Eating Out 1

As Ayel went to relieve himself inside this small room we call CR, I sent out excited text messages to few friends who knew I was out on a date--told them how good looking he was. He was not far from the photos that I shamelessly saved from that account where I, well, shamelessly dropped a nag about the stars.

Only that in person, his face is smaller.

Before meeting him up at 6pm, I was clear to tell him not to expect much from me. In return, he also asked me to not expect much from him. He arrived at least 20 minutes late than the agreed time--armed with a foldable black umbrella--and I liked what I saw. Not the umbrella.

He apologized. And it was, of course, okay. I am not really a physical-person--someone who gives premium to synthetics and bone structures. But that he is intelligent is already a given so I indulged the self in foolery of what were visually pleasing.

He noticed my hair style. My tattoo. One time he mentioned about the photos I posted in my account that bordered in something that both of us, perhaps for the nature of the photos, refused to describe. I would have wanted to comment on the attractive rim of his glasses--how it suit him well--but I stopped. Made mental notes of how many cellphones he has (probably the same as I have), the color of his shoes. It was brown. It was leather. Mine was a dying purple. Mine's an All Star.

But the given was a dogged worker, insistent on making its obvious truth more than felt. And so the moment he sat opposite me on that poorly-clothed table, the gymnastization of the brains began.

Then came next was a bloody slaughter of principles and ideas over issues related to his work and my work. How our works clash. How our works not clash. How the people we find important to us, both personally and professionally, are made to clash with each other, the system, the faulty system, and the lack of system.

During discussions, I managed the thought that the person whom I was sharing a dinner with doesn't smoke. Allergic to alcohol. Maybe, goes to church and prays at night. He could be that person who refuses to go out in kinked clothes and non-leather shoes. And, someone who sings RNB.

Did I problematize that I smoke packs and pack of Marlboro especially when stressed out and under pressure? Did I problematize that I can stay out all night over bottles of beer and hearty talks with friends? Did I problematize that I still have to give god the benefit of the doubt? Did I problematize that I just hate RNB? Did I problematize that I detest leather shoes? Did I problematize that I don't mind wearing un-ironed clothes?

Did I problematize the contradictions? No.

But I felt sorry upon knowing that he doesn't eat vegetables. And spicy food. And we were eating in a Vietnamese restaurant. And yes, I felt bad that while I loved the flat rice noodles, he did not enjoy it a bit.