It’s been three days since you did the infamous walk of shame and now you’re contemplating whether your impulsive decision was worth it.
It all started with a simple message, a subtle invitation to accompany someone on one of those cold rainy October nights. You knew coming in that you were signing up for a) a hook-up, b) a hook-up, and c) did I mention a hook up?
However, you deluded yourself into believing that “no, it’s just cuddling!” But that was a lie because you were in an Uber at three a.m. trying to be in this stranger’s arms.
You paused because you’re also old enough to know that unless someone died, going to someone’s house after midnight screamed: booty call.
But then again, it’s cold and gross and raining, and cuddling never hurt anyone right?
Let me refresh this life lesson you actually gathered and consistently ignored from your habitual spiral down this road.
You’re not cut for this casual hook-up life.
As far as I could remember, you were always the boy who believed in romance, you snuck in novels about love and read it under your blanket.
You’re always the one who believed in goodness and that maybe, just maybe, your love story was taking too long to write because it would be grand and majestic. And well, cute.
You tried to embrace a sex positive attitude because, hey, you’re educated in the arts. And your Sociology background would frown if you act like a total righteous prude.
However, you always end up in situations like this. Three days later and you still Google “how to act after a hook-up?” Then you over think and go down the hypochondriac route because “you never know”.
You wanted to stop caring, but you also wanted to dwell on the imaginary scenarios. Or possibilities.
Maybe what you had was the proverbial rare case and for some random twist of fate, you got lucky and you met your destiny. Fina-freaking-ly.
But you also realized you’ve never, ever, won the lottery. Or even a random draw. So a chance of winning the love of your life through hook-up was just ridiculous.
So you wrote an introspective letter to yourself to remind you to relax, to calm your tits, and to stop making the ‘hoe you’ happen. Because it’s not going to happen, it never did.
In the end hook-ups hurt people. It’s not deliberate. It’s subtle.
You opened up to one random stranger for a night of ‘fun’. You made them explore places only previous lovers touched.
You told them stories. You traced their body. You shared smiles.
And then it was over. The connection’s gone.
The person didn’t hurt you. It was the process of opening yourself up and shutting it down right away that hurt you.
You were hurt by that void in your chest the moment you realized that in the end, you’re still alone.
So, boy, slow down. Or stop.
Perhaps, there’s nothing wrong with waiting. Maybe, it’s actually good to let the stars direct your fate.
And yes, say it, maybe it’s not too bad to root for destiny.