Ask anyone and they would tell you that dating today is quite complex. While technology adds a layer of convenience to meeting new people, it does so with some baggage in tow. We send off our twenty-something into to the digital landscape to find out how things really are. The mission? Go on a Bumble date for every NBHD we cover, and live to tell the tale. Next up: The Writer from Mandaluyong
Okay, so with this guy, I didn’t even have to try. An afternoon into our first conversation and the Writer already asked me out for a drink the next day. It was nice, I guess. I didn’t find it too fast as I’m not one to beat around the bush. Hey, let’s get this over with… because, why not? He seemed nice, genuine, and not boring–which is a huge concern for me.
One beer later, however, I felt like I knew the entire PBA history. I’ll admit my mind might have drifted off a couple of times but it was really nice to listen to him ramble on. It was written all over his face and his hand movements that he’s clearly passionate about his job.
We work in the same industry so, naturally, the writer in him sparked the writer in me. We both love to share stories and experiences and we’re both talkative, confident, and eager to know more about anything. After a couple of bottles we had already given way to discuss our different views and perspectives on media, politics, education, relationships, and whatnot–all without invading each other’s privacies or getting too personal. Him being five years older than me, he even ended up giving advice on how to handle the difficult situations I may encounter in my twenties.
During that 3-hour getting-to-know-you chat, I noticed that he was getting touchier and touchier after every swig he took from his bottle. It might have just been “liquid courage.” But I wasn’t keen on it. Before he could brush a hand on my leg again, I decided to call it a night.
On the ride home, he mentioned that I was a “chill girl,” and that it was easy to become comfortable around me. “Am I easy?” I thought. I thanked him for the compliment, which may or may not have given him mixed signals. He proceeded to try to kiss me–mid-traffic, in the middle of one of Shaw boulevard’s stoplights. I initially shifted my weight away from him, a non-verbal cue, then came a straight-up “no.” More than freaked out, I felt empowered. I used my voice.
He caught on and backed off quickly, and he seemed perplexed because apparently that’s “the first time he’d been rejected.” I fake-grinned and suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. As he dropped me off, he apologized and I told him not to worry. He asked if he could see me again but all I did was respond with a smile and a quick hug before hopping off, which was my way of saying “no.”