It\u2019s a balmy late summer evening in New York \u2013 or let’s say Braunschweig \u2013 when I suddenly find myself in a situation so bizarre that it could have almost been romantic… if it weren\u2019t for the question of trust and a blind date looming over everything.<\/p>\n
It all starts with a photo. A harmless photo, taken in front of the magnificent Sultan Qaboos Mosque in Oman \u2013 an exotic place where dreams and distant adventures seem to hang in the air. I didn\u2019t think much of it when I came across it on a dating profile. But my curiosity was piqued. How could I have known that this picture would trigger more than just a simple, “Hey, cool photo!”?<\/p>\n
\u201cSend me another picture,\u201d he says. His name is Frank. \u201cI can hardly see you in the photo.\u201d<\/p>\n
At that moment, I could practically hear Carrie Bradshaw saying, \u201cBad lighting or bad character?\u201d I chose to believe the former. Even so, I had absolutely no desire to send him another photo. Not by SMS, not by WhatsApp. I mean, who really knows who\u2019s on the other end of social media, and what happens to the picture afterward?<\/p>\n
“This won\u2019t work between us,” Frank writes, upping the ante with, “You need to trust me.”<\/p>\n
Trust? The word rings in my ears like an unfulfilled contract. Frank, who barely knows me from a brief chat, expects trust? Trust doesn\u2019t come from a photo, I thought. Trust is built through… well, everything else.<\/p>\n
“Or then a blind date,” he writes suddenly when I remain silent. It sounds almost desperate, as if he\u2019s given up on photos and on my spontaneous enthusiasm.<\/p>\n
“Three things don\u2019t come back,” I reply wisely, almost like an Arabic proverb you’d find on a Pinterest board: “the spoken word, the shot arrow, and the missed opportunity.”<\/p>\n
With that, I thought I had elegantly closed the matter.<\/p>\n
But as in every good drama \u2013 and Frank seemed to know this intuitively \u2013 two weeks later, a message came out of nowhere: “Good evening and best wishes to BS.”<\/p>\n
I can\u2019t help but smile. Two weeks of silence, and now this? It seemed like, in Frank\u2019s world, I had just been waiting for him to pop back up. Sometimes men\u2019s hearts are hard to decipher\u2026 or maybe just hard to get the message.<\/p>\n
“Do you still have hope?” I ask, amused.<\/p>\n
“Yes… you should never give up hope!!!” comes the reply. Three exclamation marks. Three!<\/p>\n
Like a sailor who never quite left the shore, Frank was trying again. And as I pondered his brave persistence, I remembered another dating truth: “Exotic places and exotic conversations don\u2019t always go hand in hand.”<\/p>\n
I offer him a walk. A chance. B\u00fcrgerpark, 3 p.m., meet in front of a hotel. Simple, straightforward, or so I thought.<\/p>\n
But Frank had other plans. “Sorry, I can\u2019t this week. Maybe next week?”<\/p>\n
Maybe. A word that floats between hope and resignation in the dating world. And while he reassured me he \u201cwasn\u2019t at the dentist\u201d \u2013 which, frankly, I had never questioned \u2013 I decided this whole situation felt more like a failed mountain-climbing trip. Not because I was particularly eager to reach the summit of getting to know him, but because I wondered how many \u201cnext weeks\u201d there would be.<\/p>\n
And then, in a final act of self-awareness, came his ultimate message: “I need a woman, not a mountain climber.”<\/p>\n
Well, Frank. I\u2019m not a mountain climber. But I do know this: sometimes the biggest mountain to climb is learning to accept a simple \u201cno.\u201d<\/p>\n
As Carrie Bradshaw would say: \u201cSometimes the greatest adventures are the ones you never take.\u201d<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It\u2019s a balmy late summer evening in New York \u2013 or let’s say Braunschweig \u2013 when I suddenly find myself in a situation so bizarre that it could have almost been romantic… if it weren\u2019t for the question of trust and a blind date looming over everything. It all starts with a photo. A harmless photo, taken in front of<\/p>\n