modern love is a scam: notes from my coffee shop existential crisis 🫂
confession: i'm too complicated to date (and that's okay) ✨
tl;dr: i've swiped right more times than i've eaten arroz con gandules, and that's saying something. this is a deep dive into the value of being intentionally single, the complexities of modern dating, and what it truly means to be ready for love.
I.
the espresso machine screeches. there are people in line. it was busy at nine am on a saturday.
i’m sitting in good omen coffee, a couple of oat milk cappuccinos deep, waiting for my friend ru. my untouched pastry, a raspberry turnover, judges me silently.
not too far away from me, i notice… there’s a possible telenovela unfolding before me. i see him. he’s a walking linkedin profile. he rattles off accomplishments like he's auditioning for "el jefe más boring del año." at least he’s handsome and has nice legs. (i always look at legs. on everyone.) she nods. her eyes dart between her phone and the exit. if i were her, i’d basically be calculating in my head how to call an uber and irish goodbye with grace. (does this place have a back exit by the bathrooms, maybe?)
i catch my reflection in the window. and i just can’t help but to smirk at myself.
not too long ago, that was me! a bundle of nerves materialized into a queer chaos gremlin cosplaying as a functioning adult. (still am, actually!)
i remember being armed with rehearsed anecdotes and lists of hobbies and interests. a pre-packaged, contrived curation of the self. god, i had elevator-pitched myself to death. and only for it to result in another man in his mid 30s to tell me “they don’t know” three months down the line? sir, your hairline has receded two feet since the start of this date. what do you mean you don’t know?!? i got sick of forcing hyena laughs instead of genuine mirth. it wasn’t looking good out here for me.
don't get me wrong. i'm not anti-love. i'm a die-hard romantic who cries at wedding vows. i swoon over grand gestures, but even more for the little actions and quirks that tell you someone loves you. i write poems, i write songs. i’m notoriously saccharine.1 but i've stumbled upon a revolutionary concept: i actually like myself. shocking, i know.
my friend ru walks in. we start to catch up and i realize how natural this is. all easy smiles and contagious laughter. and boom – it hits me. this is love too. different flavor, same warmth.
i raise my mug in a silent toast. to friendship! to being alone but not feeling alone. to saturday mornings with friends! and to not gentle parenting another adult and calling it a relationship. and life goes on…
II.
"dating me right now would be so damn frustrating." the thought hits me like a caffeinated epiphany as i’m watching the couple at the next table fumble goodbye. he goes for a hug; she offers a handshake. their incompatibility is so palpable i could serve it as a side dish with my now-cold turnover.
i turn the phrase over in my mind, examining it like a peculiar shell. it's not just a statement; it's a neon warning sign, flashing in alternating spanglish: "proceed with caution, obra en progreso."
the truth is, i'm not just a person anymore. i'm a whole ass experience, complete with baggage fees, a "no refunds" policy, and access to mychart.
my emotional luggage is a limited edition set, crafted by the finest traumas life has to offer. sleek on the outside, but crack it open and you'll find a chaos potpourri that would make even freud say, "damn, bitch, that's a lot."
for me to even consider dating, you'd need to be a goddamn alchemist. turn my solitude into gold, not lead. add to my life, don't subtract. are you good for me? am i good for you? or are we just two lonely people trying to fill a void with small talk and shared streaming accounts? are we just going to slap samsung logos on our backs and project on each other? been there, done that, got the t-shirt. no, gracias. (that’s a story for another time.)
my life is a jenga tower of commitments, each piece precariously balanced on the next. gym sessions where i pretend protein powder doesn't taste like sweetened chalk. work deadlines that loom like monstrous waves during hurricane season. serving the kiwanis club as second vice-president and being a leader in my community. school assignments that make me question why i thought finishing my bachelor’s degree was a good idea. (spoiler: the jury's still out, and i'm eyeing law school next. oy vey.)
i need focused alone time like i need air to breathe or cafecito to function. it's not negotiable. it's not a quirky character trait for dating apps. it's survival. it's the difference between edgard the functioning adult and edgard the over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived gremlin who will absolutely cry over spilled oat milk.
most people don't have the patience for that. they want instant gratification, a fast track to intimacy. they want to be the main character in your story from day one, like they're auditioning for the lead role in the telenovela of your life.
but here's the thing: i'm not looking for a co-star. i'm not even sure i'm ready for a cameo. i'm looking for someone who's content with a recurring guest role, at least for now. someone who understands that doing school work together in comfortable silence (occasionally breaking it to curse in spanglish) can be just as intimate as a candle-lit dinner.
i’m not saying romance is dead - it just needs to fit my schedule. because integrating someone into my life? it's not a sprint, it's a marathon. and belleza, you better be prepared for the long haul.
and you know… maybe i'm building walls higher than el morro. maybe i’m fortifying myself against the possibility of love or disappointment. or both. i’ll admit, i've been disappointed more times than there are coquís in el yunque. i’ve fallen into codependency so many times. i’ve been guilty of some of the greatest self betrayals. i’ve surrendered myself so completely, i forgot where i ended and they began.
and when things were healthy and ended anyway… you can do everything you can and sometimes it just doesn’t work. and that’s okay, too.
i've faced the alchemy of strangers becoming lovers becoming strangers again. over and over. it’s too much for me now. the experience always is a transformation that gets more jarring each time it happens. it takes a real toll on me.
i'm 37 now, and sometimes i feel like i’m in a sea of sharks.
but here's the kicker: as much as this might be a defense mechanism, it's also a reflection of my passions and engagement with life. you wouldn't be my only love. my community, my solitude, my work – they're all my loves too.
i'm not an empty vessel waiting to be filled; i'm already alive with music, color, and flavor.
sometimes i wonder if i've really healed or if i'm just getting better at hiding the scars. so here i am, swiping left on dating apps and right on self-discovery. it's not always easy. there are nights when the silence in my apartment is so loud i swear i can hear my plants judging my life choices.
but then i remember: being alone doesn't mean being lonely. it means having the space to grow, to learn, to figure out who the hell i am without the reflection of someone else's expectations.
and who knows? maybe someday i'll meet someone who sees my packed google calendar as a sexy challenge rather than a red flag. someone who understands that love isn't about filling a void, but about creating something new together.
because at the end of the day, whether i'm single, coupled, or somewhere in the beautifully messy in-between, the most important relationship is the one i have with myself. and right now? it's pretty fucking fantastic.
III.
dating in 2024? it's like trying to salsa dance in a minefield while chugging pitorro and explaining cryptocurrency to your abuela.
the myriad of dating apps have merely created more avenues for you to get ghosted on. it’s a wild west out there that now demands subscriptions and money. it’s all a clusterfuck of mixed signals, ghosting, and decoding what "let's hang out" actually means. (spoiler: it usually means they want to netflix and chill, hold the chill and bring the condoms and lube, haha.)
we’re atrophied from the pandemic on top of having our luggage from (*gesticulates wildly*) everything else! even politics… a recent article by the financial times dropped this bomb: men are getting more conservative politically, while women are swinging liberal. the economist also picked up what ft was putting down too. though i should mention the folx at vox are alerting us to pump the breaks a bit on the data.
and for us queer folks? ¡ay bendito! it's more complicated than explaining to your abuela why you can't "just pick a side." lgbtq users are more likely to experience harassment on dating apps compared to heterosexual users. many face discrimination, including transphobia, fatphobia, racism, and hiv stigma. the apps bring us visibility and connections, but they're also serving up body image issues and social anxiety.
and not to mention… everything has become hyper-sexualized. i’m the last person to be a prude, please - do not get me wrong. i want you to have all the sex you want. i know i want to! and i’m not a saint in this subject myself. but it is precisely my experience that tells me shit is out of hand. we've somehow created this culture where hookups are the default but genuine passion and sensuality are rare commodities. it's all instant gratification, no slow burn. all perreo but no romance. what happened to the art of seduction? of building tension? of letting desire simmer until it boils over? everyone's trying to skip to the last chapter without reading the story.
we've turned dating into a numbers game, mi gente. swipe right, swipe left, treat people like they're menu items at a food truck. according to stanford university, 39% of straight couples now meet online. and for us queers? a whopping 65%. we're basically outsourcing cupid to algorithms and hoping for the best.
and i haven’t even told you yet - a 2022 study in plos one found that the more dating apps you use, the more miserable you tend to be. it's like we're all gambling addicts at the love casino. we hope the next swipe will hit the jackpot… but we end up broke and alone at 3am, crying into our pj’s, and giving ourselves carpal tunnel.
studies have found that the covid-19 pandemic has led to increased social anxiety in the general population. and even worse, the pandemic had a real effect on relationships in general. a 2024 study by stanford profession michael rosenfeld says that it left an additional 13.3 million americans single by 2022, being called a “dating recession”. that same study also says that adults are spending less time socializing, and that the pandemic robbed young children of crucial years of socialization.
let me paint you a picture, this is over a year ago. i matched with this guy on tinder. great conversation, shared love for bad bunny, the works. we set up a date at a cute café in hillcrest. i show up, all nervioso but excited. thirty minutes pass. no sign of him. i text. nothing. suddenly, my phone rings. it's him, apologizing profusely. turns out, he was so anxious about meeting that he had a panic attack in his car outside the café. we ended up having our first date in the street, laughing about how fucked up modern dating is. romantic? maybe not. real? absolutely.
suddenly, small talk feels like an extreme sport and touching someone's hand is riskier than eating gas station sushi. we forgot how to people, how to flirt, how to do anything that doesn't involve a screen, a hookup, and the safety of our pantunflas.
we're all a little more broken, a little more cautious.
and the effects of your entire existence being reduced to a yes or no decision in milliseconds? it's taken a toll on our collective psyche.
i know because… at least, i can’t bear it anymore.
IV.
the person i envision?
they're a paradox wrapped in an enigma, seasoned with laughter and understanding.
i need someone who sees my solitude as a lush garden, not an empty lot to be filled. they admire my packed schedule like a masterpiece, not a barrier. their energy matches mine - whether we're dissecting politics at midnight or salsa dancing at dawn. (or most likely sleeping. i don’t party that much anymore… but it can still happen, don’t get it twisted… haha.)
they're fluent in the language of comfortable silence. they understand intimacies’ tides. they know sometimes love is simply existing beside each other, two stars sharing the same sky. i don’t want to be your world. but i want to be important, a priority. and you’ll be a priority to me. let’s be interdependent, not codependent. let’s trust each other and create an environment for both of us where that trust can flourish.
we tend to each other like rare orchids. we choose each other - consciously, vividly, intentionally again and again. we plan our futures intertwined, we include each other. our conversations are deep and ever-flowing. but also silly, imaginative, and funny. our kisses are sunrises, warm, constant, renewing. and our respect for each other? immense. we remain curious about each other, and relentlessly so.
i crave a mind that challenges mine, a voice unafraid to call out my shadows. someone that can cash the checks they write. i want someone that knows love isn't about completing puzzles, but two whole universes choosing to expand together.
and god, let them laugh! at life's absurdities, at themselves, at my terrible puns, at my hypocrisies and contradictions… because in this chaotic cosmos, if we can't find joy in the madness, what's left?!?
i’m not asking for a fairy tale ending. just for a new chapter. a fresh new start, co-written in ink and love and sex. and for us to always remain loving each other, even if we do need to part. (nothing lasts forever.)
V.
so here we are, mi gente.
i’m single, maybe a little lonely (sometimes), but definitely overthinking everything. but here's what i've learned: being single isn't a waiting room for real life to begin. it's not a problem to be solved. it's an opportunity to grow, to learn, to figure out who the hell you are without the reflection of someone else's expectations.
yes, i still have moments of doubt. more often than not, i turn the guns on myself. i ask myself if i'm too picky, too complicated - too much. but then i remember: settling is just another word for giving up on yourself. know what you want, and know that it's okay for that to change. life isn't static, and neither are we.
work on yourself, not to become someone worthy of love, but to become someone you love being.
because at the end of the day, whether you're single, coupled, or somewhere in the beautiful and messy in-between, the most important relationship is the one you have with yourself.
so, mi amor, are you swiping or savoring your solitude? drop a comment or slide into my inbox.
let me leave you with this: maybe true healing isn't about getting it right all the time. maybe it's about recognizing the patterns, acknowledging the setbacks, and choosing yourself anyway. over and over again.
con todo mi corazón y un poquito de sass,
edgard
p.s. to my loyal readers: y'all are my bellezas, mis amores, mis babies. gracias por todo. 💕
p.p.s. if you've ever felt like you're too much and not enough at the same time, welcome to the club. we meet at coffee shops and overthink everything. ✨
“oh, you’re one of those sappy, romantic ones, aren’t you?” was dismissively said to me by the person to whom i wrote this haiku for their birthday. i wrote the haiku in the birthday card and handed it to him with my gifts... and that’s what he said. this moment remains, to me, an incredibly embarrassing and defeating moment. like, wow… it’s hard for us romantics out here these days. (or maybe the haiku was shitty! let’s give some grace here, i’m not perfect either, lol.)
„sir, your hairline has receded two feet since the start of this date.“ fuckkkk your writing is so funny and witty I just wanna have a coffee with you now.
omg this was gold edgar!!!! the prince eric pic really took me out, you are something else in the best way possible!! i cant wait to eat arroz con gandules with you one day!!❤️❤️❤️
however has the privilege of getting close to you is a lucky son of a bichota💋