WC epiphany
So I basically go in to use his bathroom, while doing my business I instinctively look around me to see a jar filled with nail files and eyebrow tweezers –a red flag should have gone up right there but I was too misleadingly blinded by love at the time to notice these telltale signs. As I recall he also possessed many products that –usually female- homemakers would consider buying, not in amounts and varieties considered acceptable my dear readers. This consequently made me feel like one dirty pig.

Public display of awkwardness
So basically I realized quite recently that he adored PDA (public displays of affection), he used to habitually gets infuriated with me for not adopting that idiocracy. My hypothesis –based upon his rage at my refusal of showing emotions in public- is quite disturbing now that I come to think of it. Basically when in private the situation is intensely sexually awkward. For example, when we usually meet one-on-one he can’t wait to call our friends and include them in our outings. Yet when were already around other people he feels the need to prove his manhood by being very clingy and demanding with regards to kisses.

Acts of femme fatale-ness
So this is a sub story that is filled with loads of juicy bits and pieces that I – the woman who possibly dated a queer- gathered over a lengthy duration. I like to call this little tell-tale “The Day of the Facial and other mysteries”.

So I will start off with the day my ex-lover came back from his university abroad. I was ecstatic at the idea of his arrival! I waited about three agonizingly lonely months without him. He seemed rather keen himself… or so I assumed.

His plane arrived at around midnight, so I naturally presumed that lovers’ breakfast was in order the following morning. He cancelled on this breakfast in a text which I miserably read as I awoke from my morning slumber. The procrastination of the meeting of lovers dragged on till around ten o’clock in the pm!

That wasn’t even the bad part! At three o’clock in the afternoon I was surprisingly blown off for a mere haircut and beard-shave appointment. Standard process, nothing out of the ordinary I told myself, yet he manages to let the inner queer shine through. When at around five o’clock pm I still haven’t heard from him I pestered him with texts asking when I was going to see him, to which he replies casually –something along the lines of – “I promised that when I get back from university I’d get a facial at the barbershop hayati (my life)”. I found it unusual but said to myself “hey, he’s just very meticulous about his appearance, it’s a metrosexual behavior”. I was subconsciously cringing at the homosexual undertones of the situation. So at around seven o’clock pm I nagged him with endless texts to a reply of “I’m at Scholl sweetie, getting a pedicure”.

What?! The funniest aspect of the issue is; I went along with this “oh so gay” lifestyle of his without so much as a hint of suspension in mind with regards to his sexual orientation. So, when I did finally see my groomed little prince he basically attempted assisting my friend in her choice of outfit. He actually said something like “ok, so which handbag are you going to wear so we can match it to a pair of heels”. He said this right before plunging into her closet; we both (Marcella* and myself) awkwardly gawked at his choice of action.

Bittersweet Conclusion
So in the end, I might have dated a queer, and I might have not. Bottom line is gender doesn’t matter. True love doesn’t find itself in the most convenient of places but yet it still manages to blossom forcefully and strongly when it desires to do so. One will inevitably fall in love with an individual’s true essence and not with his/her appearance, superficial shells which some see as self-confidence. What sadly prevents true love from happening is modern society’s political. Its bombardment of youth’s minds with twisted and distorted ideals and morals is creating spite and intolerance towards people in search of love in inconvenient places.

*Names have been changed.