I was sitting on the sticky pleather seats at Gate 9 in the John F. Kennedy airport awaiting my flight back to the motherland- AKA Rolly Colly.
Looking down at the woven carpet, I saw two well broken in sneakers stop in front of my chair. I looked up to see a quirky Indian man who struck up conversation in a nostalgically thick Queens accent. I watched long lashes blink over his chocolatey eyes as he spoke. His voice radiated with novelty charm, and his demeanor was laced with a boldness that made me uncomfortable.
Based on my appearance, I couldn’t believe he wanted to talk to me in the first place. I was sporting a rather flattering “Groutfit” (gray on gray outfit- considered a modern social indecency of the same level of disgrace as socks with sandals).I even had purple, exhaustion-induced bags under my eyes, which were accentuated by the mascara smeared under my lower lash line.
I nodded my head and tried to seem politely preoccupied so that he would stop making a pass at me. Finally he lowered himself into a chair not far from my own. I tried to ignore him while my hand scribbled cursive onto the crisp paper of my travel journal. I wanted to record my thoughts and feelings from my weekend at home before they escaped my mind.
The man turned to me after five minutes of silent observation, and struck up another conversation. He told me about his move to Orlando, how he’s getting his bachelor’s, that he lives near UCF. Thankfully, I heard the iconic ding (you know, the relieveing sound that means you can FINALLY board the plane). I broke eye contact with the man and watched the light above the “gate 106” door light up blue like a police siren. I wasted no time, clumsily throwing my backpack on and tugging on my suitcase as I fast-walked toward my place in line. Before I could get away, he caught me and insisted that he put his number in my phone. I obliged because I honestly just wanted the interaction to come to a close.
It was exciting to see how intrigued guys can be by a woman that is focusing on her work so intently, and not giving a second thought to the things going on around her. I write so much that journaling was just a way to pass the time before my flight. What I didn’t realize until then however, was that not many millennials or people in general sit down and write for their own personal enjoyment. Something about a young woman in a messy bun, headphones placed over her ears, frantically scribbling with paper and pen emits elements of mystery.
It invokes a childlike curiosity in men because they don’t usually see young women who are that focused on anything besides their phone. Phone’s serve as a barrier between us and the people around us, and honestly make it so much harder to meet guys. No one is going to walk up to you when you’re on your phone because it’s isolating. When you’re writing, it gives guys an easy conversation starter. All they have to say is “what’re you writing about” and they’ve started an effortless conversation. You can look cute, but this interaction proved that writing in public works just as well as wearing glasses for that nerdy-chic look. Writing really can be a guy magnet.
I don’t want to sound like I’m advising anyone to pretend they’re something they’re not or do something in a deliberate attempt to attract men; but if you happen to be a writer, and the old-fashioned type who keeps a diary on hand, don’t be surprised when the artsy metrosexual hybrids flock to you.
My plan this summer? Do my morning journaling in a coffee shop and grab a glass of wine alone at night, me and my journal. I can’t wait to see all the interesting people I meet.