Wrong Number

2018

It was at a café where I met an Israeli business traveler somewhere in Manila, Philippines, who has given me a very strong impression. A full force strong personality, the chemistry was great and the complaints we have in life are the same. We had eye contacts, electrifying and chilling.

From two foreigners in Philippines, who have similar looks - olive skinned, South European roots, but different faiths. He, a Romanian-Egyptian Jewish. Me, a British Italian - lapsed Catholic, turned Protestant turned well atheist. That prototype of similarity, to instantly hitting it off. His hands were smooth when he brushed it on my forearm for a little flirtation.

A conversation that evolved from asking him about computers, and what made me tick was his one sentence summary of algorithm - something I would not understand in a thousand years. All the way to Judaism, in which he said tattoos are a taboo but many in Israel have them anyway. To all the things that piss us off, annoying beggars. The worst of all are golddiggers, which came from the dreaded question of 'why are you still single?'

'Women are selfish,' the Israeli man said... in which agree. After all, I am not a karen. I nodded, complied to the man.

I was lost for words, his directness and correctness (if one's able to admit it, otherwise politically incorrect) made me think. The honesty is raw and pure, it was the best tea I've ever had.

Such strong impressions do not happen on a daily basis, even on a yearly or bi-annual basis. Things turned hotter when it evolved in to discussing what turns us on, his would be a Russian woman with eagerness to please and huge bosoms. It got that heated he forgot to ask my fantasy, but what was sure he did ask me to come with him and chill at the lobby of his hotel.

'It's getting hot in Starbucks,' he said both literally and figuratively. It was after all a hot Easter Sunday in Manila, and the sunray hits the glass wall of the cafe and it is prickling our skin.

'My hotel is nearby, with colder air conditioning in the lobby.'

I wanted to say yes, for connections like this don't happen a lot. However the thoughts of cheating with... well... Darrell, was worth the contemplation. We haven't been spending time much, he's in Qatar without the honesty of telling me really he is there to stay long term. His own deception that led me to be waiting for him on a foreign island, led me to hating him but I also keep my words not lightly. His own deception led me here, a conversation with a Jewish man.

'No thanks, let's just stay here.' I told him, despite the intense eye contact. Talking a little more, as my mind started calculating the probability of cheating and staying clean.

'Can you at least accompany me in the foreign exchange?' His final offer.

I declined.

However, before he gave me his number, in case I wanted to go to Israel.

I saw him leave the cafe, looking defeated.

He left me reevaluating my relationship.

I still was not sure whether to confront Darrell, or to simply just walk away. It was the sheer amount of annoyance that because of him I had to prolong my stay at a foreign country and just nothing but empty words of reassurances. The thing is, my experience with men his kind they string you along to make them feel good about themselves and when you dump them they will beg and cry like helpless baby boys. The worst of all, the stupidity of changing themselves in which to any veteran in life and love never happen at all.

Darrell and I, 2012 - 2016:

I thought about I've always fancied him since meeting him in Manchester at 2012, as an intern of a law firm. And he, a lawyer of another firm.

We spoke and had a lovely atomic chemistry. He is the dream man. He is the quintessential Englishman, much better than any James Bond actor. He makes Prince William next to nothing, as Darrell is far from balding.

A Lancashire man, of aristocracy but since it was matrilineal he became working class gaining his way back to the top in the virtue of meritocracy... experiencing also life of many facets. State school education to Catholic boarding school, to a law school in Durham. A former rugby athlete, and the whole six foot three inches frame - the goldilocks height of not short and not tall. Anyone over six foot three is just overly tall for the average. His teeth is straight and pearl-like, that makes him far away from the average English teeth appearance.

An art collector of English art, but enjoying the fascination of antiquities and Roman sculpture. He is my perfect man. My perfect match.

Albeit only on paper.

The only problem was, he had a long term girlfriend.

Of course, a man like him won't be single.

In one afternoon in Manila, Philippines in 2016 on a boring afternoon on Skype... we were both online.

He, too, was in Manila for work to render his service at a foreign company in Middle East.

While I, was working in a bank as foreign worker.

We met. And then... We had lunch and a little kiss.

We met one more time.

And another.

We had sex. And again. And another one.

And then we had sixty nine.

He started distracting me when I had to work long hours, by rubbing my nipples and massaging my breasts.

Then we spoke about our family background, 'what does your father do?'

To 'how do you get revenues as a writer?'

Despite the education being British, I will no never look like a true English. I'm mixed, but the beautiful kind.

He describes me as a natural beauty and the absence of makeup.

I started sitting on his face.

I described him as my prince.

Until he told me he loved me.

Until he said he wants a future.

Until he asked me 'are you my girlfriend?'

And my cynicism kicked-in, the cynicism that has been created by years of being jaded.

2018

It took another two weeks of contemplating. And another one. And another three days. Until...

"Darrell, I wish you the best. Xxxx"

Via Viber messenger.

(Even when really I wished him the worst as there's nothing about this relationship that made me better. It rather furthered my jadedness, stealing away my mojo and the better of me for his own betterment without my own benefit.

But as the British pop song in 1997 titled "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba goes:

'I get knocked down,
But I get back up again,
You're never gonna keep me down.

Pissing the night away.
Pissing the night away.')