out with me as friends and continue to solicit me for sexy pictures (???).

When the lockdown began, I saw the uptick in notifications from my dating apps. Strange, seeing as how I hadn’t matched/liked someone on my end since like 2 months ago. That should give you an indication as to how often I actually use them. In 4 months, I’d gone on a grand total of one whole date. Where were these “matches” coming from? Then I realized…OHHHH EVERYBODY IS BORED AND HORNY NOW!!

I let them build and build and build, because I got tired just thinking about reading through the assortment of incredibly non-witty intros and messages that would clearly show up front we weren’t a good fit. You know, like “Good Morning, how’s your day going?” NEXT. I’m sorry, this is perfectly polite, but I’m savage.

When I finally got around to reading through the…SHIT, my eyes glazed over. And I wondered, why subject myself to this if it’s not even fun? Why follow this trend if I see it as a chore?

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I find it incredibly exhausting…to get to know a person. I don’t like just talking to anybody, I DESPISE small talk and “pleasantries,” and can find socializing exhausting if i’m not especially clicking with the socializers. So if I’m going to make ANY effort, it needs to damn sure be worth it. There’s gotta be SOMETHING that makes me WANT to get to know you. Usually something interesting (I know I know, EVERYBODY thinks they are DIFFERENT). When we talk, I need to laugh (actually giggle, chuckle out loud), engage in a bit of teasing, learn something. Then YOU have to feel the same shit, agree to meet up with me, STILL get along with me in person and not turn out to be an ogre (hey, same with me), try to stay relaxed and not overthink and over-expect anything, feel something REAL, and then agree to keep the shit going, OR let them down gently if you ain’t into it without feeling like a complete asshole.

That is WORK.

Work for the right person? AMAZING and completely worth it! But work for countless “let’s sees” who you’ll barely remember months down the line? Draining…as…fuck.
“You should keep your dating apps,” my mom told me several days ago when I proposed the idea. “Just because you never know where you’re gonna find the guy. Just in case.”

Not when simply checking a notification from Random Joe #27 is so depleting. I can’t do it anymore. How do my peers juggle multiple potential daters at the same time when just investing in the PROSPECT of one makes me want to air-gun my cabeza?

So I deleted them. Leaving only Tinder as my “In Case of Emergency,” app (because it’s low-hassle) just in case I get really horny and need some bad-decision sex to take the edge off again. Once the quarantine is over of course.

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I’m seeing articles that the coronavirus is actually changing online dating for the better. People are having VIDEO CHAT DATES. Making plans months in advance to meet new people. Really forming actual bonds because there’s nothing else to do. If it’s helping people get through this, then I’m genuinely happy for them.

But it’s not my thing. It’s not for me. Unless i’ve met you already in person, you’re incredibly charming or witty with words (like a writer!), or you’ve shared some emotional aspect of yourself that allows me to feel connected with you, I have a hard time vibing with you over messages. I hate video chatting. And even though i’m stuck at home with nothing else to do, I don’t want to expend my energy swipe over-driving and video speed-dating hunting for a connection with someone.

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Because no matter how many similarities you have with the person, or boxes they check off from your relationship-person box-checking list in their profile, or even how good the date goes, it still…may…not…matter.

Depressing, huh?

Do I sound like a woman who’s given up? No, my babies; I promise you I haven’t. It’s just not my priority. I’m over the bullshit games that “dating” requires. Because let’s be honest: you CANNOT fully be…REAL. So I’d rather wander alone and stumble across the right soul when the universe dictates it’s my time. But until then…why weed through a revolving door of kindling what-ifs trying to force a spark?

If a spark’s to be had, it will find me.

Ninja…fucking…out.

~Tael