Sydney, Australia, January 1st, 2018
I broke up with Kulas last night. I should have broken up with him months ago, but we kept finding our way back to each other to prolong our agony. For my part, I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t let him go. Standing at 5’4”, coming from a non-wealthy family, having grammar comparable to that of Walt’s1, smelling like his last shower was from the day before, he checked off none of the standards, the superficial ones, at least, for my ideal guy. He wasn’t even that great of a boyfriend either. I wasn’t allowed to tell him how I felt about him because he said he was still weird about the whole relationship thing after he got cheated on by a guy he went out with for a month. Every time I broke up with him, he got furious at my attempts to move on.
In a word, he was toxic, and I couldn’t let him go because I wanted to be that guy. That guy is not like the other guys. That guy is as beautiful as he is crazy. That guy is as deep as he is shallow. That guy is as kind as he is mean.2 That guy thought he was good enough for the toxic guy to stop being toxic.
That guy is stupid, and I no longer wanted to be him because after all this time, Kulas made me believe that I wasn’t good enough for him. Turns out, I was too good for him.
x x x
Even before I left for Australia a week before, I had already decided that I was breaking up with Kulas, and for real this time. No more giving him a seventh chance.3 I would be stupid not to take what he did before I left as a sign telling me, “Kulas is bad for you.” I couldn’t initiate the breakup conversation because the last thing he told me was to cool my head and go on vacation, and that we would talk when I got back to Manila in 2018. Then he blocked me on all social media. How mature.
With the thought of needing to break up with Kulas planted in my head, I resorted to my old ways and re-installed all of my dating apps to make sure I’d get at least one date while I was away. I made a lot of matches on Tinder, as I usually do when I’m abroad.4 Among them was Andrés, whom I was supposed to go out with on New Year’s Day, but apparently, he had an existential crisis and locked himself in his bedroom to drink alone.5 A number of guys also talked to me on Growlr. Among them was a Filipino who migrated to Sydney. He told me about this bathhouse where guys go to have sex. He described it as an orgy, but instead of everyone fucking around, guys would cruise for their prey and fuck in one of the private areas in the bathhouse.
I thought about going long and hard. Going meant that Kulas and I were over. I mean, we were already were, but it meant that this was me moving forward from that disaster site. It meant I could no longer listen to him saying sorry, to him trying to melt my heart to let him inside again, to accepting all of his excuses for the reasons I broke up with him, to give him a free pass for not doing whatever it was he was supposed to do to “save” our relationship. That was it, and that was what made me say yes to wanting to go to the orgy.6