Sunday, December 20, 2015

Headstrong Beauty






“Your scarf is absolutely beautiful with its design and ruffles like that. Oh wait, I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I’m even allowed to say that…if it’s even supposed to be beautiful, but it really is!”


There’s this notion that a Muslim woman’s head scarf cannot be beautiful, that its actual purpose is to de-beautify her. In some cultures, that is indeed how it is advertised: Women, the sin-stirring beings, must be covered. The thing is, nowhere in the Quran, in the words of God, does it specify that as the purpose of a woman’s head cover. As a matter of fact, its purpose is clearly stated in verses 30-31 of Chapter 24, which call upon men and women to exercise modesty: Purification.

The woman was authentic in her apology on speaking to me about my scarf when I stopped her. Smiling I said, “Please, don’t worry. There is no reason it shouldn’t be beautiful. Actually this is one of my friend’s designs. She’s quite a talented woman and I can’t help myself when I see her collections.” A wave of relief came across her face as she approached closer. “Well you’re friend is most definitely going to be rich with art like that.” We parted ways on a happy note.

Seven days later, the Paris attacks happened, quickly followed by the San Bernardino shooting no more than 30 minutes from where I work.

I was in eighth grade when 9/11 happened—not even a teenager yet. My parents, fearing for our safety, kept us home from school. My best friend and classmate, Andrea—who remains an integral part of my life and one awesome feminist—called me early that morning. “I can’t believe they’re already out there blaming Muslims. I’m sorry.” Fifteen years later and I am still unbelievably grateful for that moment. Her parents clearly succeeded at raising one heck of a woman and a friend. I look back and value the depth and maturity of that act of kindness.

I was blessed for sure to face very minimal harassment post 9/11. At most I had one kid at school say, “your people did this” and then apologize at the end of class on his own, and then I had some random stranger in Downtown Long Beach beg and plead that I accept his invitation to learn “the true meaning of respect and liberation” in the back of his car. Other than that, I never once felt a burdensome weight of my head cover or belief. And the reason I once again put together another blog about this subject, after another horrendous attack, is because it kills me to hear about women who lose strength and faith to continue wearing it. Women who succumbed to the fear and instantly removed it. Women who are oblivious to its real purpose and benefits. Because once again I’m being warned to carry hats or beanies or hoodies to “blend in” and be safe, because being American is no longer safe.

That three-minute conversation with Andrea played in my head every day for the next four days after the Paris attacks. I was feeling something I had never experienced before—genuine fear—wondering if anything was going to be normal again. Was I going to face what I had heard other Muslims faced? Were people actually staring more than usual and with angrier expressions? I walked into a boba shop on that fourth day and found an older woman at the register, trying to decide on a drink. A look of anxiousness overcame her and I tensed up. I smiled weakly because I felt helpless and exhausted to have to walk on eggshells thanks to lunatics that, once again, have nothing to do with me.

I kept a slight distance to avoid making her uncomfortable, and regardless of whether or not this was warranted, in times like these I would rather be the wiser one. After all, to many people, who are not very knowledgeable in Islam or of Muslims, this anxiety is warranted.

She kept glancing at me out of the corner of her eye and turning back to the register, like she had something on her mind. When my turn came, she took the opportunity. “Um…your scarf…it’s very pretty.” I cannot express the weight that instantly dissolved in that moment and I smiled wider than I ever had. “Thank you!” I exclaimed with joy. Her smile brightened up and she stepped aside to let me order my drink.

I texted my fairy scarf maker and thanked her from the bottom of my heart. Because of her skills, because of her passion, because of her ability to merge modesty with fashion and beauty, I have found that people are enticed to approach me and make a comment—always a positive one, always an encouraging one. This cover on my head is most definitely supposed to be beautiful and Muslim women need to be reminded of that. If anything, it is my proud Muslim ID that I am privileged to have and privileged to choose. Take that, Trump!

Being beautiful isn’t a sin, it’s a blessing that we should embrace with our souls. Wearing the headscarf is our form of unconscious communication with the world. Yes, it stirs stares and curiosities, but when we’re able to fuse the modesty of our religion with the beauty in existence, we’re able to transcend many blurred lines.

Racism, discrimination and prejudices are definitely painful realities however, in the days following these attacks, I actually faced a strong wave of love and support that I wish Muslims exerted the same amount of energy marketing as they did the negative acts, because they do exist! Coworkers approached me with open arms and tear filled eyes, reminding me that they are there for me and that no one will hurt me. Everyday I face more smiles attached to the stares from strangers; I get stopped again and again to receive compliments for my scarves; strangers in line beside me open up any random conversation of nothingness just to ensure that I am reassured of their embracing me—us.

The bullet points on these evil hidden agendas of the attacks are to ensure that we as Muslims (1) succumb to fear well enough to shrivel back from our lifestyles and worship and (2) spew divisions among each other. Within the last few months, I have been receiving texts, emails and side bar conversations at parties from women and girls stressing about their peers and the confidence to maintain the aspect of head covering. “My friend just took hers off and it’s heartbreaking because she was the same girl who used to boast her love for it.” It dawned on me that the agendas were being fulfilled and something needed to be done. A platform of support, strength and love needs to be built and if no one else is going to do it, then so be it, I will. Many women grow up in the culture of religion, and end up following in footsteps blindly, assuming it’s just what needs to be done, when in reality every order of Islam in the Quran comes attached with the call to use your mind. To think. To contemplate. As Muslims, we are obligated to comprehend what it is that we choose to do, and that is the foundation of the platform I am building. A bond of sisters in head covers to learn/re-learn the meaning, value and purpose of this aspect of our faith. A sisterhood to renew our devotion to this act of purity that does not strip us of our beauty but accentuates the fact that we do truly shine with inner and outer beauty. I am genuinely excited to launch this six-month program and look forward to the strength, courage and confidence we develop among our first wave of attendees. We have to unite in times like these, soak up the love and support we are being given from our wonderful diverse neighbors and peers who are working hard to show us that we are welcome, and keep on going.

Nothing could be more beautiful than having the confidence to embrace your true self and I hope to instill that in the many Muslim women that have forgotten it.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Cut the Puppet Strings


"Our generation is becoming so busy trying to prove that women can do what men can do that women are losing their uniqueness. Women weren't created to do everything a man can do. They were created to do everything a man can't."

That's the "sugarcoated" garbage that has been circulating across social media lately, with such a flare it's almost like it was believed women would be flattered by it. Some posters are getting creative and attaching horrifically ignorant and sexist degrading hashtags to bash women and feminists as incompetent mothers and destructive beings. I'm not one to remain silent, especially when other women are out there gallavanting this nonsense like a flag of pride. Does it build up their ego when they get likes and support from men for attacking their own sex? Do they genuinely believe themselves to be so extremely different that there's a genuine disconnect from men? Like we are really two damn different species? If you're of the "species" that believes that, God help you. If you're female on top of that, God help us all because the only one who has really screwed it up for us women are those women who bash, belittle and drag down the women.

Let me go ahead and break down what is genuinely wrong with this unfortunately over-glorified 21st century quote.

First of all, it breaks the cardinal rule every human being threatens me to remember, "Never generalize." So, really, is "our generation" entirely fixated on this fictitious agenda? I can round up a group within seconds that are busy trying to do so much more for women AND MEN than subconsciously morph females into males without the matching genitalia.

Second, why on earth do sexists have to be so dramatic that suddenly everything is an attack against men? If women are strong, pursuing higher education, ambitious, goal oriented, straightforward, opinionated, physically fit and employed, how does that suddenly make them so busy trying to prove they can do what men can do? And what makes men the only ones entitled to these necessities of life? Are we cramping your style with our existence? Oh, let me apolog...not!

Third, tell me how being human and following what makes one happy, successful and accomplished an avenue to losing one's uniqueness? Well, I guess it's not...if you have the right body parts.

Lastly, define for me, what are women supposed to be doing instead of being themselves? What are these "things men can't do?" Cook? Clean? Upkeep a house? Carry a baby for nine months and then spend the next 20 or so years raising it while spending eternity worrying and caring about it so beautifully? Be nurturing? Take a step back from egocentric thinking and look into someone else's soul? Of that laundry list, the only thing that men can't actually do is carry a baby in a womb and deliver it. Everything else a man can do, and it is unfortunate that many (not generalizing, so calm your horses) choose not to do.

So, the moral of the story is drop that pathetic lie. Women feminists of this century, and those rare but wonderful feminist men who stand with us, are not fighting for identity swaps. We are standing up for our rights to actually have a place in this life. In work. In the mosques, churches, synagogues, temples and any other house of worship. In school. In social groups and networks. In the conversation and at the table. If that threatens people enough to manipulate this legitimate necessity into some vendetta against men's place and women needing to just fill in the blanks that men cannot, you need some serious guidance. Find God this holiday season and stop trying to once again dictate how women are to behave and act. Recognize that this quote literally calls upon women to change. Nowhere in that quote does it clarify what men can do to ensure a woman's uniqueness has the chance to be seen in life as equally as "his" does. The quote does not even remotely depict the struggle women endure daily to not just have their uniqueness shine, but their presence, power and talents acknowledged and appreciated.

I cannot believe that even as our world falls apart in war, exile, corruption, famine, human trafficking, domestic violence, racism, there's still time to ensure that women are reminded of their supposed statuses based on a SOCIALLY constructed system.

Monday, October 12, 2015

Le Entitlement



It's some unwritten rule—maybe it's written but with invisible ink—this male entitlement to anything and everything about a woman and her body. I experienced it firsthand with le ex, and probably on numerous other less dramatic occasions in the public sphere of life, but ended up letting it roll off my back as we women are always trained to do, in order to appear calm, sane and anything but the dragon lady b***h. Well, these claws have been sharpened as fiercely as this tongue.

The intention was to make one quick stop. I knew exactly what I wanted from Nordstrom and where to pick it up. I marched straight up to the counter, glanced at the gorgeous array of colors that screamed loudly "Come play!" and asked simply for the two items I needed. The woman behind the counter was perky, energetic and really kind. She explained she wasn't the associate for the counter but could do her best to help me out.

Enter male entitlement, stage left.

He was perkier than she was—the stereotypical artsy hipster fashionista guy, now becoming more common behind every cosmetics counter. Inches from my face, inspecting it like a slab of marble he couldn’t wait to crack, he said, “Hmmm, let me show you something you’re going to love.” I smiled sheepishly and said, “If it’s something for my skin, I’m good, thank you. Been a devout user of the same brand for seven years.”

Blatantly disregarding all that I said, he skipped away to rummage for this product. Strike one: Why the hell doesn’t anyone listen to me? If I were a man, my word would have been respected from the first time. It’s a problem I’m facing at work, so bad that I have had to ask male coworkers to help me and start speaking on my behalf because whatever I say goes unheard or turns into another triggering session of gaslighting.

Quickly he returned, super giddy, and before I knew it, his hands were on my face without warning. Without asking. “Eyes up!” he announced as he brushed pounds of goop beneath my left eye. I felt frozen between shock and discomfort. “Oh. Em. Gee. You look gorgeous!” He brought me a mirror and asked, “Doesn’t that look sooooo much better? You like to wear a lot of purples and that tires out your under eyes and this magical product will help.”

Strike two and enter Lady Narrator analysis, stage right.

What could I have done? It was the same mental battle I fought in my relationship. Push him away and cause a scene—no matter how polite—or grin and bear it? It's the mental battle so many victims face in times of sexual abuse or rape or other unwanted physical advances.

Looking like a b***h would be a big risk and thanks to years of Muslims being in the spotlight as flight risks, I couldn't just blow up and say, "Um excuse me, please don't touch me." Oops, did I just say blow up? Damn it.

He had already disregarded my clear explanation of not wanting anything outside of my brand on my face. And even if I was kind and gentle and backed away saying, “I’m sorry, but I don’t like being touched,” I get those looks and the smeared reputation of prudish weirdo and only reinforce another pathetically untrue stereotype. It’s so damn exhausting.

Then comes the next analysis that in and of itself is two fold. First, the random assumption that I wear purple (far from the case that day btw) which was a sad cover up to his true backhanded compliment—part two: the purple bags under my eyes are frightening and may only be accentuated if I wear blue based colors. I didn’t let his insult go unnoticed. “You mean it’s clear that I’ve been quite sleep deprived and overworked that you think I need this product to cover me up?” He smiled sarcastically. “Haha! No! I didn’t say thaaaaaat.” I held my tongue but thought, “Not directly.”

He didn't care. He was too consumed with the belief that he had found the magical cure to a woman's naturalistic appearance when in reality I want to remain as real as I comfortably can. I buzzkilled his vibe by not investing $40 on that "highlighter" that mimicked what my much cheaper concealer can do when I have those rare days where I really feel like my eyes have given out and I do indeed resemble a divorced 26 year old, employed full time at a job that requires 120 miles/4 hours a day of driving, hours of agonizingly painful sitting behind a mind numbing computer, while tolerating unnecessary verbal and emotional harassment from executive management. I guess the ladder to Dragon Lady is being climbed. Go Corporate America! In the meantime, thank you, but no thank you overly ecstatic dude, I will wear those under eye bags and blemishes with pride.

I won’t tack on another 30 minutes to my morning that I could use for sacred sleep to conceal so many natural parts of me. I adore the crow’s feet that have developed on my right eye from days and days of stressing, crying and overcoming. It means I lived. I survived. I’m still moving forward. Don’t try to manipulate me like you did the 65-year-old woman who came in after me with a fully loaded stroller for her tiny poodle. Don’t.

Don’t try and think that on top of your attempt to make me fabricate insecurities I don’t need, your being gay can give you free access to touching me. You’re still a male, gay or not, and that doesn’t give you the right to touch me, push your makeup tips on me (literally) and then word yourself carefully enough to almost, almost, make me second guess what I see in the mirror. It took many years of loving that reflection, don’t mess with it. Another man almost did, and I left him as quickly as I left you.

So no honey, don’t think you’re entitled to touch me and slather orange liquid on the face of a girl who vowed to love who she is after a tumultuous childhood that almost made her lose all self esteem. No, honey, I will not yield to the sick ideals of the constantly evolving cosmetics company; that foundation and concealer are essential to daily life, and that even then when you’ve mastered its addiction, it becomes worthless without the next new trend like sculpting or highlighting or contouring.

When makeup ends up changing so much of what you look like that you’re not even you, what are you telling yourself? Focus on that question because the world’s receiving the message loud and clear while the cosmetics industry gets what it wants. Beyond the necessity (for a variety of health related reasons), makeup is unwarranted. Beneath his cold brush, for a split second, all I could think was, “Wow, I must look so disgustingly un-presentable that this man felt compelled enough to come fix me.” I got compressed beneath that male entitlement, the illusion they carry that they need to be knights for women—even if they’re gay—and fix us because we were oblivious to being badly broken.

Hollywood and the propagandized romance have misinformed men of that philosophy that if they appear confident and knowledgeable enough that they seem to thoroughly get you—and not just you you, but that deeper you, beneath the layers—they win. That’s why he threw out that “like to wear a lot of purples” comment. It’s a psychological factor that was supposed to play my heartstrings well enough to get me to buy the product. To think, “Hmm, I do find that jewel tone to be the best suited for me so I guess he’s right. Wow! Let me buy this then!” I always fail psychology. Hence, my excellence in Sociology.

Following that experience I was reassured being a woman means being damned both ways—if you do and if you don’t. Therefore, I’m going to keep leaning towards the fierceness side. I’m going to keep putting my foot down. I confidently told him I was not going to buy it and he seemed truly disappointed after pushing a few more times. He thought he really had me after generously evening out both sides of my face with this highlighter.

The thing is more women need to step up to the plate of demanding their rights like personal space, respect, opportunity and having their words not just heard, but listened to. Men aren’t entitled to anything from us, no matter who they are. We offer human beings all the same sense of basic respect, but above that, the rest must be earned.

Thursday, July 23, 2015

50 Shades of Shady


So, um, dude, which way do you freakin want to go?

Remember that gorgeous night, where you sat facing each other, beneath the beach stars that couldn’t illuminate as brightly as the spark between you two? Sipping perfectly warm coffee in the invigorating summer breeze? You had just finished dinner and things were going great as you laughed and joked and felt utterly at ease with this man. You thought, wow, thank you God. Thank you for making me realize how alive my heart could be. Thank you for showing me what hope looks like. Thank you for allowing me to recognize how every failed opportunity before was just a paving of the way to this magnificent connection. To him. To that beautiful smile. You say goodbye and giddily sing along to every song on the drive home. You arrive with a spring in your step and a smile you can't remove. You notice there's already a text from him, thanking you for another wonderful night and wishing you sweet dreams until the next time. Everything is blissful until…you wake up three weeks later and still haven't heard from him since. What the hell? You can't help but sneak a peek at his Facebook to make sure he's still alive, and sure enough there he is, uploading photos and updating statuses and you wonder, is your phone broken? Then when you see that texts and calls are indeed coming in from everyone but him, you can’t help but wonder, are you broken? Where did you go wrong? What could have happened when you never even had a chance to speak after that night? What could you have possibly said or done?

Well, ladies, I've come to bear the bad (or good) news. Here's why he hasn't called:



1.     His phone died and every Apple store/distributor he went to was sold out from iPhones and he just can’t function with any other phone but the iPhone—and the newest version at that. So just sit tight. The call’s coming.



2.     He’s actually Amish and when it was discovered that he was talking to a girl from the outside, the villagers revolted and locked him up in the cabin. Forever.



3.     His split personality disorder has not been managed. The person he currently is hasn’t met you yet. Keep calm.



4.     He went to a psychic and she told him you weren’t “the one.”



5.     He got into a motorcycle accident and was hospitalized immediately. When he awoke from the coma he asked for his phone to text you, but they told him it was crushed upon impact and everyone’s been too busy to bring him a replacement phone. He even went to ask a nurse at the nurse’s station to use the station computer to at least private message you on Facebook, but because that would violate HIPAA regulations, he was denied access. His greatest agony is not the pain of bruises and broken bones, but his inability to let you know.



6.     His parents overheard him talking to you one day and disapproved after doing the traditional background marital check. They have forced him into an arranged marriage with some other girl from overseas. He stares at your Facebook profile photo every night wishing he could reach out and explain. He still wishes you are the one beside him.



7.     You’re not the only one he’s seeing. He’s making his rounds. He’ll be back. (But girl, do you even want that back?)



8.     He decided to become a monk.



9.     As a scientist he handles dangerous chemicals on a daily basis. One day—three weeks ago coincidentally—a chemical leakage occurred and he’s been in quarantine ever since.



10.  His aunt was rushed into an emergency surgery and he had to travel. His travels took him to an area where there was no Wi-Fi, phone service or access to any technology—except the technology that’s handling the surgical procedure. He was so emotionally overwhelmed and swamped that he couldn’t even send you a text before he left because he didn’t want to sound crazy. He didn’t think you’d believe the emergency occurred an hour before you were going to meet up—especially considering he had appeared so excited about seeing you.



11.  Thanks to #SCOTUS, he came out of the closet and has been too excitedly planning his wedding to tell you.



12.  He assumed you were like Daisy and went on to get a Gatsby reformation. It seems he never read/saw the ending to that story.



13.  He got a cat. It got his tongue…and his texting thumbs.



14.  He knows you’re the one but before “settling down,” he decided to empty out his bucket list of bachelorhood and is still underway swimming with sharks, wrestling with lions and jumping off cliffs.



15.  He realized, after days of Facebook stalking you, that you were way out of his league and so he bowed out secretly. (Oh shucks! Seems like he would've been a keeper too considering that skill set of smart deductive reasoning.)



16.  He signed up for a secret government program that is pretty much a cross between the 1997 film Face/Off and the 2015 film Self/less. He literally could be anyone at this point but he can’t tell you because he’s either undercover or suffering amnesia.



17.  Just as dumb as Ross, he assumes you are “on a break."



18.  Just as naive as Chandler, he assumes that one disagreeing opinion over coffee means the end.



19.  He’s really a robot from The Terminator’s army. You were a distraction from the mission.



20.  Or, he’s a ghost. Boo!



21.  Or, he’s a time traveler and he's not sure you want to endure being his wife with that fate. I mean you saw what happened to the other time traveler and his wife. She became a widow and spent the last few years knowing it would soon happen and he died in an ironic twist of fate by the hands of his own father in law. (Oh, sorry, did I just spoil the movie for you? Eh, life is full of disappointments. Roll with it.)



22.  Another woman set her sights on him. She’s kidnapped him and held him against his will.



23.  Upon finding out he wouldn’t be your first—despite you not being his first, second or third—his egotistical sense of entitlement was bruised and he decided to venture off in the hunt for his virgin dipped in holy water.



24.  You didn’t know, but he’s a volunteer firefighter and while trying to put out one of California’s drought induced fire, he was injured and hospitalized. Then…insert #5 here.



25.  His mommy found out about you when she saw him texting happily—since they live together—and her jealousy kicked in. She grounded him and told him you are an evil cootie monster. He believes her. (I think it's safe to say you dodged a bullet there.)



26.  His insecurities—despite being a hot nerd—were so strong that he feared committing to you would mean introducing you to the rest of his other nerd friends and that there could be a chance you may leave him for one of them. (Pardon me while I ROFL.)



27.  At a party he attended, a fight broke out and he was hit so hard he lost his memory. Now, you're just somebody that he used to know...



28.  He followed the chicken across the road to ask it why. He found the answer but he’ll tell you in the hereafter—wherever that may be.



29.  Between all that immense genuine deep flirting, you didn’t realize he was actually just after your friend. Once he got what he needed from you, he moved on.



30.  After complaining about how boring his law career has been, he was suddenly given a very sensitive case, in which the man on trial has already threatened his life and the life of his loved ones. He had to sever ties in order to protect you. He’s only thinking of you.



31.  Wait, why are you freaking. He is talking to you. Can’t you see the sporadic “Likes” he leaves on your Facebook wall every once in a while? That’s communication according to the 30-year-old male humanoid.



32.  He’s in jail.



33.  He’s like Raj, from The Big Bang Theory. When you met, it was only after he had gotten just tipsy enough to gain the courage to talk to you. After starting AA, he can’t get himself to speak to you again.



34.  While typing your number into his phone, his slightly chubby texting thumbs accidentally hit the wrong number. He’s one digit away from you. (Oh so close!)



35.  Poor baby has early onset memory loss disorder.



36.  Or, he has Out-of-Sight-Out-of-Mind-icitis. (Be on the look out for the marathon I’ll be launching to help raise awareness and funds to support research for the cure. We can do it!)



37.  You’re Adam Sandler. He’s Drew Barrymore. This is 50 First Dates, but in reverse.



38.  While making a deposit at his neighborhood bank, there was a heist and he’s been held hostage for three long agonizing weeks. At gun point, he wonders if he’ll ever be set free and get to ask you out again.



39.  He's really a secret agent under cover and his mission required he be transferred to a top secret location. All communication had to cease. Don't worry, he's still tracking you. He'll always look after you, and love you, even when you are married to someone else and have kids. When you're out there gardening, he's watching with an aching heart second guessing the exciting world of espionage. Wondering if it was worth missing out on a forever of sipping lemonade in the summers with you while sitting on the porch swing, watching your three kids—two boys and a girl—play in the front yard.



40.  Or, while on this top secret mission, he was killed in the line of duty for his country (whichever country that may have been).



41.  Upon plugging in his iPhone to his MacBook Air to back it up, there was a malfunction that caused both devices to crash. There was a spark and the paper where you left your name and number caught fire and burned. (Please connect him to firefighter from #24 and hot nerd from #26.)



42.  He stumbled upon your blog or Facebook posts or publications or past projects or work or something that illuminated your intellect and he was suddenly taken aback and turned off because you proved to be too much of an independent sassy strong fierce woman and he's really in the market for more "lean meat." (Insert “Bye Felipe” hand wave here.)



43.  On a weekend getaway cruise, there was a repetition of history and like the Titanic, the ship hit an iceberg. He either had the fate of Jack or Tarzan. You choose.



44.  While on jury duty, he witnessed something he shouldn’t have. Now he’s in witness protection until this case is closed. It will be a while.



45.  He's already married and his wife found out but he lied and told her you were the one after him so he cut off all ties and deleted you from Facebook and refrained from ever again trying to court you. You’ll find out when one day at your house of worship some random woman will come up to you and ask why her husband is talking to you. (“And the Academy goes to….”)



46.  While working out at the gym and thinking of you, he accidentally injured himself badly with the equipment and disfigured himself. He second guesses your ability to still want him now. He fails to recognize you're not as shallow as he and that you would have taken him for simply being him. (Maybe we should second guess that now?)



47.  He found someone else. Despite being an amazing one-woman show with enough skills to keep a man happily entertained, well, his male mind remained too complex to be thoroughly satisfied. Don't worry, he'll be back, brace yourself. These always come back. They’re like awful boomerangs.



48.  He was too much of a coward to tell you that he realized you two actually aren’t compatible and decided disappearing would be the easiest on his pride.



49.  Deep inside, he knows you two are the greatest fit. He loved your smile. His heart was racing every time you laughed at his jokes. The sparks were surely real. But his fear of commitment is just too damn strong. Love is his kryptonite but I’m not quite sure he’s your superman. (Try Batman or Ironman.)



50.  Last, and most certainly not least, he was just playing you. He was just entertaining the empty minutes of his lonely pathetic life of singlehood in his 30s (or 40s) and can’t seem to commit to simply giving a true good woman a chance. Sorry, but he ain’t sorry.