Emboygo

There comes a time in one’s life where you just want to stop the hysteria, breathe and be as boring as possible.

That time for me is, oddly, now.

It coincides with this whole wedding era that my cohorts and I are facing. It no longer bothers me that every invitation I get says: “We have one seat available for you.” Not even a possibility of a plus one.

I’ve never been single. Every moment in my life has been defined by a love interest. I don’t go by decades; I remember things by remembering who my boyfriend was at a particular time. Every time I break up I go through a hysteric dating frenzy until I settle down with a beau for the moment. A pregnant pause, if you could call it that. Always looking for the next Mr. Right Now.

This time I’ve decided to fly solo. I’m no longer calling friends to set me up or going out like a lunatic to find a hottie. None of those single-girl histrionics. I’m on an official emboygo, as in no interest in the male gender until further notice.

I think what turned me off from dating was when I saw a gorgeous friend of mine parading around a club with jackal eyes for men. I swear she is the most amazing and funny woman ever, but sandwiched in-between two horrendous failed love affairs, something short-circuited in her. It seemed that instead of finding fulfillment in relationships, she started using them to find validity in herself. It’s a slippery slope for all us serial monogamists.

I wanted out before I got implanted with jackal eyes. It took months to actually get used to being single. As in really single: not just “in-between boyfriends” single, but being a committed single. Single as in no speed dating, romanticizing platonic friends as potential interests and mercy dating because you don’t want to be alone for the weekend.

It has been the most liberating thing.

I read all these self-help books in the past, which left me arguing silently with the author. The most reviled was the medieval classic, The Rules. I swear, Rules girls are creepy! They count dates like calories. They scare me and more so that they exist in the Obama 2008 era! Then sometimes it’s just a cluster@#$%. I was once reading He’s Just Not That Into You in a bookstore when the best friend of my crush du jour spotted me. Die. Another time I was looking for the book Why Men Marry Bitches just so I could roll my eyes at its manipulative tenor. When I asked the saleslady for it she screamed across the bookstore, “Hoy saan ang Why Men Marry Bitches? Gusto niya!” — pointing to a very embarrassed me.

So now I’m sticking to modern fiction.

Maybe there was a part of me that wanted an answer, too. A secret formula for lasting love. And I think I found it. And it’s not about being a bitch.

Do an emboygo. Just like fasting or meditating, nothing clears the mind like having nothing.

In this void, I fill my days with unromantic travel getaways, watching all the girly shows (alternating with cop and libido-calming law serials) I want and blasting Kylie in my house all day long.

I’m no longer stressed. I actually love being single. I always thought girls who said that were lying. Like how people with stomach viruses comfort themselves by saying that at least they’ll get thinner.

However, I can actually say it now, and it’s not such a bad thing.

So long, pregnant pauses filled with lofty expectations from insipid men. I love leaving for long weekends just like that with my homies. Not having to check in with anyone. Hibernating in my apartment, reading a good book with my phone on “Silent.” No one is calling, no one is waiting, no one is frantic, no one is going crazy. Time is my bitch and I love it.

For the longest time I always felt that having a guy was part of the “having it all” package. I was so busy trying to see what this man was like that somehow I managed to forget what I was like without a dude.

I would have thought that, at this time in my life, I would be more in a panic. I’m turning 30 next year and I’m still looking for my pacifier!

Seriously, the whole 30-something crisis thing is true. You question your career; now that you’re 30 it would seem risky or even irresponsible to start all over again. You question your romantic choices and more or less start bargaining over what you really deserve.

Somehow being on this emboygo has made me more relaxed about everything. When I go out at night I wear what I want, not what’s sexy or hot. I spend Saturday nights curled up watching movies with a gallon of ice cream. I wear this cologne that smells like a brownie with coconut frosting because it pleases me. I dance and dance all night because I don’t need to talk to nobody. I’ve been someone’s significant other for so long, I forgot how important it was to be alone. With zero agenda.

However crushing it may be, it is the challenge of every emboygee to refuse the slightest temptation. A cute boy asks me out and, of course, my Smythson diary remains as blank as my expression… just say no!

It’s the most powerful thing you can do during an emboygo. The moment you have to think about it — that’s when you know you’re not ready to get off the emboygo. Sure, you can lie to yourself and say you’re just hanging out as “friends.” But at this point in our lives we have all the friends that we need, so when said “friend” doesn’t call or alternately turns out to be lame or turns into a stalker, watch the ants in your brain gnaw into all your hard-earned serenity.

Just say no. It’ll save you from more than just boys!