I like beautiful men...

 

On the morning of my birthday, I wanted to start it with God, so I got up early and was ready for church. But the city’s train wasn’t working, and I had to take two buses to church. I hate to admit this, but I am directionally challenged. Reading Google Maps is a hustle for me. This caught up with me even on this day; it seems some things never change, even with age. I got on the right first bus, but for the second one,  wrong bus. Still wanting to go to the service, I saw I could take a train, but yep, I still paid and entered through the wrong subway door. Don’t ask me how this happens. Anything and everything is possible when it comes to me and directions.

I was angry at myself. How can you just not read simple things? So I walked out of that dark alley leading to the subway, onto the streets, and sat on a bench sulking.  No church for me today, I resolved. What was the point when I was already so late and livid? I said, I’m gonna do what I’ve been doing over the past few months: people watch.

Watching people, my favorite pastime activity. Just staring, reading the labels on their clothes, scrutinizing their faces to read through the sadness, fake happiness, imagining what might be hurting them, what might be their joys… some walking their dogs, and me wondering, why would you put yourself through all that? Especially when I see people picking up dog poo. Why?

I kind of unraveled the cause of my anger; I was hungry. I briskly typed “cheap breakfast spots near me” and was soon following the same maps that I have a love-hate relationship with to a restaurant. I didn’t get lost this time. I entered this Hispanic diner. They had barstools and drinks too, but also large servings of breakfast. I skimmed through the big menu and settled on a sandwich packed with shredded steak and a side of French fries. I also ordered hot chocolate just because it made sense to have it in the morning instead of my usual Ginger Ale. But as I did this, I was also aware that my order would be judged, because who drinks hot chocolate in 80-degree weather?

Wow. I was in a restaurant solo. Not surprising at all, it wasn’t my first time. And I loved that I was solo, because for the major part of this year, that’s how I’ve been and felt: alone. I felt like I wasn’t finding my community in this foreign land, and even though I was surrounded by so many people, they didn’t really experience this part of me that I wanted them to know. I’ve talked to God about this before and asked Him to help me thrive on knowing that I can just count on Him as I wait for that time to come, and I think it did come eventually. I have savoured some really nice experiences with people I can count on as friends.

Anyway, as I waited for my order, I settled on that tall barstool facing the counter, darting my eyes across chefs who were frying eggs and toasting bread, and waiters taking and giving orders. One of  Bruno Mars' songs was playing in the background. Ah, what a perfect day. I love Bruno Mars and most of his songs, songs you don’t want to listen to too carefully for the lyrics. I started listening to Bruno and learning the lyrics of his songs because of a beautiful guy that I like, or loved - loves him. Or loved him.

The waiter brought my hot chocolate in this graphic mug, with cream floating on top and the light pressure of the cream causing the contents to flow and trail down the sides of the cup. I was scared it would cause a puddle of hot chocolate on the counter and make a mess, so I wanted to quickly sip it to prevent this, but it was hot. So I just started scooping the cream with a spoon, licking it away.

I put on my favorite podcast, Passing Through, but I couldn’t hear much through the noise in the diner. I like the host, Nneka, and her stories, which often center around the lessons she’s learned from different moments in her life. A lot surrounds men. And I love them all.

I also thought about men. More like the man I really like or loved, rather, but had to stop thinking about, because this love, well… we agreed. Did I really agree? Whatever. But we had to part ways and I’m not like this bitter man I once knew, who lashed out with stinging words when I said it was over. So I can’t kill the love I feel for this guy. He is one of my handsome loves, with such a beautiful smile and those conspicuous, beautiful canines. I liked that, finally, I liked a beautiful boy whom I didn’t have to convince my homegirls to see that he was cute.

And he always called me by my favorite name.

I like beautiful people. And I know some people say they like personality over looks, but I pray I never do that again, at least not for now. I hope future years bring really beautiful men my way. And even if they wreck me, I’ll be consoled that I was broken by a handsome man. When the reflections hit, at least I won’t wonder what I saw in him. Forget character just for now. More so for this one, for the first time I had all mental/digital scrapbook of all things us, and trust me, you wanna be looking at a worthy face. 

I also thought about how this time around, I hadn’t had to deal with the routines of a romantic relationship. The thing where people call all the time, and when you’re sad, they demand to know why. They like to end with “I love yous” and whine about how you need to give more details about your life.

There’s my order, this large sandwich and lots of fries. I went in with my little bites. Small bites remind me of my grandfather. Whenever he ate, he’d pinch small portions; if it was ugali, he’d eat it slowly and systematically, never messing up the place. He was so demure with the way he ate. I felt full after the first bite. And now, I chose to listen to Stephanie Ike, a sermon on Living Fearlessly. I’m wondering how to live fearlessly in this next chapter…