A port where everything goes south
Now when I started out this blog, I thought I would fill it up right away with anecdotes and quirky stories about my family. And that's still my intention. But lately I have this feeling, of being like a kettle left on for too long or a pressure cooker with the valve about to burst. This has been a year full of change for me.
Three months ago I decided to accept a job offer in England and move here for the first time in my life. And I say for the first time meaning I never visited the UK before and also because I have lived previously in 2 other countries other than Mexico, where I was born. So anyway, I moved here, to a place an hour north of Liverpool and west of Manchester called Southport in the county of Merseyside.
The town itself if beautiful architecturally speaking, with a wide main street with arched shops on one side and a gardens on the other. Nicely arranged gardens and the promenade are a few of it's famous features, Google it, it's quite interesting. But structural beauty of it aside, Southport sucks. Or at least for me it does. It's not my personal judgement, it's my personal feeling rather, based on how it has affected me and how I feel since I arrived.
You see I'm a gay man who recently (a month ago, get over it) turned 33. I'm also from a vast city and I have a very diverse group of friends, some of whom I met on a daily basis, others rarely got to see but spoke to often online. Social outings and things to do were a common thing for me living in Mexico city. A regular night of role playing games and drinks with my friends was part of my favorite rituals. But here is different you see, because I do not have anyone, friends or family, that lives in the UK.
But you could say (you my imaginary reader), hey Alvar, why haven't you gone out and tried to make friends huh? Well I have, and not only that I am constantly on Grindr looking for friends and fun, British slang for hookups. And I have met people. And there is where my frustration lies. I started meeting guys and went to have coffee with them. But dear God, are they fucked up in this town. Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure I haven't met all of them, but you know it's a small town and the LGBT+ section of it cannot be too big, and so far I have met a decent number of them.
One of the first people I met was this guy called Dave, who was a 60 year old widower who's partner had died 2 or 3 years ago. From the beginning Dave was positively impressed with my usage of the English language. He also commented on how stupidly handsome he thought I was. I, not listening to my better judgement, decided to just take all the praise and keep being "friends" with him, not realizing the feeling I was going to fester in him later on.
Now around that time I also met another guy, on the app whom I also had seen was a member of the amateur photographers group in Southport in Facebook. This other fella, Kevin, lived close but in another town, about 15 minutes by car and was around 30 years of age. When we finally met face to face I decided to cook a picnic for the two of us since we were going to the beach to enjoy an air show held annually here as part of the summer holiday celebrations. We had a great time and Kevin seemed excited, because as I had learned, his life dream was to get perfect at Spanish and then visit Colombia on his own. I thought I had found myself a real good friend who would be compelled to meet often so he could practice Spanish, but boy was I wrong, more on that later though.
So by now I had this friendship with Dave and Kevin, meeting very often with Dave to visit different landmarks in Southport and sometimes going back to his place to chat over coffee and when he insisted vehemently a cup of white wine, which I wouldn't mind every now and then, but I'm not fond of drinking, let alone on weekdays, I'm very anal about my job. But I'm digressing, I had these two friends, but greedy little me wanted more, so I decided to meet a couple of Polish guys who where friends and wanted to convene for coffee downtown at the same time. We had what I though was a nice time, talking for 4 hours while having coffee walking around the town and finally going back to the apartment of one of them for a final cup of coffee, after which we agreed on meeting again soon.
It was a little less than a month before my birthday, July the 24th, and I was excited, I thought, I might not have to spend this year's birthday on my own. I had this trip planned for the 27th to London to do some paperwork at the Spanish consulate, and I let Dave know, because his birthday party was the 27th's evening. He was upset that I might not make it back on time for his party but we agreed I would get back by train and arrive by taxi.
One Friday, I had a review meeting with my employers, who had brought up a couple of things they were not happy or satisfied with. So I told Dave we could not meet that afternoon and that I would inform him of how it went since I was a little nervous. One of my employers was getting home late and I had to wait for him, and we first decided to have dinner together to hold the meeting afterwards. By 8 p.m, we were starting the freaking meeting, and Dave was calling and messaging me like a nut case. He apparently was worried I was going to be sacked so worried the thought I was going to be sent back to Mexico that same day. My employers were not happy, obviously, and asked me to turn my phone off, which I did. By the time I was done he had called and left several messages on my phone. I sent him a message explaining to him it went well and that I would call him later. To my surprise, the next day one of my employers knocked the door to my living quarters and told me with a puzzled look on his face there was someone asking for me at the gates.
Dave had decided to show up unannounced to the place where I live and work, out of concern I was told. Needles to say I had full blown Latino moment and yelled at him in his car outside the house and gave him an ultimatum, to never show up to my place of employment and jeopardize my position, or I would stop seeing him completely. He understood, and on Monday, as an apology, he picked me up and without any warning took me to have dinner with him looking like a slob. I have to say it was uncomfortable since even thou I was still mad I appreciated the gesture, but I also did not like being ambushed and having to go dressed like that to a reservation for dinner. But we moved on...
One day we had this conversation about HIV and he dint not have a lot of information. At all. And after hearing all his adventuring and explorations after his partner's death, as an HIV positive man myself, I recommended him to get tested and start doing it periodically. So we went, got his blood drawn and were told to wait until Friday for his results. That week was long for him, he was freaking out. It got to a point where he was messaging me constantly about it, And at the beginning I was empathetic to him. But this started to get on my nerves, I live with this virus, I told him, it's not going to "ruin your life", it is a manageable situation at worst, specially in this country. But he kept worrying himself sick and trying to get me as worried as he was. Friday came and nobody at the clinic picked the phone and by the time I suggested to show up there, they were gone. So, he was going to have to wait until Monday. I told him there was nothing we could do and that he shouldn't worry, knowing the NHS, if the results were worrisome they would have attempted to call him.
That weekend I message Dave and told him to hold on since I was asked by my employers to socialize with their younger friends in an attempt to help me make young gay friends and integrate me to their external social circle. He said he was ok with it, I told him we would meet later Sunday or Monday for his results. But later on he caved in and started messaging me and calling, he wanted, nay, demanded my emotional support. But I was not up for it, I wanted the crumbs of social life I was getting and I also did not want to deal with his feelings regarding HIV, since they made me feel judged about my personal status. He threw a fit and started to get increasingly desperate. I could notice and decided to avoid him and let him cool off. By Monday evening he dropped a letter on our mailbox, where he attacked me and insulted me, saying I only used him and that I was selfish. So I messaged him, but he was being irrational and called me a gigolo who only wanted a sugar daddy. And that's for me when he crossed my mental line, that line in the sand I give to everyone that when crossed I don't give a fuck anymore about you, I just cut you off and say my goodbyes, I don't even get angry anymore.
And I did, cut him off that is. I destroyed the letter and blocked him from messaging or calling me. Two days later a bottle of my favorite perfume was dropped along an "apology" letter in the mailbox. I destroyed the letter unread and out the perfume along with everything he gave me as a present inside a plastic bag and walked all the way to where we works and dropped it in there along a handwritten letter stating my desire to be left alone and not hear about him anymore. I did not feel sorry or called him ever since. He has attempted changing profiles on Grindr but I block him. I obviously missed his birthday party and don'r care.
And that brings me to how I ended up spending my 33rd birthday on my own myself. Now Kevin you see, the other fella, had not called me at all since the picnic, a month had gone by and every time I asked if he would come to town he cited the price of petrol as an excuse to not come down here. So I suggested I would chip in and pay for part of it, he very dignified refused. But I saw his Instagram, he was coming every week, 3 or 4 days a week, meeting friends for coffee and taking photos. It's not he was not coming to town, he just did not want to hang out with me. He had told me the day after the picnic he felt he missed a chance to kiss me, to which I replied next time he could, just to consider I was not after a serious relationship so soon after moving here but we could get to hang out and cuddle even. So this behavior seemed weird to me. Anyways, I messaged him on the Friday before my birthday, and was told he would call me Sunday, Sunday he told me he would call Monday and then Monday he told me he would call Tuesday, my birthday. But the only thing I got that day were my presents from my employers, text messages from mexico and his lousy Instagram comment on my birthday picture. That was it. No apology for not messaging earlier or anything.
I felt sad and lonely by then. So the next day after one of my most depressing birthdays, I asked him on Instagram what had happened, not before deleting him from Facebook cause I don't see the point bu then, to which he replied that, he just recently became single and he was enjoying his freedom for the first time in a while and just wanted to see some friends he had nos seen in a while. Besides how was he supposed to know it was my birthday, he said defensively, and anyways why would I care, he could see I deleted him from my social media anyways, so he hope "all my dreams would come true" and best wishes. So yeah that's how you treat someone who cooks for you the day you meet them face to face right? by forgetting their birthday and shitting on them for asking for an explanation.
That's not nearly all that has happened to me here, but its a huge factor. I don't have anyone to talk to about this, being on a different time zone means I don't get to write my friends when they're awake and vice versa. So here it is, in my private big pile of rubbish, where I guess no one will read it but it makes me feel better of my chest.
I'm hoping to move from here in a couple years with money saved in the bank. I don't have any hope left for making friends here. More on why later, keep reading, imaginary readers, I'll keep writing for the 23rd century anthropologist reading me now.
Three months ago I decided to accept a job offer in England and move here for the first time in my life. And I say for the first time meaning I never visited the UK before and also because I have lived previously in 2 other countries other than Mexico, where I was born. So anyway, I moved here, to a place an hour north of Liverpool and west of Manchester called Southport in the county of Merseyside.
The town itself if beautiful architecturally speaking, with a wide main street with arched shops on one side and a gardens on the other. Nicely arranged gardens and the promenade are a few of it's famous features, Google it, it's quite interesting. But structural beauty of it aside, Southport sucks. Or at least for me it does. It's not my personal judgement, it's my personal feeling rather, based on how it has affected me and how I feel since I arrived.
You see I'm a gay man who recently (a month ago, get over it) turned 33. I'm also from a vast city and I have a very diverse group of friends, some of whom I met on a daily basis, others rarely got to see but spoke to often online. Social outings and things to do were a common thing for me living in Mexico city. A regular night of role playing games and drinks with my friends was part of my favorite rituals. But here is different you see, because I do not have anyone, friends or family, that lives in the UK.
But you could say (you my imaginary reader), hey Alvar, why haven't you gone out and tried to make friends huh? Well I have, and not only that I am constantly on Grindr looking for friends and fun, British slang for hookups. And I have met people. And there is where my frustration lies. I started meeting guys and went to have coffee with them. But dear God, are they fucked up in this town. Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure I haven't met all of them, but you know it's a small town and the LGBT+ section of it cannot be too big, and so far I have met a decent number of them.
One of the first people I met was this guy called Dave, who was a 60 year old widower who's partner had died 2 or 3 years ago. From the beginning Dave was positively impressed with my usage of the English language. He also commented on how stupidly handsome he thought I was. I, not listening to my better judgement, decided to just take all the praise and keep being "friends" with him, not realizing the feeling I was going to fester in him later on.
Now around that time I also met another guy, on the app whom I also had seen was a member of the amateur photographers group in Southport in Facebook. This other fella, Kevin, lived close but in another town, about 15 minutes by car and was around 30 years of age. When we finally met face to face I decided to cook a picnic for the two of us since we were going to the beach to enjoy an air show held annually here as part of the summer holiday celebrations. We had a great time and Kevin seemed excited, because as I had learned, his life dream was to get perfect at Spanish and then visit Colombia on his own. I thought I had found myself a real good friend who would be compelled to meet often so he could practice Spanish, but boy was I wrong, more on that later though.
So by now I had this friendship with Dave and Kevin, meeting very often with Dave to visit different landmarks in Southport and sometimes going back to his place to chat over coffee and when he insisted vehemently a cup of white wine, which I wouldn't mind every now and then, but I'm not fond of drinking, let alone on weekdays, I'm very anal about my job. But I'm digressing, I had these two friends, but greedy little me wanted more, so I decided to meet a couple of Polish guys who where friends and wanted to convene for coffee downtown at the same time. We had what I though was a nice time, talking for 4 hours while having coffee walking around the town and finally going back to the apartment of one of them for a final cup of coffee, after which we agreed on meeting again soon.
It was a little less than a month before my birthday, July the 24th, and I was excited, I thought, I might not have to spend this year's birthday on my own. I had this trip planned for the 27th to London to do some paperwork at the Spanish consulate, and I let Dave know, because his birthday party was the 27th's evening. He was upset that I might not make it back on time for his party but we agreed I would get back by train and arrive by taxi.
One Friday, I had a review meeting with my employers, who had brought up a couple of things they were not happy or satisfied with. So I told Dave we could not meet that afternoon and that I would inform him of how it went since I was a little nervous. One of my employers was getting home late and I had to wait for him, and we first decided to have dinner together to hold the meeting afterwards. By 8 p.m, we were starting the freaking meeting, and Dave was calling and messaging me like a nut case. He apparently was worried I was going to be sacked so worried the thought I was going to be sent back to Mexico that same day. My employers were not happy, obviously, and asked me to turn my phone off, which I did. By the time I was done he had called and left several messages on my phone. I sent him a message explaining to him it went well and that I would call him later. To my surprise, the next day one of my employers knocked the door to my living quarters and told me with a puzzled look on his face there was someone asking for me at the gates.
Dave had decided to show up unannounced to the place where I live and work, out of concern I was told. Needles to say I had full blown Latino moment and yelled at him in his car outside the house and gave him an ultimatum, to never show up to my place of employment and jeopardize my position, or I would stop seeing him completely. He understood, and on Monday, as an apology, he picked me up and without any warning took me to have dinner with him looking like a slob. I have to say it was uncomfortable since even thou I was still mad I appreciated the gesture, but I also did not like being ambushed and having to go dressed like that to a reservation for dinner. But we moved on...
One day we had this conversation about HIV and he dint not have a lot of information. At all. And after hearing all his adventuring and explorations after his partner's death, as an HIV positive man myself, I recommended him to get tested and start doing it periodically. So we went, got his blood drawn and were told to wait until Friday for his results. That week was long for him, he was freaking out. It got to a point where he was messaging me constantly about it, And at the beginning I was empathetic to him. But this started to get on my nerves, I live with this virus, I told him, it's not going to "ruin your life", it is a manageable situation at worst, specially in this country. But he kept worrying himself sick and trying to get me as worried as he was. Friday came and nobody at the clinic picked the phone and by the time I suggested to show up there, they were gone. So, he was going to have to wait until Monday. I told him there was nothing we could do and that he shouldn't worry, knowing the NHS, if the results were worrisome they would have attempted to call him.
That weekend I message Dave and told him to hold on since I was asked by my employers to socialize with their younger friends in an attempt to help me make young gay friends and integrate me to their external social circle. He said he was ok with it, I told him we would meet later Sunday or Monday for his results. But later on he caved in and started messaging me and calling, he wanted, nay, demanded my emotional support. But I was not up for it, I wanted the crumbs of social life I was getting and I also did not want to deal with his feelings regarding HIV, since they made me feel judged about my personal status. He threw a fit and started to get increasingly desperate. I could notice and decided to avoid him and let him cool off. By Monday evening he dropped a letter on our mailbox, where he attacked me and insulted me, saying I only used him and that I was selfish. So I messaged him, but he was being irrational and called me a gigolo who only wanted a sugar daddy. And that's for me when he crossed my mental line, that line in the sand I give to everyone that when crossed I don't give a fuck anymore about you, I just cut you off and say my goodbyes, I don't even get angry anymore.
And I did, cut him off that is. I destroyed the letter and blocked him from messaging or calling me. Two days later a bottle of my favorite perfume was dropped along an "apology" letter in the mailbox. I destroyed the letter unread and out the perfume along with everything he gave me as a present inside a plastic bag and walked all the way to where we works and dropped it in there along a handwritten letter stating my desire to be left alone and not hear about him anymore. I did not feel sorry or called him ever since. He has attempted changing profiles on Grindr but I block him. I obviously missed his birthday party and don'r care.
And that brings me to how I ended up spending my 33rd birthday on my own myself. Now Kevin you see, the other fella, had not called me at all since the picnic, a month had gone by and every time I asked if he would come to town he cited the price of petrol as an excuse to not come down here. So I suggested I would chip in and pay for part of it, he very dignified refused. But I saw his Instagram, he was coming every week, 3 or 4 days a week, meeting friends for coffee and taking photos. It's not he was not coming to town, he just did not want to hang out with me. He had told me the day after the picnic he felt he missed a chance to kiss me, to which I replied next time he could, just to consider I was not after a serious relationship so soon after moving here but we could get to hang out and cuddle even. So this behavior seemed weird to me. Anyways, I messaged him on the Friday before my birthday, and was told he would call me Sunday, Sunday he told me he would call Monday and then Monday he told me he would call Tuesday, my birthday. But the only thing I got that day were my presents from my employers, text messages from mexico and his lousy Instagram comment on my birthday picture. That was it. No apology for not messaging earlier or anything.
I felt sad and lonely by then. So the next day after one of my most depressing birthdays, I asked him on Instagram what had happened, not before deleting him from Facebook cause I don't see the point bu then, to which he replied that, he just recently became single and he was enjoying his freedom for the first time in a while and just wanted to see some friends he had nos seen in a while. Besides how was he supposed to know it was my birthday, he said defensively, and anyways why would I care, he could see I deleted him from my social media anyways, so he hope "all my dreams would come true" and best wishes. So yeah that's how you treat someone who cooks for you the day you meet them face to face right? by forgetting their birthday and shitting on them for asking for an explanation.
That's not nearly all that has happened to me here, but its a huge factor. I don't have anyone to talk to about this, being on a different time zone means I don't get to write my friends when they're awake and vice versa. So here it is, in my private big pile of rubbish, where I guess no one will read it but it makes me feel better of my chest.
I'm hoping to move from here in a couple years with money saved in the bank. I don't have any hope left for making friends here. More on why later, keep reading, imaginary readers, I'll keep writing for the 23rd century anthropologist reading me now.
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