Sexo&Cidade

For those born in the 1990s until the mid-2000s, romance was introduced as an essential part of human existence. It was expected that on an ordinary day, when you leave home, someone would cross your path and change your life forever. This event would bring not only matter but meaning to your story. The emotions and feelings the other person would evoke in you would be so unique as to become disturbing. Challenges and adversities would come their way, but you’d fight until the end. True love requires overcoming obstacles and effort. The reward for the battle is to live happily ever after.

Thirty years later, daily life has changed, and new issues have been introduced into people’s lives, distancing humanity from past decades’ concepts. The old relationship model proved flawed, and romantic love seems nothing more than a Hollywoodian construction. Suddenly, the term “soulmate” became tacky, and saying you would change your life for someone turned into toxic behaviour.

Currently, romance has given way to practicality. Passion has been replaced by the opportunity to share expenses. Romantic relationships have been demoted to any other type of interpersonal interaction. Marriage has become a civil union, and the significant other must deal with their own problems.

Not contrasting from the modern way of living, São Paulo also opts for practicality. In a city inhabited by millions of people, simplification is a word that never leaves the vocabulary. Even with its chaotic behaviour, it continually creates ways to shorten the time, improve access, and transform any empty piece into a building with hundreds of 42m2 apartments.

Far from living a pragmatic day, I faced a late spring rain that left me no choice but to run to a nearby establishment and wait for the storm to pass. With little choice, I stopped at a coffee shop on Haddock Lobo Street with Avenida Paulista. As you can imagine, any Iced coffee there would cost at least fifteen reais, but I had no choice but to get it or be soaked in the hail.

After regretting spending so much on such a delicious drink, I realised all the tables were occupied. I approached the nearest table and inquired if the seat was taken. The man, carried aback by my approach, gestured for me to sit.

I was unsure if it was my audacity or the disruption of thoughts I caused in the person sharing the table, but the stranger was confused at seeing me seated there. To break the awkward atmosphere, I told him about my dissatisfaction with buying expensive coffee to escape the rain. A little embarrassed, he responded with another question.

A few random questions led us to more personal ones that evolved into a complex dialogue. In less than an hour, the stranger and I discussed how divorce had become the emancipation letter for Generation X. Upon realising we didn’t have much of an age gap, we pondered the expectations for the future of relationships. Both impressions of love have no right or wrong, yet he seemed less optimistic about believing there is a right person for everyone on the planet, while I remained firm in my convictions.

Still willing to hear what the stranger had to say, I inquired what had made him so blasé about romance. He paused to gather his thoughts, and without hesitation, he said that the love I was seeking so much to have would keep me away from meeting people who could offer me the real.

We left the coffee shop together once we noticed the rain had stopped. We exchanged contacts, and the stranger mentioned that whenever I feel I need to get grounded,  I just had to send him a message.

After walking a few blocks, what the stranger told me remained in my mind. Has this idealisation of a perfect match robbed me of the chance to experience things as they are? Believing there is someone compatible only keeps me from wanting to build something with someone. Or worse, had I thrown away what could have potentially been a good relationship? I might have saved myself from the rain that afternoon, but not from the cold water that stranger threw at me.

*

Days passed, and Rebeca was heading to Rio de Janeiro. Since there was no expectation of when we would see each other again, I arranged to meet her at the IMS. The Instituto Moreira Salles is a cultural centre located on Paulista Avenue that offers three floors of art exhibitions, a cinema, a library, and a perfect restaurant. It was inaugurated a few years ago, but I keep going there.

Realising I was over an hour late and far from the place, I messaged Rebeca, asking if we could just have a coffee since our time would be short. Living in São Paulo has a detail that often goes unnoticed, but it’s common for a twenty-minute journey to turn into over an hour.

Still stuck in traffic, I received a message on my phone—it could only be Rebeca. But when I unlocked the screen, I was surprised. A few weeks ago, I had met Rodrigo at a random party. At first sight, I hadn’t noticed him, but as I was preparing to leave, he approached and asked why I was going so early. Unable to say the reason, I kissed him in an attempt to save the night. What I didn’t expect was that he would text me so many days after we met.

Curious to know what he had to say, I replied, and he informed me that he was in the city for a day and asked me if I wanted to meet later that evening. I wondered if it was Mercury Retrograde or the convenience of having company for the night. But the stranger’s words from the café echoed in my mind. This time, I would allow life to show me things as they are. I agreed to meet him later but with the condition that it had to be nearby. Fortunately, he had rented an Airbnb 15 minutes away.

Upon finally meeting Rebeca, I apologised for the delay, and she understood, mentioning how she sometimes missed the craziness of living in a metropolis. We talked for a few hours, and as time passed, I wondered why she didn’t move here permanently. Our group had its ebbs and flows, and I knew I was part of that movement, but now it was different—we were more mature, and the illusion of finding a perfect place no longer existed.

Later, I decided to walk towards my meeting. I chose not to return home as it was close by. Once I arrived, I noticed Rodrigo was already in the lobby. When I saw him, I realised he was still in his work clothing, making me feel more at ease.

Rodrigo is a tall guy who works in finance and has a personality somewhat opposite to mine. He values calm days and chooses a quieter life, whereas I couldn’t imagine myself outside a big city. While he makes more mindful choices and reads Russian authors, I still struggle with my credit card and subscribe to Elle View.

Clearly, we weren’t compatible, but it was amusing how we always tried to find a middle ground for such opposing views. Rodrigo finds me funny, and I appreciate that he didn’t let the conversation end. All the interaction led things to another level, and that part surprised me.

The following day, I didn’t have to worry about the walk of shame as he drove me back home. I couldn’t recall the last time I felt like an adult could take care of me, but at that moment, I felt protected. I had fun and felt good. It wasn’t as if fireworks were bursting out of my chest or as if something extraordinary had happened. The feeling was normal. No masks, no camouflage, no faking. I felt like myself and knew I had been 100% me all the time.

Upon opening the door at home, I texted Murilo:

“I think I’m ready to come down to earth… When are you free for another coffee?”

A.M.