Men Are Like Buses

As the old British saying goes, you wait for ages and then two come along at once. It’s almost like men have a sixth sense for when someone else comes into your life, and they suddenly decide they have to remind you that they exist too.

Fresh on the heels of my date with the Smoky Fireman, up pops Island Boy again.

“I work in Seoul by the way. Catch up next time.”

What does this mean? Island Boy has quite an unusual way of expressing himself. I’m not sure if he means he is in Seoul right now? Did some work in Seoul and is now home? Catch up next time sounds like he’s been and gone…. But “work” is in the present tense. Am I being pedantic here? No I’m not, it’s confusing.

After mulling it over for a few hours, I settle on the reply: “What?”

“I got placed to work here. About two weeks ago.”

Oh. Island Boy has left the island. Do I have to come up with a new name for him now?

“Are you happy about that?” I ask.

“It’s been good so far hahahahaha.” Not sure what’s so funny, but okay.

“Did you choose to move here or did they force you?”

“They can’t make us move. I chose to come hahahahha.” I’m still not getting the joke but at least he’s enjoying himself.

“So why did you decide to come to Seoul?”

“Probably to meet you again?”

I do laugh this time, and my eyes roll so hard I worry they’re going to pop out. I decide that’s the best way to respond to this nonsense, and send back three eyeroll emojis.

“Hahaha,” he laughs again. “Catch up soon, if you want to.”

And that was two days ago, and I haven’t replied yet. Am I being rude? Do I even care? Last time he was in Seoul he was quite rude. We were arranging a date and he said I’d have to wait and see as he might be too hungover from going out with friends to meet up. Excuse me, but I do not sit around waiting to see if someone wants to meet me or if they’re too hungover.

Maybe I’ll let this bus go past.

What would you do? Would you meet him? Would you reply? What would you say? Let me know!

***

A few years ago, I was living in Seoul and having the time of my life. I went on many dates with many guys and then later I’d entertain my friends with all the gory details over chimaek (fried chicken and beer, a Korean Friday night tradition). I met a lot of interesting people, a lot of weirdos, and had a lot of funny stories.

I thought it could be fun to write about it, and I dared to dream that it might be something other people would be interested in. Not just my friends, but maybe even people who didn’t know me! I thought I could start a whole ongoing series, as many of this cast of weirdos were recurring characters who popped up over and over again in the 2 years I lived in Seoul.

I had enough material to last a lifetime, and I thought I could write it in a sarcastic, comical style that would hopefully make people laugh and keep them interested. I’d seen writers on other platforms asking readers direct questions and getting a lot of engagement, and I thought people might be keen to share dating advice. People LOVE to give advice and opinions, especially about women’s love lives... If I could write stories with little cliffhangers like this one, especially leaving it on the edge of a bad decision or one that could go multiple ways, people might get invested and keep reading.

I drafted a few stories like the one above. I wrote this one literally just as it happened, thinking I would later write prequels to fill out the backstory and make it all make sense. I’d write about how I met Island Boy, all of our previous dates and strange interactions, I’d write about the Smoky Fireman who I’d also met a few times by then, I’d write about all the strange things I’d seen in Korean Bumble profiles. I’d write about the other nutters I’d met: Dr. Fuckboy, the Wannabe Influencer, Mr. Skate Shoes, the Horny Christian, etc. etc.  I was starting to be hopeful that this could be something.

And then I… got too busy (with dates)? Couldn’t keep up with a writing schedule? Was just too fundamentally lazy to do something like this? I told myself these were the reasons. But the truth is I chickened out. I was too scared. I’m not an anxious person, or a self-conscious one. I’ve moved abroad alone multiple times, I’ve travelled solo through jungles and mountains and some of the most dangerous countries in the world …but writing is just so revealing. Writing about my personal life in particular was just too scary.

Why would anybody else be interested in this? What if I put in all that effort and people didn’t engage at all? What if nobody cared? What if it was boring? Or what if they ridiculed me? What if people thought I was a slut? What if people I knew read it and judged me? What if Island Boy somehow found this blog and got upset? What would I call it? Could it be anonymous? Would I have to (cringe) show a picture of myself for “authenticity”?

I banged out a couple of quick pieces like this one in the first flush of excitement and hope and delusion…and that was it. I didn’t go back to edit. I didn’t write prequels to fill in the blanks. I didn’t write any updates on the ridiculous 2-year saga of the Smoky Fireman and Island Boy. It just…never came together. The folder languished on my desktop for three years. Until now.

What do you think? Could it have worked? Could it still work? Maybe it’s a case of: better late than never! (Another saying we use often in the UK that could apply to writing, buses, or indeed men.)