Why the Fuck Are You Ghosting Me?

illustrations: Berk Karaoglu

Location: Berlin. Display Name: Emojis that describe me + Emoji indicating sexual preferences. Edit Profile. About Me: Next time I’m opening up to someone is my autopsy. Looking for: Question mark. Relationship Status: Single.

Honestly, I think I never dated! That doesn’t mean that I have never gone on something that could be described as a date, or that I have never frequently seen a love interest of mine, but, ‘dating’ in a form that also my mum would agree with me on the term. The kinda story that begins with you meeting person X at a party of a friend, and then it slowly, and mutually grows into something. Dating in 2018 is different. We forgot how to flirt, we swipe. We can’t send a subtle smile through the room, we tap. And we don’t have the courage to say “Hi”, we leave “You’re hot” comments on Instagram waiting for a direct message. And when it comes to gays, you are not seeing one but four different guys at a time. In Berlin, you can’t just rely on that one guy because, first of all, he’s probably gonna have a shelf of dick to choose from, and he might just randomly stop talking to you, one WhatsApp message to another – Mhmm, the most beautiful psychopathic disorder of the 2010’s: Ghosting.

Why the Fuck Am I Single #6

Any millennial out there on the hunt should know what I am talking about. Actually, a little case study in my contacts resulted in each and every one of the friends I asked replying that this has happened to them: You meet someone, online or in the real world. You exchange numbers or social media. You communicate or even meet. And then: Nothing! Person X stops responding. All your “Hi”, “Hello”, “You good?”, “Are you f*** ghosting me?!?!?” messages seem to end up in some kinda mental spam filter. No answer, ever. There’s only the pure psychological terror of these two, little blue arrows or a “message received”. I CAN SEE THAT YOU READ IT ASSHOLE!!! – So, in a true Carrie Bradshaw moment, I was wondering: In a fast-paced digital age where written communication has outrun face to face encounters, are we all turning into unempathetic communication zombies or are men just total pricks?

“Oh wait, I got a fun one,” Juan has another sip of wine creating a dramatic pause. We’re laying on Casper’s bed, chocolate, wine and melancholic R’n’b in the back; a partially depressed gay Friday night. “I’m on my way to a sex date. When I’m in front of the address he gave me he stops responding!” I giggle and Juan smacks me. Casper straightens up: “Oh I beat you. I met this guy on GR. We went to the Christmas market together. It was all romantic, he made me all these compliments and told me how important it is to him to only date one guy at a time. He said all these things that really made me think he was serious about us. So, I wrote him a long message saying how much I liked our date – He ghosted me.” “Wait!,” I say, preparing for my story of Persona-Non-Grata numero uno. “How about you see this guy for three months. He cooks you dinner, tells you how much he likes you. You drink wine, make out and listen to Bjork and then you see him getting busy with a friend of yours at a party. When you write him that this hurt your feelings, he doesn’t bother answering. Ever.” Pause. “Bitch!,” All three of us in a chorus.

Just another Friday night – Berlin Schöneberg – Three gays who are contemplating about this absurd dichotomy of loving dick but actually hating men.

In order to make some sense of it: This interpersonal complete fail has three different stages. We all got messages on dating apps, replied and then changed our mind because the regular jeans on his last selfie really made us question his taste level. Fair. There’s stage two: You meet, talk, there seems to be a connection, maybe you even make out. But two days and three short messages after the communication suddenly dies for whatever reason – Ok, sucks, I don’t quite get it but whatever. And then, there is stage three aka Persona-Non-Grata. Not replying to someone who actually cares about you is basically the behavior of a four-year-old in a sandpit: “I can’t see it, so, it’s not there anymore! LaLaLa! No, I did not just break this shovel!” Chat deleted. Situation solved – While it’s actually not. How hard can it be to send a copy paste message like: ” I think it’s not working out here.”, “I’m really in my head lately, it’s not about you.”, or “Sorry my dog just died, I’m really grieving right now.”? That’s still shit, but it’s words.

So, I don’t really know what to say. This will keep on happening until we’re really in unempathetic, interpersonal zombi nation because, let’s be honest, humans are a weird, sadistic species and…yes, men are pricks. So, I only have one thing to say: Don’t ever be stage three! It’s all karma…

Lesson learned.



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<a href="https://www.iheartberlin.de/author/andy/" target="_self">Andy</a>