#14062019

[20190614] day6kilogram update

”Wow.. When was this picture taken?

[20190614] day6official update 

The time is three o’clock in the morning and I’m texting my friend S bitching about someone I recently matched with on Tinder.

“You know, I saw this meme a few days ago that goes: Every girl got some guy in her DMs talking to himself.” I typed to S. “It’s really annoying that I’m that guy now.”

I matched with R about ten days ago. We had okay conversation on the app before she suggested that we move over to Instagram. 

“I don’t open Tinder often,” she’d said. “But here’s my instagram handle” -- and she typed it out -- “let’s talk there.”

“The actual person I’m mad at,” I text S, “is myself. You know, when she suggested that we move over to instagram, I should’ve said no. I should’ve told her that I don’t use instagram anymore. I should’ve suggested Whatsapp or Telegram. Wire or Signal. But instead, I said just okay and re-downloaded the app. I’m mad because I went against my principles, and to what end? Becoming a meme?”

I’d sent her a DM after that, telling her that I’m the guy from Tinder she just shared her handle with. She replied, acknowledging that. I made a joke about sliding into her DMs like a fuckboi. Seen. No response. Joke didn’t land, I figured. Let it slide. A day later, I send a message suggesting we should hang out sometime. Seen. No response. Internet dudes are always vaguely suggesting shit but not really committing to anything so they always have an excuse to back out. So a day after that, I sent another message -- this time more specific -- inviting her to go to a gallery. Seen.

A week later -- which is tonight -- I get a notification on my phone: three messages from her.

1. Hey

2. Sorry for the late reply

3. I need a photographer urgently to help me out with some shoots next week. Do you freelance?

“This is not on you,” my friend S texts back. “She’s done a shitty thing, but you can’t do much. I get that you’re salty, but saying anything to her will do no good.” 

So I DM her back saying yes, I do do freelance, but I’m unable to do this particular one. And I thank her for thinking of me. I watch videos on Youtube, all the while wondering why people on the internet are so cruel. Why they go around ghosting and benching and breadcrumbing with no regard whatsoever for the people on the other side of the screen.

I will fall asleep here, in this position, and in the morning, I’ll wake up to a Whatsapp message from my friend Z of a screenshot of a Facebook conversation she would have been having with her new friend at about the same time I was bitching to S.

I know Al, the first line of the screenshot will say. He has ghosted me repeatedly. True story.

"Who is this person?” I will ask Z, and when she will tell me that it’s someone she met dancing the night before, and that after they’d added each other on Facebook, they’d realised that they have me as a mutual friend. Z will tell me the name of this person, and I will immediately feel deeply misunderstood. 

“That is not a generous interpretation of what happened at all,” I will tell Z. 

I will then proceed to tell her my version of the story, at which point I’ll realise that no one will ever have a more generous interpretation of my actions than myself. No one will give you the benefit of the doubt more than you can give yourself. We are, by nature, the only ones privy to our innermost thoughts and feelings, and thus, we’re the only ones capable of seeing all the nuances and complexities behind our actions.

My Tinder match will probably never read this, but I can imagine her -- or a version of her -- reading this and exclaiming: This is not a very generous interpretation of what happened at all! And then calling or texting the friend who’d sent her the post to give her version of the story.

But this is before any of that. This is before the hypothetical, before the realisation, and before the screenshot from Z.