The Opposite of Love Is Indifference

One of the worst things that could happen to you is falling in love with an idiot. But you are an idiot too, so it makes complete sense. Two idiots deserve each other. Unfortunately for humanity, once we fall in love, we gradually abandon all our built up defences and logical reasoning, and become complete and utter idiots. So to be human must really be a tragic predicament, because from the day we were born, we were fated to become idiots.

I can already see your thoughts travelling back to the time when love made you an idiot. You are probably even an idiot right now. Well, I hope you are at the very least, a happy idiot. It would be a terrible thing to be sad and an idiot at the same time. But you are an idiot, so I wouldn’t expect any less from you. Don’t worry though, this is a safe space. I, too, was once an idiot like you.

I am still reminded of the morning I woke up as a fresh idiot. I kept on playing back moments from the previous night, when we met for the first time. I was so happy. I called my friends, I wrote poems, I played all the love songs that had been collecting dust in my “when I fall in love” playlist.

Tragedy fell on a friday night when I had gone alone to the local cinema to watch a movie that I had been anticipating for the longest time. It was a movie that had romance in it, so it made perfect sense to go alone on a Friday night. And it wasn’t a blockbuster, so there weren’t much people in the theatre, which made me happy because I hate crowds. I went ahead to my ideal spot in movie theatres and there she was — not on my favorite spot, but a seat too close to it in such a way that if I had sat down on my favorite spot, I’d be sitting right next to her despite all that space in the theatre that night. So I compromised, and sat down on the seat right next to my favorite spot, so there was only a seat between us. It was still weird, but I wasn’t going to let anyone ruin my Friday night out.

The movie was shit. But it was shit in a way that was incredibly hilarious. And I don’t know if it was the sugar from the popcorn and soda, or the comfort we found in a space with few people in it, but we were both heckling at the characters in the movie the whole time, because the movie was just that terrible. Before we knew it, we were sharing laughs at the movie theatre. We were the only ones laughing, because we were the only ones that could see just how terrible the movie was. It showed we both had good taste in movies, and that made me interested in her. And then I began noticing how much I enjoyed hearing her laugh, which made me start thinking of appropriate jokes to make her laugh hard. Then there was this sad scene at the end of the movie we were watching that made me cringe a little, but then I looked at her, and she was totally immersed in that one scene. She looked like she was going to cry, and that made me hold back all the jokes I could have said for the rest of that crime against cinema.

After the movie — while I was still high on the sugar from popcorn and soda— I suggested we hanged out a little at the lobby of the cinema, and she agreed. I remember how it felt the first time I saw her face under brighter lights, and hearing Crimson and Clover play in my head. It felt straight out of a cringe romantic film from the 80s. Seeing her face under brighter lights made me wonder what such a beautiful girl was doing all alone watching a shitty movie on a Friday night. I am still tormented to this day by dreams inspired by moments we shared that night. We talked about movies we shared love for, debated at length on the size of Jennifer Lawrence’s butt, and had a mild disagreement on the quality of superhero movies — which somehow ended with both of us concluding that Andrew Garfield’s Spiderman was the best Spiderman. We also agreed that only tasteless assholes enjoyed modern action movies. I still have the selfies she took with my phone that night, and I still remember how she just wouldn’t stop making fun of my wallpaper (well, it was Adventure Time, so in retrospect, I don’t blame her). We ended the night screaming at the parking lot, and I remember taking advantage of all the fun we were having to hold her hand. I didn’t let go till her Uber came to pick her up. Even when I wanted to bring out my phone to collect her phone number, I still didn’t let go. But holding her hand made me extremely nervous while trying to type out her phone number with my only available hand. It made me realise that I was — at that moment — successfully woo-ing a pretty girl I had just met, and that made me feel a slight tension in my chest. While saving her number, I realised that we didn’t even know each other’s names the whole time, and then we laughed at the fact, and finally exchanged names. Her name happened to be the title of my favorite song from Badfinger — a Rock band from the 60s.

I held my breath as I watched her whisper a goodbye and got into the Uber (as we had now become sensitive to the silence of the parking lot). After I was done staring at her leave, I glanced at her contact on my phone and remembered a corny line from About Time; “I thought this phone was old, but it’s suddenly my most valuable possession.”

I woke up that saturday morning — unbeknownst to me — a fresh idiot. I couldn’t stop bouncing around my apartment, while repeatedly playing that unfortunate Badfinger song that had her name as the title. And like an idiot, I was filled with so much hope for the future, because I had just met someone who I had imagined to be “the rest of my life”.

I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer. I picked up my phone that evening and dialled her number. I wondered what I was going to say. My heart felt like it was trying to build enough momentum to jump out of its confinement. I was sweating. Suddenly, and out of nowhere, I panicked and ended the call before it started ringing or she could pick up, like the idiot I had become. That made me panic even more. There was so much on the line. The first phone call could lead to hundreds more, and possibly to hundreds of dates, and then possibly marriage — the reasoning of an idiot.

I managed to build enough confidence, after phone calls from friends asking for advice, and a couple of confidence-boosting pushups — like the idiot I was. I picked up the phone and rang again. I took a deep breath. And then a voice, the long awaited voice, responded in a deadpan tune — “the number you are calling has not been allocated.”

What?

That can’t be possible.

I checked the number and redialled.

The number you are calling has not been allocated

I tried different variations and combinations of that phone number — much to my disappointment that evening. I sank. I fell. I lost all appetite, and couldn’t sleep. I skipped church the next day. I couldn’t accept that the idiot looking back at me in the mirror, was me.

I became a regular at the cinema — making sure to go at least twice a week. During that period, I ended up watching a lot of movies I wouldn’t be caught dead watching back when I wasn’t an idiot. If you saw me in the wild during that time period, please don’t judge me, I didn’t have bad taste in film, I was just an idiot. I became good friends with the cashiers there, and had them keep an eye out for her (showing them the selfie she took with my phone). All attempts of finding her were unsuccessful.

Few months later, there was a new blockbuster action movie showing in the cinema. I knew it was going to be almost impossible to see her there, since she had good taste in movies, but I went anyways. I was getting desperate.

I got there early. I usually went early because I needed to be able to see everyone’s faces as they entered the theatre. My connections at the cinema helped me enter the theatre much earlier than the allocated time for the movie. As I sat there, I took careful looks at the faces of everyone who entered the place. She wasn’t among any of them. But at least, I was a bit relieved that she hadn’t become a tasteless asshole like the other assholes in the theatre that evening.

The movie ended, the lights came on, and I stood up to take my leave. As I turned to join the queue of tasteless assholes walking out, there she was… the one I was searching for… in the arms of a dude who looked like someone who was an asshole, and had no taste in movies. Not only did they tastelessly go to watch a blockbuster action movie together, they also got there late, and that was the reason why I had not seen her (she got there when the movie had already begun and the lights had been turned off). Our eyes met. She acted like she didn’t know me. The end.

I had to endure the laughter of my friends for the rest of the year. I had become a laughing stock, and rightfully so, because I was an idiot, and idiots deserve to be laughed at till they realise they are idiots, and hopefully stop being one.

So dear reader, you may be an idiot right now, but you are probably not as big an idiot as I once was. It would be too unfortunate if you are. That incident was the last time I displayed idiocy. I now live a cold empty life of indifference to human relationships. It is for the best that I am not involved. Do not take my words as such from the mouth of a traumatised one-time idiot, rather, take them as the musings of one who has grown to be exceptionally wise. One might say I have transcended human relationships, because I have seen enough of it to know better. On that note, I will leave you with this — it is better to die alone, than to die an idiot.