After I wrapped up The Campaign to Find Myself, I found my way back into the dating world.

I met a few people through Hinge. Two stood out. But the one who left the strongest impression? A real-life crush I wasn’t even looking for. Here’s how it all unfolded.

One: Papaya

He seemed mature. Emotionally aware. We shared similar corporate backgrounds and a love for F1. Being a McLaren fan, he earned the moniker Papaya.

From our chats, he said I came across as full of life and passion, and that he had not been this excited in a hot minute.

Our first date went great. Conversation flowed. We talked about journaling, our New Year’s resolutions, and our relationships with “negative” emotions like anger – it got deep in the best way.

The second date, on the surface, seemed good, but something felt off. Over a shared plate of kunefe, I noticed moments where he seemed disengaged, distant. Then came a disclosure: he’d just gotten divorced about six months ago.

I asked, gently, how he knew he was ready to date seriously again. Six months didn’t feel like a long time. He said the emotional unraveling had started much earlier, and that he was working with three therapists to process it all. When he didn’t seem keen to continue that thread, I let it drop.

Despite the occasional lulls in the conversation, the date ended sweetly. He remembered I loved musicals and played Defying Gravity on the drive to the MRT. He encouraged me to perform my rendition of the song and I obliged – a nice, little moment of shared goofiness and joy. 

Then he disappeared.

Texting became sporadic. He ghosted mid-conversation for a week with no heads-up. When he resurfaced, he gave me… homework. “I feel like you didn’t smile enough on our dates. Try smiling more, one full minute every day.”

The old me would’ve twisted into a pretzel trying to be understanding, assume the best of him, and see it from his perspective.

This time round, I chose to balance understanding with being forthcoming. I told him that, while I believed he had good intentions, I was concerned that he chose to give homework over being curious. After all, we’d only had two dates. Shouldn’t he ask questions to check in on his assumptions and understand me better, rather than immediately diagnose and prescribe?  

To his credit, he apologised and explained that he’d only wanted to make me smile. He also admitted that he might not be ready for something serious after all. The gaps in communication and his disappearing act made more sense in retrospect.

We parted ways.

Still, I left feeling proud. I’d honoured my feelings, trusted my instincts, and held my boundaries with grace.

In my last relationship, I ignored all the signs. I worked overtime trying to convince both him and myself that we were right for each other – because we looked right on paper. I bent into shapes I didn’t recognise, all in the hope of being chosen.

This time, I asked: How do I feel when I’m with them? And that made all the difference.

Two: The One I Ghosted (Sorry)

He was a lawyer, wine connoisseur, and art enthusiast. An attentive, enthusiastic texter and full of initiative.

He sometimes sounded a little braggy, but I chalked it up to passion.

The truth, though? Now I was the unavailable one.

I took forever to reply. I cancelled our first date, then dragged my feet when it came to rescheduling. Eventually, our conversation fizzled out.

I don’t blame him, but that’s when I realised I was really tired of online dating. Of meeting strangers over and over again and hoping one of them sticks.

So, I deleted Hinge.

Enter: Mystery Man

When I first met Mystery Man a couple of years ago, I thought he was gay. (My gaydar? Not great.) But the more we hung out, the more I felt… something. Chemistry. Banter. That subtle tension where your stomach flips just a little.

We shared a similar sense of humour and teased each other a lot – well, he teased, I rolled my eyes. I’m usually quick with comebacks, but with him, I often found myself tongue-tied. So, I shot my shot. Texted him sometimes. Invited him to outings.

At some point, a mutual friend began teasing me about how Mystery Man and I would be a great match. He kept dropping Mystery Man’s name whenever the topic of dating came up. So I thought – maybe? 

When I brought it up with said mutual friend, he apologetically revealed that Mystery Man is in a relationship.

It stung, but I backed off. I took some distance and, after some time, focused on friendship instead.

Was I disappointed? Of course. I was quiet on the way home that night. A little sad.

But then strangely, out of nowhere, I felt lighter. Like a weight had lifted.

After years of trying to earn love, this is the year I can really focus on being myself and doing what I want. Not what I need to do to be in a relationship. Not trying to present the best, most dateable version of myself. 

If love happens, it happens. But I’m not chasing it. At least, not for now.

It’s also a bonus not having to wonder ‘what if…’ or worry about looking stupid in front of my crush anymore. No more nerves. No more going out of my way to see him when I could use some rest instead. I can just… be my silly, well-rested self. (Or at least as rested as my chaotic schedule allows.)

So, these days, I’ve been focusing on the things I love – work, friends, dance. I’m trying new things that my heart fancies. And making sure I get enough rest in between.

For instance, I got into baking sourdough bread from scratch. Me – who only learned to cook in my late 20s. Even then, I never thought I was the “baking type.” Turns out, I was wrong. I love it. The wonders of watching my starter turn into dough, holding shape and springing in the heat. The joy of tearing into a slice still warm from the oven. The texture. The smell. The taste.

I’m also dedicating more time to dancing. I block out time for solo practice, in addition to my regular classes and rehearsals with the two dance crews I’m in. I even started learning air steps – acrobatic moves that involve being lifted or flying through the air. Honestly? When I first picked up lindy hop after moving to Singapore, I found air steps awe-inspiring – but figured I was too old to ever leave the ground, literally. 

I didn’t grow up sporty. I never climbed monkey bars or cartwheeled in the playground. I was the kid who sat with a book; the teenager who got straight As and was the president of the student body. And now, in my 30s, I’m learning to handstand and get flung in the air? Wild.

And in the in-betweens, I’m reflecting. On what dance has taught me about my own psyche – how it brings me joy but can also stir anxiety. On why I’ve longed for romantic love so much. On how I feel now about the prospects of motherhood. (More on these another time.)

So, yeah, life is good. Sometimes I get sad, but mostly I’m happy. Sometimes I worry, but mostly I’m at peace. Sometimes I wish I had more control, but mostly I trust that I’ll figure things out – just like I always have.

To whoever’s reading, how are you doing? I’d love to hear from you.

Credits:

Images by Farmgirlmiriam, YFBI, StockSnap, JillWellington, Its_krtzr, Siddharth Bhogra