“So, by the way, who are you seeing at the moment?”, I asked playing with their now loose hair.
“Dating-wise?”, they looked at me and stopped playing with my necklace.
I briefly considered answering something sarcastic, but then decided against it and went for a simple “Yes.”
“Not one really…I am still upset and that my current boyfriend will move away next weekend.
“Oh, I am sorry.”
“That’s alright… it was a more casual relationship. Always easy, always uncomplicated.”
I chuckled and raised my eyebrow in disbelief, “easy? Really?”
“Yeah, did you never have an easy relationship?”
I chuckled again, “Well, I had one and I wouldn’t describe it as easy.”
“Why not?”
I was not sure what they were referring to with this question, so I went for the less complicated answer: “Guess, I never had a thing for casual relationships.”
“Sounds intense.”
I shrugged, “Never had a control group. I don’t know it any different.”
Although I left some details out, all in all, the dialogue was pretty honest. Back in my hometown, my dating life was sporadic. The only good thing about being depressed in my youth was, that I hardly had any interest in other people or a libido that needed attending. Most of the time I felt like a ghost that didn’t belong. Even if someone was more interesting than usual, I didn’t have the words to describe my feelings and therefore stopped bothering.
As I write this, I realise it sounds much worse than it felt at the time. Because the possibilities that would await me if I tried it seemed worse than my status quo. Too much excitement, too much gossip, too little communication, too little choice of possible partners that seemed desirable.
Sometimes boys would find interest in me, we would meet up and usually, it ended up like this.
Them: „Hey, are we together now?“
Me: “No? Why would you think that?!”
Them: “Well, you are pretty, and we have met three times…”
To be honest, even then and still today, I still believe that “pretty” and “meeting three times” are insufficient answers for entering a relationship.
Eight years later I downloaded two dating apps with the premise that dating a few people would be a good way to practise my communication skills. Moreover, if everything failed that experiment would make at least a nice statistic… At some point I let the statistics go and just stuck with the best or worst impressions… maybe there is some advice too, if you should find a moral lesson in there… Great! I haven’t found it yet.
One of the weirdest experiences I had, was when I commented a person’s favorite books. All of them were pretty new, written by authors from various diasporas and probably not what the German mainstream would ever touch. I had read them all, and the person of interest was excited about that and wanted to meet me instantly. I hesitated, aware that my leftist views would differ a lot from their leftist views. In addition, they went for a museum as our first meet-up place.
Museums are always the end-bosses for dates. Meet-up in an art or history museum and you will figure out instantly what views the other person has. This can end wonderfully or in a huge disappointment, believe me, there is rarely something in between.
Later we stood in front of an art piece, which was made by a person with a name that indicated an affiliation to a particular population group and religion. What followed was a wild mixture of left-wing populism, misinformation, and weird entitlements. In that moment I brushed it all off with somewhat diplomatic answers and at the same time decided that I would never date someone again who engaged in serious political activism without having studied the topic in depth. History is complex, and so are politics… please be aware of a lot of nuances. After the meeting and no further feedback from my dating partner, I decided on another principle: Never date someone again who call themselves “far left”.
Another evening I was sitting across the table of a musician who canceled his bachelor’s degree in order to go on a tour with his country band. Since he was in musing mode he started philosophizing about OASIS while I sipped on my coffee. My subtle attempts to change the topic were ignored… (a note to myself: Never be subtle with guys). If it hadn’t been for his mother’s spice rack, I probably would have left earlier. But there I was, sitting in her kitchen, thinking that she had good taste while her son was talking about Take That.
Suddenly he asked if I wanted to smoke weed with him, and I declined politely. He insisted and I declined again this time with a firm undertone. Again, I stated that I was and ever will be straight edge. This clearly upset him and before he could make any more inclinations I stood up, wished him a good night, and left.
This time I decided that I would never date half-time wanna-be artists and people who studied Economics.
We hadn’t seen each other for a while and were now walking across a dyke to talk, about whatever: The manipulation of food studies, backing, videogames… soon they drifted off to their usual topics German law and bad dating experiences.
According to them both were influenced by toxic masculinity and although I agreed on some level I felt increasingly uneasy. Ranting about the world? Okay, not very productive but emotionally very valid… Ranting in the presence of a trans man about the entire manhood? Somewhat unfair.
I felt like what one of my favourite sex-worker would describe as “Q is bitching to Data, how fucking awful it is to be human and the only thing that Data want to be: is being a human.” I was Data, they were Q and suddenly I no longer felt only uneasy, but also very exhausted. After that, we both agreed, that it was possibly better for the both of us to stop seeing each other.
Seeing her with her perfectly painted nails that matched her eyeshadow, and her blazer left me feeling notoriously underdressed as we entered the newly opened coffee shop waiting for our start of film. Maybe I should have asked her beforehand what kind of meet up it would be one voice whispered in my head, another snapped back maybe she should have told you. A third one tried to be diplomatic well it was a simple mistake in communication get over it… Both of you!
While I suspiciously eyed the cold-pressed juice made from dandelion, card or celery I asked her about the film and the film festival that she had attended before. After that, she started telling me about Léa Hélène Seydoux, the preproduction Carol and something about the cast of the L Word, which I already forgot after a few seconds. While she seemed excited, I began to wonder… Am I a bad queer for not having watched any of those films? Half an hour and a lot of celebrity gossip later I decided that I was very fine with being a bad queer and even better, being an even worse queer woman. This was the day I stopped believing that I was just pretending to be trans.
Another day I went with another person for a long walk through our local park. Sooner or later, we ended up talking about feminism, coming of age and being in your early twenties without having any clue what to make of that.
“How did you end up on a somewhat queerer dating platform?”, I asked.
“Well, one day my best friend asked me, why I was her best friend and knew so little about feminism. At that moment I hadn’t a real answer. She began telling me and I have been learning for three years. One way was figuring out that I was queer too and another way was meeting up with other queers.”
“How did you know you wanted to transition?”, they asked back.
“If you could press a button and wake up in your gender and body of choice without the transitioning process. Would you press that button? My answer was yes… and my gender of choice isn’t female or the body of a cis woman.”
Their eyes went wide, “Wow I never thought about it like that.”
This was the moment in which I realized, that I was definitely ready for transition but not ready to be a eldritch entity that helps others discover themselves…
All of these little tidbits my current situation-ship also got to hear. As I finished, they looked up from my chest and said plainly, “You were right, they don’t sound easy. They sound sad.”
I grinned and leaned in for another kiss, “Don’t worry, I also had some really nice experiences, but they don’t make good stories.”