Don't Call Me "Sweetie"
At the root of all this pain: Patriarchy
What is love? Love is time and shared experience and dedication and it requires a certain kind of discipline—a lack of ego—a showing up again and again and again, despite the [pain]. It does not assume possession. It is intimacy earned.
And, yet. Love can also be immediate. Energy in exchange. Connection kismet commonalities send us spinning. What I am trying to say? Love is… Love is… Love is… Love is Reciprocity.
Sitting on the rooftop on my Sultanahmet hostel, preparing to record a video on the Seven of Cups, I receive a text message from a man I met a few days earlier, “Sweetie, we can meet about 22:10 at night if it is suitable for you.” The Efes beer I have been drinking churns in my stomach, threatening to rise up and out.
Sweetie? Sweetie!?! I don’t know you, strange man. Where do you get off? “Sweetie” is reserved for the friend I have known for years or the family I hold dear.
Admittedly, I saw this coming from him—it started with a “Welcome gorgeous” and slowly progressed to the suggestion that we might spend multiple days together during the small remainder of my time in Turkey. I encouraged it, too. Well, sort of... After leaving his “gorgeous” comment hanging for a full day, I made the choice to “heart” it. That was my mistake. I should have—or could have—shut the conversation down then and there.
Perhaps you’ve heard the old Multiverse Proverb? “A man who calls you ‘sweetie’ on the first date will call you ‘dumbass’ by the last?”
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