I write about it.
THE MANY MEN.
This is big – an expose, tumultous and veritas (the truth).
I guess it was breaking my heart into many pieces that led me to this state of non-commital relationships, fly-by men, a bad habit of breaking men’s hearts and a worse one of getting mine broken. If we put it into an abstract context, it is like my heart shattered into these little glass pieces that I cannot give it away as a whole, I give away the pieces.
We could say that I am becoming a Lady Casanova, but unlike the infamous hero, I will curtail all these soon. I just have too much on my plate. I have become a mechanic on the art of seduction and attraction, I know how to play my best assets and use it to my advantage and vanity. Maybe this is my time as a woman. Every female would have that epoch in their lifetime where they would have all eyes on them when they step inside a room or sashay the urban jungle, when they won’t leave a bar without a man getting their number or buying them a drink, and when everyone is kissing their derriere just to get an ounce of their attention – the hiatus of their fertility, popularity and beauty. I am well aware that this is indeed just a phase and that it will all end give two or three more years and I fear that because I am vain and I like it when men give me extra attention or make exceptions and act a little kinder to me. It scares me to age physically, but I love it at the same time because wrinkles and a little fat or cellulite here and there would show my wisdom and advancing knowledge.
Of course, a big chunk of that knowledge would be my brushes with love, lust, indifference, hatred and evertything else that lies between these abstractions. At this point in my life, I am at indifference, I cannot feel anything and care not if I do or I don’t. And it’s probably because of this indifference or insensitivity that I have met this men, I am not risking anything. I have probably met all types, a good chunk of every demographic subsects there is of men – from losers, to players, good guys, married guys, self-important ones, smart guys, brickheaded ones, pot heads, alcoholics, health buffs, engineers, architects, lawyers, business owners, political scions, rockstars, artists, lowlifes, bums and couch potatoes. Name it, I have dated him in the past (most likely).
While some inexperienced baby hos would be proud to have these men under their belt and proud that their number is increasing, a woman like myself won’t. I have no excuse though but if I conjure up, not a reason, but a probable cause to all these misguided missiles it is probably because I have artistic inclinations that need inspiration – a muse; or maybe because I am, at the end of the day, a romantic.
I am a serial lover, with no specific beau. I went out to the market, the so-called “sea”, and went deeper and deeper into its vastness and depth that I am already in the dark. I need to get back up and just coast. But being here, playing the game, and reaching my peak, I have learned a lot of lessons about men – how they think, how to lure them, how to keep them, how to get rid of them and the most important lesson I gleaned from all this hot mess is that I formed a clear idea of what type of man I would stomach, live with and love.
I compare these men passing to a war between two African tribes in the 14th century. A war that altered nothing in the goings-on in the world but killed thousands of blacks. These men change nothing in me, just passer-bys, strangers but with each rendezvous, I kill a part of myself and I distance myself farther from the right one. I just can’t write a detailed expose yet, let’s just say this is a teaser for now, all because I’m indifferent.