ARMORED JELLYFISH.
The blooming trees lining the streets downtown made it feel like we could officially say goodbye to the winter cold. We took a long walk, sipping on boba under the warm midday sun. We walked next to each other on the sidewalk, at a healthy distance for friends that might want to become more than friends. My words seemed to flow naturally around you. So I asked you, what's something beautiful you've noticed in your life lately? You let out barely a chuckle as your eyes fell to the ground. You. My head whipped around to find your gaze still downward. I fought back a smile as I let out an "aww, whaaat?" How sweet. You felt at ease enough to share how you felt about me.
We found a bench in a nearby plaza to rest and people watch. An older gentleman played chess on a stone table with the indented chessboard. Little kids chased pigeons around the fountain. And a man with a DSLR walked by and stuck a camera in our faces. He smiled, pressed the shutter and walked away without a word. I turned to see if you looked as confused as I was and you muttered under your breath that you don't like getting your photo taken. That sounded a little funny in my ear. Because you were the type of guy who runs pomade through your hair and unbuttons your shirt enough to show off your tattoos. Did you have a problem with getting your photo taken? Or with being photographed with certain people?
I looked back at the guy with the camera and wondered what the picture looked like.
What seemed like you gradually sharing your feelings was you calculating your responses so nothing accidentally slipped out. What felt like you showing me a glimpse of your deep inner world was you walking me in circles around a completely empty room that was pretending to be a museum. What showed up as you having a balanced schedule was you compartmentalizing your life across multiple women so you could keep only one thing intact: your inability to be the kind of vulnerable, honest, strong man that a woman truly desires.
And no, showing vain exercise videos of you doing calisthenics shirtless and obsessing over doing the fanciest salsa turn doesn't even come close to pretending to be even a remote version of that kind of man.
This queasy feeling always found its way to my stomach in the moment right after we'd spend time together. Never failed. But imagine this with me for a second. Each of us is sitting across from each other. There's a wall between us, tall enough to block our view of each other except from the eyes up. I'm looking at you but your attention is on the pile of cinderblocks next to you. Each of my bids for connection was me removing a cinderblock from the wall. And almost immediately after, you grab one from your pile and put it in the empty space. Your eyes are always glued to either the wall or the pile. You never meet my gaze. I never get a full view of who you are. And your work to maintain your facade never ends.
I took myself out dancing one night last June. It was about a week or so since you ghosted me. But I wasn't going to let your childish way of avoiding confrontation keep me from having a good time. I saw our friends there. They greeted me warmly like usual but I could tell in their expressions that something was off. One of them came up to me later that night and asked how I've been. She offered to step outside and talk for a bit. Instantly I knew she knew something about what's been going on with you. I told her you ghosted me — I mean, come on, you couldn't have done something more original than that? It's so early 2010s. But it makes sense. You bring up your high school years like they're your glory days, behind you and long gone. You're not wrong there. She's a genuine friend and can't stand seeing someone being mistreated. So in her own way, she let me know about your secret. I bet you're wondering which one. A deceitful manchild like you must have so many, it's hard to keep track. I'm talking about the friend with benefits you'd been entertaining since January. At the same time you were stringing me along. With absolutely no intention of progressing romantically and no integrity to be honest about where you stood. A six-month-long charade would be impressive, but only to people like you who think lies of omission don't really count as lies. Guess what, you fucking coward? They count.
It was a day or two later when quite a long text showed up on my phone. From a number with no name. Yeah, I already deleted your contact. I should have blocked you. But then how would I have witnessed otherwise the pathetic, self-absorbed way you'd try to confess to something I already knew about? You were dragged by the ear by three separate mutual friends to tell me what you did. And you did it the only way that didn't require you to look me in the eye and face the person you know you hurt. Via text. You made it completely about you. A good friend of yours said you needed to come forward. How you are not ready to date anyone in a serious way. How you need to focus on your work. How it would be easier for you to entertain a low commitment situationship than to pursue something with someone you actually want. "Which is you," you clarified. Your hollow excuse for an apology made me want to throw up in my mouth a little. And FYI, you actually have to take accountability in an apology for it to truly count. To get your head out of your own ass and actually understand the damage you've done before trying to type out a long-winded explanation that says a whole lot of nothing.
You're a pretty convincing actor. But I've seen the room, and it's empty. I know what your stage name should be. Armored jellyfish. Your lack of bones, brains and true muscles makes you extremely fragile and weak. And you need some kind of protective layer to give you the illusion of strength.
There's a cost to being genuine in a world where not everyone is. But it's not fair for you to change who you are based on other people's capacity to treat you right. Give yourself permission to process your hurt fully. In whatever way you need to. It will make it easier to feel lighter and move forward.