Love, actually

After a tumultuous breakup, my friend declared that she was not going to tie herself to just one man anymore. Dating around — like communism — is better in concept than in practice. Like fondue to the Swiss, it was a whimsical misunderstanding. I presented to her the perils of such a coquettish endeavor:

1. What to do when tonsils have met? Can you still have dinner with other men?

2. Double-billing dates: Is it ethical?

3. How will you handle the possibility of them finding out about each other?

I took her to a buffet lunch at the Shangri-La Makati to test her juggling skills. I have known since I was five that I was a one-man-at-a-time kind of girl; I did not do buffets well. Predictably I had lamb chops and sushi on my plate. My friend had dim sum and pizza on hers. Point made.

Like drinking, polygamy can kill you. Stick to one kind and you’ll be okay.

Love is actually easy when you just stop making it into such a career. Friggin’ self-help books and voodoo romantic comedies eff with your head more than you realize. I once read The Rules and even though I dismissed it as some propagandist literature by spinsters, that two-day rule always stuck to the back of my head. All the clichés that came before the plague of self-help — “It will just happen,” “You’ll know when you’ve found the right one,” “No one has a type,” etc. — all hold water, I’ve come to believe. If adages find themselves still relevant in a morally casual world, then adopting some old-fashioned romantic touches in our lives can make these clichés not just relevant but actually true.

Lets face it: between Facebook, SMS, e-mailing and Skype, the romantic landscape has changed. I have broken up with a “sort–of” over e-mail, making Carrie Bradshaw’s scandale-ridden Post-It breakup seem humane. At least that one was handwritten. It was not one of my proudest moments.

I’ve tried to be old fashioned, too. I once dated a guy who loved this amber-scented cologne and basically made me wear it. The kind of shit bra-burners lash you for. Like a geisha, I wore the scent day and night, even buying the lotion and the bath gels. When the romance ended, the term “love stinks” came to mind. It smelled like a more aggressive cousin of floor wax. The things we do for the idea of love.

I was over it.

During my “emboygo,” I relished my alone time. The predictability of each day was met with a certain comfort, like a well-earned retirement. Yes, I did not feel sexy at all and gave in to my inner nerd. I had nothing to look forward to, just a comfortable routine in which I could watch the days go by. I swallowed books and classical movies like brain Oreos and gave up the Alaias in favor of tracksuits. Yes, I became one of those Juicy Couture ‘hos with overpriced coffee on one hand and furry pocket puppy on the other. I loved it. I loved owning my own time. Not thinking what someone else thought. Not waiting for anyone to call. My cell phone would run out of battery life — and so? I wore the more asexual colognes and ate ice cream at 3 a.m. during a Law and Order marathon. No neuroses. Bliss. But this kind of happiness was not to be forever.

One day you’ll find yourself falling in love again. Bipolar crying and laughing at the same time while doubting yourself like you were back in high school. You’ll relish those carefree days of lying in your crumpled bed, alone and agnostic. Your only deity is ice cream. But then, as lovely and blithe as it is, it’s also empty. The people whom you will come to love in your life will disappoint you; sometimes they will break your heart. Yet, here they are showing up in almost a cinematic manner when you’re at your most wet-cardboard self. Adages confirm themselves upon receipt. Loving them will bring you back to life again, introducing you all over to rehabbed pains, fears, longings and euphorias like new. Then after all the things you learned from the buffet test, the self-help gridlock and the empirical nightmares of yore, you’ll find that behind all the questions and doubts is a heart pregnant with love and hope. We’re all emotional roadkill of our past. We’re all scared. The older we get, the more aware we are which is a double-edged sword. It can cut and protect you at the same time. 

There will be lessons learned, like amber cologne, but there will always be the anticipation of the tension of the unknown. There are no rules, just new days.