It was a sad day when Kuukua stopped talking to me. I called her phone many times, left voice messages and three essays inside her inbox. In the first, I was surprised, worried; in the second, I was angry, every word was capitalized, I think; in the third I was remorseful, desperate, begging for closure. She did not reply, not even to one.
In hindsight, not because I had lost something wholly precious, but because again, I had failed at getting someone to love me.
The entire night, my tear stained face was fixated on my phone. I waited for her to come online, and she did, several times, but still she said nothing to me. I typed and deleted a lot more essays, blocked and unblocked her several times over, till in a desperate fit (because I did not want to obsess over something so clearly lost), I deleted my whatsapp.
I deleted my Instagram, my facebook, my twitter, everything that reminded me of her. Killing an online presence is in the end, way easier than killing yourself. I felt terrible as a person. Ugly, boring, repulsive. I knew I had driven her away. Wasn’t I always the one?
In the days that followed, I assessed myself as only I could. I wondered what it was about me that did it this time.
I was lonely. Before Kuukua, I had been lonelier.
Not getting any likes on Tinder is largely worse than being expressly rejected. There’s a whole lot of waiting, and then a sadness after you’re told, “I’m only here for hookups. 800 cedis for full night.”
You see, Kuukua had come as some sort of miracle. I had just finished Wolf of Wall Street, I was feeling extra confident and I shot my shot in her DMs – only the second time in my entire life. The first had turned my depression and insecurity all the way up. So much, I had sworn Never Again! But what’s never again to a lonely man?
She had been nice, laughed at my jokes, even asked some questions back so it wasn’t an interview. Things had gone on really well (from my perspective at least), and with every passing day, I came to crave her presence more, but, now that I think about it, she was around less. Maybe that is where the problem started.
Years ago, while doing my National Service, a colleague told me I had this compulsive habit of making every conversation about myself. He asked a few questions, and in the end concluded, I was the way I was because I was caged growing up. According to him, I lacked social interaction skills, which meant, I had no friends. Not having friends in turn meant there was this attention void – I felt invisible – so occasionally, when someone showed an interest in me, no matter how small, I “Oh my God I exist!” and pounced on it.
I wonder if that is why Kuukua left.
I swear I tried though. In every conversation, I had the reminder buzzing at the back of my mind- do not talk plenty, do not be selfish – turn the conversation around. The problem is, I heard the alarm, but I never really left the bed. The problem was, Kuukua didn’t talk much. Kuukua barely spoke at all. She was dodgy and secretive and well, I guess I panicked at the thought of this new thing folding as quickly as it had sprung up. So I tried too hard. Making conversation became talking about myself and now she’s gone.
And that is why Kuukua left. I am certain.
I really wanted her to like me though. I wanted to believe someone like me, could be with someone like her. Someone beautiful
I will probably die alone. There really is no hope for me.
What is this, that I spend all this time sharing my life with myself, hoping there was someone I could with, and then there is someone, but then I have to wait…follow some unspoken rule of engagement, measure the amount of me I share so the cup doesn’t run over.
But this is not about me, this is about why Kuukua left.
She left because of me.
Art Credit: Molood Mazaheri – A Selfish Man