2. New Moons, Old Songs

The moon has a direct effect on tides, agricultural fields, and human energy. Some scientific studies show that when the moon is full, people experience a 30% decrease in sleep quality and an 89% higher chance of falling in love. Okay, I made up the last part.

The last New Moon was exactly a month ago — when I first met A.

On the 19th of January, exactly one day after my disappointing date with D., I got depressed. Let me tell you what I do when I get depressed: I put the blinds down, light a candle, queue up my Lana Del Rey and Sigur Rós playlist, tuck myself into bed, and cry for a couple of hours. After that, I start to feel the ridiculousness emerging from my soul, and I get up. I put on my Anitta and Reggaeton beats playlist and start to dance. And this is the trick: cry, feel sorry for yourself, carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, and think of yourself as the saddest, unluckiest person alive — but only for a couple of hours. Then it’s time to move on.

So, I installed Bumble. Oh no, I’m back on this shit again, I thought. What could go wrong? I wondered. A lot of things can go wrong, but when you’re feeling bored, that’s kind of appealing.

The thing about Bumble is that women have to initiate the conversation, which is a bummer. We go on these dating apps precisely to be chased and to get an ego boost, right?

I don’t swipe right on several types of men: the muscled gym bros, the woke existentialists, the animal lovers (hate fur on the floor), the “nice guys,” the CEO entrepreneurs, the well-traveled wanderers, and the insecure ones. And let me tell you, that doesn’t leave much. But we need to be selective.

A. managed to initiate a conversation with me — despite Bumble’s rules — by replying to one of my opening moves about reading a book by the fireplace. One of my favorite things. He asked if I knew Tomar and started talking about Templars and history. He was funny, smart, and kind. Interested. Different. Asking lots of questions and staying engaged in the conversation. I found him cute too — beautiful green eyes, an open smile, and not bald.

He remembers everything I say, lets me know when he’s busy, stays interested, and doesn’t let the conversation die. All green flags so far, right?

Meanwhile, I turned 32 on the 21st of January, and a few days later, he invited me to dinner.

My expectations weren’t let down. We always say we don’t have expectations, but we can never truly control them — and mine are hard to meet. First, because they’re my defense mechanism, and second, because people are frustratingly plain nowadays, and you can fit them all into a box. But A. doesn’t belong to any specific box. And that was the first thing I noticed we had in common.

We’re both Benfica fans (he’s fanatic), book lovers, old soft rock admirers, and suckers for a good guitar solo. We live nearby and have been in the same places for quite some time, though our paths never crossed.

We went to the movies a few days later and watched Bob Dylan’s biopic — brilliantly played by Timothée Chalamet. When I got home, I listened to almost all of Dylan’s music and shared that with A. That night, he said, “Sleep well, northern girl” — making a reference to Dylan’s and Johnny Cash’s classic Girl from the North Country.

I giggled. Oh fuck, why did I just giggle?

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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