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?
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