Relationships – Nómada [con] Rumbo

Return to Colombia: The Drama

If you follow my blog, you should know by now that I’m very candid. I don’t just share my travel tips and destinations. I also share my life, my insights, my failures, and my revelations.

3 weeks ago exactly, I came back to Colombia with great expectations. There was a lot to look forward to: a birthday, a baptism, and a wedding. Wow, all that was missing was the irony of a funeral. And, in a metaphorical sense, that’s what I got.

But first, some context. The first week of January this year whilst sitting on a plane minding my own business, I met someone. I fell asleep on him, to be more exact. Snored and drooled on him. And felt completely mortified. Not because I thought anything would happen with this person, but because I would never want someone to invade my space, and there I was, all up in a stranger’s grill. Looking disgusting.

All the same, I was exhausted because that was day following a night sleeping in the Atlanta airport. I had woken up after about 4 hours of sleep and groggily taken my flight to Florida, then got on the next plane to Cartagena with the intention of making up for the sleep I lost.

When I finally came out of it (after the plane landed and abruptly jolted me awake), I realized something bewildering in the state I was in: my earbud had fallen out of my right ear. The same ear that had been leaning against the guy on my right. Now, I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I tried to look around as casually as possible, but when it wasn’t in my seat or by my feet or anywhere around me, I started panicking.

That’s when my neighbor spoke up. He helped me find the earbud, and we started talking organically. That never happens. My first thought was: How can I make sure this conversation doesn’t turn into awkward small talk? And before I knew it, he was telling me about the sabbatical he’d taken for his mental health, and I was sharing the similar experience I had when I decided to leave Colombia.

There was a transparency, an understanding. A spark. As we got off the plane, I started walking slowly to not cut off our conversation. When finally we split up, I couldn’t help but wonder if I should have given him my instagram – and as if he had read my mind, when he got out of the bathroom, he came back to the line (his line was shorter because he didn’t have to go through immigration) and asked me for just that.

Random point of interest: Colombian immigration now expects you to provide verbal confirmation of where you will be staying while in Colombia.

Of course, my eyes lit up. But I still didn’t expect anything. We added each other, and I scanned his grid. I liked what I saw; he wasn’t someone extravagant and fake. He had few pictures and most were with family or traveling. Shortly after that, he texted me saying he had gotten out already and offering to give me a ride to my hotel. I had told him I was meeting a friend, and she came to meet me. I took him up on the offer.

The look on my friend’s face when I told her some random guy from the plane offered to give us a ride was priceless. But I trusted my instincts. And from that moment, we stayed in contact for 4 straight months. About a week later, he visited Valledupar, we met each other’s friends, and spent a weekend getting to know each other in person, taking it slow. Then 2 weeks later, we arranged to meet again when we were both in Bogota and spend a whole 9 days together.

I guess it’s strange to say we were taking it slow with all the talking we did and all the time we spent together, but that’s really all it was. There was a mutual respect for boundaries that I found refreshing. The second time around, we opened up even more about traumas, expectations, the past, the future… Let’s face it. I’m 34 years old. There’s no way I’m interested in an extended “talking stage.”

But now, I’m left wondering what qualifies as wasting time if you define your desires quickly and things still end shortly after. Well, you don’t waste as much time. The transparency is something I will definitely take with me. But still, my mind can’t separate and detach, even if I’m just getting to know someone. The more I fantasize about the future, the harder it gets. Finding a middle ground is challenging for me.

Long story short, our inside joke when discussing the future was “TBD” – nothing was certain, but we were okay with that. Things happen as they should, and time always tells.

I went back to the States with my plans to return to Colombia already clear for the aforementioned baptism/wedding. As our communication remained consistent, we decided to plan a trip together. We both agreed that you can’t fully know someone from afar, so what better way than traveling together? It’s true and proven by my previous experience travelling with friends and ex-partners that you really do see everything clearly about the other person when you travel with them: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Spoiler alert, but I really was banking on this experience not ending up in the ugly or bad category. We made a google doc together. He likes clarity, and over the years, I’ve also grown better at planning ahead, budgeting, choosing accommodation, transport, etc. I quickly put together the first leg; that one was crucial because I’d be coming back just in time to celebrate his birthday with him.

The plan went like this: 5 days in Bucaramanga staying in an apartment, a night at Refugio La Roca at 1 and a half hours from the city surrounded by canyon vistas for his birthday, a week in San Gil, and from there, there were a few options, but we weren’t able to define it all because I didn’t have all the information about the baptism. Still don’t, except that I probably won’t be here for it.

My luggage for a 3 and a half month trip – how’d I do?

A few flights later, lunch, and a taxi, and we’re on a 12 hour bus from Cartagena to Bucaramanga. The next day basically I got sick. I’ve only just really recovered from that icky flu (congestion still hanging on tho). Then, I felt the tell-tale signs of a UTI. Lovely. Just in time for his birthday in the middle of nature. I was weak, in pain, and yet still teaching my lessons and trying to do my part to make the trip go smoothly.

I got a uroanalysis done in San Gil and only got prescribed with antibiotics last week, so it was a long process of pain and discomfort.

The setup is to say, I wasn’t at all at my best. I was messy and feeling pretty unmotivated to establish my routines. I didn’t realize how this might be coming off, but there were moments. Like when I used his towel to avoid getting the floor wet. I do that with my own towel, but if I was in a dirty place, I’d usually dry myself off first. Still, I didn’t do that this time, he noticed, and it bothered him.

Since the end of January, he had already expressed that the way I chew (especially when I’m tearing into something out of hunger or enthusiasm) activated his misophonia. I have misophonia, so I could understand that. But it still kept causing trouble. When he first told me it bothered him A LOT, I’ll admit, my thought was DOOMED because I know it’s an unconscious habit that would take me time to improve, and if it was that distressing for him (I think of how partners that snored or smoked affected me), then even a small thing could be a dealbreaker.

Still, we both were able to discuss it, and after quickly processing the feedback, I turned off my black-and-white thinking that he would never accept me and instead chose to think proactively. We came up with a code for him to remind me when the smacking was obnoxious.

2 months apart, less than 2 weeks together again, and we’re sitting at a table in Gringo Mike’s talking about his conflicting feelings about our future. The past few days had been tense, but it was a slow burn.

There was a paro (road blockage caused by strike) in Santander, so we ended up spending 3 nights instead of one in Refugio. The staff was lovely to us. They gave a generous discount for the nights we were stuck there that even eliminated the cost of food we had consumed. The place was beautiful and utterly worth it. Cool air, stunning sunrises and calming sunsets. I had the room decorated for his birthday, and they had gone above and beyond, covering the bed and floor with flowers and providing a moist, delicious brownie and a bottle of wine. There was even a cat that came and snuggled with us every day. Plus, the internet was strong enough in the restaurant for me to get all of my work done in relative comfort.

Yes, there were stressful moments. I felt shutdown because my body was in misery. UTI’s and nature do NOT go well together. I woke up at 5 am from the pain and had to just sit on the toilet or stand under the soothing hot waters of an outdoor shower complemented by a colorful landscape view. Yet, I was not okay. I felt lucky that he stepped in and helped make sure we got the discount and communicated proactively with the staff, because I didn’t have the energy to. The situation was frustrating, and I felt like a Colombian would be better received. In the end, everything went well. Crisis averted.

What did we learn? Well, we had a nauseating ride to San Gil. Those curves are BRUTAL. We both felt like shit. He was having trouble hearing. I spoke to him in Spanish, he asked me to repeat myself in English, and I took it the wrong way. I admit, my insecurities with partners using me to practice their English was my main hangup. That escalated quickly, and we were outside of Meraki boutique hostel arguing. I thought he’d called me an asshole (my hearing after that ride was also shit, apparently), everything happened fast.

There it was. The cracks that showed. And then the next night, dinner, he uses our code word in an irritated tone just as I am opening my mouth to answer a question he had asked me – and I snapped. That was the beginning of the end. Hard conversations, irreconcilable differences – to him, that to me had just been motivated by stress and discomfort. No future. That was his conclusion. No use investing more time, energy, and money.

So, now I’m solo traveling, unexpectedly, and dealing with a breakup I equally was not prepared for. I thought that maybe things would go downhill slowly so we could handle it with grace, but it turned out to be a fucking avalanche. I’m still conflicted about his reasons, the way he spoke to me and decided to leave. I honestly believed him when he said he didn’t give up easily. I guess I underestimated just how serious his past trauma and triggers were. Because apparently, I activated all of them. And to him, no amount of time and calm to reconsider was going to change anything.

Takeaways? If you want to get to know a person, you can travel with them. It works. But be prepared for anything. Even ending up alone. Always have a backup plan in mind, an exit plan or an escape door for the other person. I didn’t think he would get tired of me first, and I think the blow that dealt to my ego has been the worst of it, but I’m trying to cope and treat myself with compassion.

All of this being said, I have been working hard and trying to stay on track with my side projects. I’m almost done editing my next youtube video. My next move was to go back to Bucaramanga and get an apartment with a workspace – and it was my best choice. As much as staying with my friends can be convenient, I’ve realized I really love being alone. I don’t feel like I’m bothering anyone and able to keep things to my liking. I’ll be posting about my accommodations and budget – another reason I came back to Bucaramanga is because food and taxis are CHEAP here, it’s not a sprawling city like Bogota, but it has all of the luxuries, and the weather is practically perfect.

I’ll also be sharing insights and tips as I prepare to go from Colombia to East Asia. Korea, Japan, and Thailand, I’m coming for you! I just need this time to process… And I thank you, compassionate reader, for letting me vent and share my Drama with you on this blog.

P.S. The Drama reference is intentional: I saw the movie on Sunday, and WOW. If you like morally ambiguous, emotionally charged movies that challenge you, where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry, I would highly recommend it.

National Domestic Violence Awareness Month: Teach the Right Lessons (the right way)

Please note: Entry contains references to instances of domestic abuse, dating abuse, sexual assault, abuse or harassment. I encourage you to take whatever precautions necessary to seek help for emotional and psychological safety. If you would like to speak with an advocate , please contact a 24/7 Break the Cycle peer advocate at 866-331-9474 or text “loveis” to 22522.

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month

When we think about breaking a cycle, what comes to mind? Do we think about what makes us the way we are? The choices that we make? The choices we don’t want to make?

I feel like many times breaking the cycle brings to mind a sort of reaction we have after we have been exposed to so many problems. It often has little to do with premeditative action, prevention. However, the reality is that we often don’t have the tools to prevent until we have already gained some experience. And failed.

Recently I’ve realized how the first step to breaking a cycle of familial and relationship violence is to teach the proper way to love. Ironically, I reached this conclusion after reflecting on the lessons and messages I got about relationships while growing up within my family. I became aware of how those lessons and examples have continually crept up in my relationships. And it’s no coincidence.

My aunt said it best. The message came in a scold directed at her son. My cousin is an active kid. He’s very loving and very physical, which is normal in young children as they are molded by their environment to conform whatever cultural standards exist in regards to boundaries in their families and communities. You see, my 3 year old cousin had been getting too rough with his dog. Luckily, the dog is old and fairly patient – instead of retaliating, he runs from my cousin when he goes too far. In this case, he was chasing, grabbing, and kicking at the dog, thinking he was playing. My aunt intervened quickly, saying, “When you love someone, you don’t hurt them!”

This was a brilliant teaching moment (as a teacher, I was taking notes) – especially since our reaction to this type of behavior is usually a knee-jerk sort of threat or positive punishment to teach the child a lesson by means of intimidation. Do as I say, not as I do.

Yet in my aunts’ household, I saw a very different narrative unfold. Lessons were taught, as we idealize, with love. Firmness off-set with compassion. The example of two loving mothers who value their child more than anything else in the world. The lessons of those that really want to avoid the mistakes made and perpetuated against them in their own childhoods or those of people they know.

This, to me, is how you break a cycle. By teaching the right lessons, the right ways. And by unlearning old lessons and habits. This is a part of becoming a fully mature individual, and it is a process, easier said than done.

I have often reflected over the last few years on just how little I saw healthy relationships modeled as a child. My parents were the type that chose to stay together out of mutual dependency – and perhaps a greater fear of being alone or going through traumatizing experiences from their own past again (or putting us, the children, through them, as is usually and ironically the case). They were trying to fix past wrongs, the wrong way. Without mindfulness.

Meanwhile, my siblings and I were sent mixed signals throughout our childhood of what it meant to love and the appropriate way to treat the ones we love. We were expected to comply to rules which we were given with no place to question or encourage the development of our personalities – what religion we should practice, what sorts of friends we should have, the ways we should express our emotions, the things that were and were not taboo to discuss openly. So many shadows, so much confusion.

Corporal punishment and domestic violence lend themselves to these strange, tense emotional landscapes. They are perpetuated usually by those children that experienced those same things growing up, those that would be responsible for breaking the cycle. Those that should know – it has been proven that these methods and conditions do nothing to develop empathetic, healthy human beings. Yet when a child behaves in a spoiled or entitled way, we assume they had never been spanked in their life. In spite of knowing they were raised badly, the victims often become the perpetrators.

The contradictions accumulate. Each day my mom would reset, my dad would reset, no matter how bad the night before may have been. Nothing was worth risking their bonds – or bondage – of matrimony. And we all got to suffer together. That builds character, or so they say. When you suffer for someone, that proves you love them unconditionally. Right?

That narrative is the one I see being avoided by mature, healthy individuals like my aunts that remember that love is taught by example and through clear intention and reciprocity. It’s as simple as reinforcing what my aunt said: if you love someone, you shouldn’t hurt them. Nobody wants to be hurt. And nobody deserves to endure that because love somehow can justify it.

I look back on my own experiences within the past years, and I recognize how much I have struggled to figure out the proper way to communicate, to define boundaries, to share love, and most importantly, to love myself enough to know when I am simply repeating old lessons I never realized I was taught and knew by heart. Being in a culture different yet so similar to my own background, a small town, a rural closedmindedness, a Roman Catholic dogma underneath – I thought I was prepared, but I was not.

When you grow up in a state of fear, you begin to create bonds on the base of trauma. When it appears in your relationship, there’s at first a sense of shock and outrage which if left too long can turn into a twisted sense of normalcy – I’ve seen this before. I know what this is. But I don’t – how was it that you should handle this?

In my last relationship, the fear and tension escalated in a way I could have never anticipated, even though I felt anxious as I began to open up to him. My ex reflected attitudes that I realized, subtly, reminded me of my dad in the way that he treated me and my mother when I was young. This wasn’t something that attracted me to him, but it was familiar. And it only started to become apparent after the honeymoon phase faded and reality slowly started to creep up in the worst way – once we were living together. I came to abhor it, but there was something in the familiarity. The constant struggle. The unyielding, visceral toxicity. It was a slow-acting poison, and by the time it got really bad, I feared I was in too deep.

In relationships like this, we gloss things over. I watched my mom do it everyday. I learned how to do it. Every day I got to school, I became a different person. I thought, how strange, am I bipolar (dramatic preteen me had also been gaslighted into thinking that 1, there was something wrong with me, and 2, that if I were mentally ill, I must automatically be a bad person, so asking myself this question, while silly, was also something that produced its own sense of unease and dread) – why was it so easy for me to put on a smile around my friends when I spent all of my time fighting constant battles at home, watching my parents fight, fighting and picking fights because I couldn’t stand to feel weak?

So when I finally began to realize just how abusive my last relationship was (which did not take to long to figure out; the fear and anxiety were immediately apparent and all of the warning signs I ignored up to the point seemed as constant as the chronic pain I carry in my back), I became confused. I knew I didn’t want that. But as has happened many a time with me, I didn’t know how to walk away without this intense anxiety attached to it, this regret or fear I would regret removing someone from my life. This need to fix things, somehow.

But you see, this wasn’t something I was born with. People that get stuck in abusive relationships are not inherently weak. What happens is their vulnerability derives itself from years of invisible reinforcement. Invisible because most don’t realize it’s happening – not even the parents. And yet the seeds get planted deeply, and the roots can run deep if there are no positive role models to help fill this emotional void.

Unsurprisingly, the perpetuator of the violence – physical, psychological, and emotional – had once been a victim of these same acts. And to my horror, I began to realize he idealized his childhood. He had no interest in breaking the cycle. He had no interest in being better. Empty promises covered bruises, and it seemed like I was getting buried within a blackhole, a vortex-like vicious cycle. The cycle I had promised myself to break.

I’ve never talked publicly about all of this. I’ve always been afraid it would seem like I was whining or saying poor me or dramatizing my own life or something. But lately I’ve been having these conversations again and again, with close friends, with relatives, with my own parents who now realize the consequences of their unconscious actions and modeling. And the truth is, there’s something to be said about how insidiously we learn how to behave without any explicit teaching. Although nobody told me to put up with abuse or to put love above my own health or welfare – that’s the behavior I saw and mimicked daily growing up. All of my female role models were in these sorts of relationships. As a child, without context, thirsty for the one thing all people thirst for – love and acceptance and an identity – I found myself contradicting the messages I received, hating them, and yet acting them out in my daily life.

Until it snowballed and I realized, through therapy and self-reflection and just a more open environment where people actually talk about these very real, very common issues, that in order to do better, we have to confront the lessons we learned subconsciously. We have to look for separate narratives. And we have to take on the role of educator as well. We have to prioritize and protect our peace.

I still have a fear of falling into those patterns again. They seemed so ingrained in me, the anxiety can be almost unbearable. But I know there is strength in honesty. By creating a discussion about this, I’m performing a personal exercise, yes, by acknowledging something I’ve often denied or been told wasn’t valid or real in spite of the very real consequences. But I also want to open myself to hear other people’s stories and to help them and to encourage them to see that no matter what anyone says, the cycle of abuse you have been trapped in is not your fault. And it doesn’t have to be sempiternal. There are ways to get out and to become more mindful.

And I know how easy it is to get stuck. How innate these patterns become in our lives. And if you’re struggling with this, I want you to know, you aren’t weak. You aren’t alone. You just weren’t taught the lessons you needed to know in order to set boundaries, in order to communicate, in order to express your needs and listen to those of others. The ways in which we need to give and receive respect. Or maybe you were taught but the lessons were muddied with other forms of abuse. Whatever the case might be, everyone’s struggle is valid. Everyone needs validation. Everyone needs to feel heard. And with that knowledge, we can all step a little closer to learning how to love the right way and to teach the right lessons to those who look to us for answers.

Why open up about this now?

During this past month, I have been tried, but I’ve also been taught. It has been strangely uplifting in all of its frenetic, unpredictable vulnerability. Truth be told, I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate being pushed out of my comfort zone involuntarily. I leave my own comfort zone all the time. That doesn’t mean I like the pressure that comes with external, unexpected circumstances.

In spite of not being where I wanted to be, everything seemed to fall into place. And this lesson crystalized itself more and more during the month of October. To love is not to fear, yet so often we are taught by those we love through fear, it is the tool that shapes us. But this month, something inside me has been awakening slowly but surely. The strength of others inspires me and makes me want to believe in my own strength. I want to acknowledge the worth I so often refused to give myself. And that’s powerful, but for many people, accepting and loving ourselves is a daily struggle.

Just know that you aren’t alone. And if you fear judgment by people you know, look for a safe person, a therapist, someone that can help you see through the prison you’ve been locked in and can help you pick the lock and be free.

Breaking a cycle is not always taking preventative measures. Sometimes we fail – we’re human. But we can always ask for help and learn from our own mistakes and those of the people we believed were infallible in our childhood. It’s just a matter of learning to discriminate between the right and wrong lessons and ways of teaching them.

For more resources: https://www.breakthecycle.org/blog/it%E2%80%99s-national-domestic-violence-awareness-month

Dating and /Not/ Dating in Colombia

In honor of Valentine’s Day (and its wonderfully appropriate alternative: Galentine’s day, brought to us by the comedic genius of Parks & Rec), I’d like to recap some of my horrifyingly hilarious experiences I’ve had in the Colombian dating arena.

Many times, I was thrust into this game unwitting or unwillingly. You’ll soon see how that is possible by the powers of machismo, though I assure you, it should come as no surprise.

In Colombia, I think it’s fair for me to say that dating culture, in general, is quite toxic. This is because of some harmful stereotypes-made-real and culturally-accepted norms, ranging from no-means-yes and yes-means-anything-goes and lying (both benevolently and not) in order to maintain a certain facade within the relationship (which does almost inevitably lead to straight up infidelity).

I know it’s been said, but this is, of course, anecdotal. There may be no studies relaying just why it is or the frequency at which these sorts of things happen. However, that doesn’t diminish the fact that they do happen, and mostly it’s because of the dominant machista culture. I’ll go in to what machismo is via examples throughout the post.

Most recently, I was invited to go swimming with a guy I barely knew. I met him while hanging out with a friend and her friends (and their friends) the night before. Bear in mind: I had expected us to go to the pool in a group, which seems safe, am I right? But his intentions weren’t completely unclear either. That morning, he had sent me several texts that read very…flirtatious. But that’s normal here. What Colombian doesn’t call most women “mi vida,” “bebe,” “mi amor,” “princesa,” etc.? You would be surprised. However, the excessive amounts of winking and suggestive-face emojis clearly gave him away.

Now, I really wanted to go swimming. Just keep that in mind. So I said yes, why not? I mean, worst case scenario, he’s just very awkward, right? I have to shun a few untoward remarks, maybe. No big deal.

Wrong. You see, when men like you here, they don’t care if you are as stiff as a corpse. They will touch YOU. Now doesn’t that just have the word RAPE spelled all over it in big crimson letters. Sometimes I forget this, and the shock is real.

As soon as I got in the cab when he pulled up at my house, he put his arm around me. Strike one. He started to caress my shoulder in this utterly cringe-inducing way as he spoke at length about things he assumed I knew nothing about and made general smalltalk. I tried to pretend not to notice, attempting to keep things light and friendly. He kept getting closer and closer to me. I could feel my skin crawling, that sensation you get when there are tons of invisible ants all over you.

By the time we got to the pool, he was trying to hold my hand, not letting me more than a few inches from him. We would talk and laugh or carry on (conversation in all its forms is my ultimate defense mechanism when I am really uncomfortable), and then he leaned in and without any sort of preamble (other than some sort of throw-away “sultry” – in his mind – phrasing) tried kissing me, which landed on my chin. This happened several times. When it happened, I went rigid. I told him I barely knew him, the physical contact is too intense, it’s making me uncomfortable – I mean how much clearer could I be?

He pretended to care, said it was no problem, insisted on asking if I was comfortable and having a good time. But as soon as I dropped my guard, the same awkward dance would begin again.

He would look for pretexts to touch me. In the pool, he tried to lift me up and carry me around. On the balcony looking over the city’s valley and surrounding mountain peaks, while I was trying to admire the view, he cornered me and blocked my line of vision. He recited poetry to me, sang at me, basically wrapped his legs around me at one point.

Need I go on? It was absolutely obnoxious. Then he had the nerve, after I told him more than once that none of that was cool, to ask me if I would be interested in going out with him some more. To which a cocked my head to the side and coyly responded, “Wait, what? Since when was this a date? I’m just barely getting to know you. And no, I would not be and am not interested in going out with anyone at the moment. No offense.”

Why do I feel the need to tack on the disclaimers? “No offense.” I suppose it’s hard to reject men flatly when you’re in a situation in which you are forced to be around them alone. It’s not that I felt physically threatened by him, but it’s just uncomfortable. My instincts to be polite often get me in trouble, and more so in situations like this. I imagine on some level it’s because women are trained to be polite above all else. Which in no way backfires, of course…

This phenomena of touching the other person whether they express that they want it or not and assuming that it is okay to press boundaries is all too common.

Even with my ex, there were times I did not want to be intimate, and to be frank, he would ignore just how rigid and indifferent my body language was, or that my words expressed that I felt. Somehow, all of this behavior gets written off as normal here. Which has led me to having to fight to express myself and then feel ignored or written off when I say, hey, stop, that’s not what I’m into.

If you are going to date a guy here, as with any cultural context, you must recognize that everyone is different. No two people are alike. This might maintain you with at least a little bit of hope and optimism. However, there are some broad norms that become patterns for some underlying reason. Most of what I’m describing here is do to machismo.

To give you a textbook definition, machismo is a strong or exaggerated sense of manliness; an assumptive attitude that virility, courage, strength, and entitlement to dominate are attributes or concomitants of masculinity. Are you seeing the assumptive patterns here?

Another example of how toxic dating culture can be here is the constant feeding of the male ego. I’ve now had several encounters with men who literally do not shut up about themselves. They will start asking you questions – only to cut you off before you’ve even completed a sentence.

It starts with them asking a million questions in order to seem like they are actually interested in you. Like, “So, tell me about yourself. What do you like? Where are you from? What’s your passion in life?”

Your mind begins to work over the slew of questions. You begin, “Well, I’m not sure where to begin. I’m really passionate about–”

“Oh, so did I tell you I just started working at this company blahblahblah.”

It really is that bad. And they expect you to just go along with it. And god forbid you interrupt them, because I have seen more than one guy get indignant or simply ignore everything I have said because, hold on, he didn’t finish.

Entitlement. When he cares, it matters. When you are interested, it’s up to him. And generally speaking, whenever a guy gets hit by the urge to mess around here, he expects his demands to be met. As illustrated with my ex as well as the guy I barely met, women are expected to just bend over and take it. Your refusal or disapproval is easily ignored. But don’t expect him to be around when you need or want something.

Which leads me to the next point: vanity. On one hand, it can be nice to date someone that cares about his appearance and actually wants to look good for you. But the dark side of that is the problematic behavior that concern can generate. It manifests itself in more than just an obsession for one’s physical appearance, but general appraisal of everything related to oneself. In a word: ego. I have seen how the image of a person can be set before the person themself. Sometimes it manifests itself in insisting that you only post pictures in which they look perfect. Other times, its demanding that you change your image in order to suit their whims. In all cases, it is exhausting and superficial.

Another common occurrence is texting in order to “manage” you and maintain your interest. “Que haces” is the most common and literally repetitive question. Sometimes I’ve been asked what I am doing with no more than a few minutes in between, as if there were literally nothing else to say or talk about. There is a sense of micromanaging as a means of control here. If you don’t respond, you obviously are devoting your time to someone else or something that *gasp* may be more important than your pretendiente!

Then there is planning. This spontaneously can pop up on the whim of your lover, and the proposal may be more of a pointed “we are going to do…” or “I want to do…” and less of a “hey, I was wondering if you would like to…”

As an American, I was used to the latter, more courteous manner of suggesting activities. Most Americans aren’t that forward when they are just getting to know each other, at least, not the crowd I tend to run with. I have never experimented with Tinder, but I did have my fair share of okcupid dates, and aside from a few cocky bastards, very rarely was a date demanded rather than suggested, without some caveat to make sure the other person feels comfortable even considering it a date. We Americans, in my experience, are less determined to put a label on our relationships too early in the game. In my opinion, it avoids conflict but can lead to confusion once someone inevitably catches feels and wants to know where they stand.

Speaking of being American, thanks to being the minority in the small coastal city I live in, I have been blessed with the experience of being exotified. If I was insensitive or indifferent at some point to the struggle of women of other ethnicities in the states, I can safely say that I do understand how it must feel to be reduced to a label, a stereotype, and fetishized for it – and it’s awful. It sucks. It really makes you hate everything associated with that label. The comments are cringe-worthy. The “be my sexy English teacher” and “let me teach you how to dance” and “all gringas are easy” are a broken record that drives you madder and madder everytime it enters conversation – and believe me, if you meet a guy here and you are American, it will. I don’t think I will ever date anyone again that clearly had some romanticized or crude American-Pie-fueled image of me again.

But going back to Colombian culture, dating is a clearly established game. However, the rules are generally “don’t ask, don’t tell” when it comes to the sort of transparency that tells you if other people are in the picture or not. Exclusivity, I have realized, is not as much as a given as the fact that if you accept an invitation to go on a date, in the guy’s mind you are probably “dating” unless he says otherwise. Even if he’s also seeing several girls on the side. Or one “officially.”

I have still yet to meet a man here that will straight up tell me if he has a girlfriend when he expresses interest in me. Even if I meet him with another girl that is clearly somehow sentimentally or physically involved with him, there is often a lie, either implicit or explicit: no, it’s nothing serious, I’m into you.

I’m starting to develop a sixth sense for this shadiness. Now I won’t take a guy as seriously and will most likely just walk away if he even suggests having something serious too quickly, assuming that he has a girlfriend. This is because I have been led on or straight up duped into thinking a guy was single only to be told by others or find out clandestinely that there was another woman in the picture the whole time. For me, as someone that as a rule would never go for a guy that is committed to someone else, that is absolutely devastating.

Returning to the theme of machismo, I’ve realized that there is an implicit cultural acceptance for infidelity if the man is doing the cheating. It shows his “swagger”, his prowess, his…insecurity. I think the root is insecurity and the lack of genuine relationships. Because these same people that tend to be unfaithful and dishonest about it also assume and go nuts over the idea that their partner could do the same to them.

Once, I realized a guy was acting rather cold with me after showing so much interest every time we saw each other. I thought maybe I was overthinking it or projecting, but it came back to me that he actually lived with someone and was in a committed relationship. This never came up in any of our conversations. The only tip was the cold manner in which he texted me and the spontaneous attention whenever we would see each other.

There’s a certain feedback loop of men doing what they want because they want it and not considering the consequences. I think this is a direct symptom of machismo, which is all about the ability of men to do just that in order to assert their manliness. However, if a woman does the same, I need not even go into the litany of insults that exist in Spanish to describe her.

Infidelity is a man’s game here. And a game it is. These days, I don’t date, and if I do in the future, it will be with utmost detachment and caution.

Obviously, I am just a cynic that has seen some of the worst in dating in Colombia. Perhaps I’ll write a post in which I contradict all of this because some beautiful person comes and sweeps me off my feet. I highly doubt it though, as a lot of this is less to do with my personal experience and more to do with the broad echoes of the dull roar of the antiquated conquista attitude that remains embedded in dating culture here today.

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On that note, I wish you all a Happy Valentine’s (or Galentine’s) day! Love yourselves first – then and only then can you appreciate and recognize the genuine love of others.