I click the upload button. I watch
as my pitch for the love of my life, encompassed by a couple of fun, Gen Y
emojis and selfies, launched my first cyber dating experience. I recall the
reassurances of my fellow tinderellas as I stare at the screen; “..this is how people meet these days…”,
and “ .. what have you got to lose?”
Oh my god, what am I doing!?! Never would I have imagined that at 31 years of age, I would rely on technology to find myself the one. The chaotic rush of overwhelming emotions flooded my senses as I clutched my head and dialled the person. I hear the click of the voicemail; “Hi you’ve reached Sarah, I can’t come to phone right now…”. I hang up the phone with a heartfelt sigh. The white noise relentlessly returned with a vengeance and consumed my thoughts. Everyone is doing it, remember? It’s all about technology. You’re too old to meet a friend of a friend anymore; been there, done that and where did that get you? Everyone is shackled up married with kids and you have nothing! You wake up alone, every holiday season with that dull ache of emptiness inside you. I jump up and carelessly toss my mobile on the bed. I breathed in deeply as I paced the hallway and recalled the reason why I subjected myself to the Tinder. My pulse calms along with my thoughts. What was the harm? I had nothing to lose. I changed into my training gear and glance back to the phone on my bed. I opened the door and left my apartment without a further thought.
I remember how we first met like the
effortless performance of a polished monologue. I couldn’t remember the last
time someone had made me laugh, let alone my lips tingle from their first kiss.
I wanted to feel like that again. I needed to feel like that again; to know
that there was hope. I enter my apartment, skin glistening from soccer training.
Before I knew it, my phone was in my hands and I began my first Tinder
experience. My thumb ached as the rhythm of constant swiping made my eyes blur.
Then, I pause. He caught my eye, and to this day I do not why. I explore his profile,
noting the boy toys in the form of a sports car and jet ski. His profile screamed
‘player’. The last photograph intrigued me as I took in the pressed long
sleeved business shirt. That smile. The office setting. Those hazel eyes! I
felt like I was staring straight into his soul. Such a genuine shot made me wonder
what made him feel the need to portray himself like a player in the previous
photos. I hope he is taller than me or at least my height! Am I just finding an
excuse to swipe right on someone who appears to be a player? Maybe, most
definitely, who knows? Regardless, I knew I needed some fun before my mid-life
crisis trip in 6 months. My life, consumed by my hectic schedule tired me and
screamed responsibility. I was over being the good one. The responsible one. I
felt like a robot. I swiped right. My pulse roared in my ears as I saw the
words “it’s a match” appear on my screen. I gasp in hopeful anticipation of
what was to come. As much as I hoped I swiped right for life, I prepared myself
for the possibility of the party boy player. Little did I know such a thought was
a prelude for what was to happen next.
howisthatview.blog 