Oh God. Is it the 14th? Today? Is it? I know it’s February. It’s definitely February. I know this. But is it really the 14th?
I continue into the restaurant trying my best to convey an air of nonchalance. I put on a face that says, “Yes, I am by myself in a restaurant on Valentine’s Day. Yes, I am here. Yes, I do intend to eat. That I am alone perturbs me not one iota.”
Then I realise that’s quite a lot of information to put one one face but, I’m sure much like yourself, I don’t like to bail once I’ve committed to facial expression.
The truth is, it does perturb me and if I’m honest it perturbs me probably several iotas. More iotas than I care to count in fact. But I’m here now so I go in, take a seat at an empty table in the corner – a corner decimated with big red heart-shaped balloons, clinging as they are to the wall above my head. It was these decorations that tipped me off about this romance-saturated day.
There are couples scattered around at other tables, cooing into each other’s eyes in rapturous soul-matery. It’s at this moment, I consider leaving. I feel like I’m gate-crashing a party to which I’m not only not invited, but that I am expressly not wanted at.
But I have no other means of feeding myself. I am solo backpacking in Nicaragua, it’s late and food outlets are scarce so even if I leave now, I may struggle to find another source of sustenance. But really, it’s more than that.
I don’t want to admit that I care. I feel like possibly the loneliest human being our fair planet has ever had the misfortune of hosting at this moment but it’s of paramount importance to me that NOBODY know this.
Come on. Pull yourself together. Just because it feels like every couple in the room is simultaneously watching you, staring, judging and pitying you, it does not mean they are.
Look, over there. There’s another man by himself. Perhaps he’s made the same mistake as me. Perhaps I will go over and we will knowingly give each other a nod that acknowledges our shared predicament. I’ll pull out a chair, we’ll order some food, have a beer and laugh about all the… I end my thought there as his girlfriend/wife/life partner comes back from the bathroom and rejoins him at the table.
Never mind. I am able to shake this off as the middle-aged lady working there finally comes over and shows me a list of what they have on the menu tonight. I order quickly and ensure I ask for a beer as well – a tactical master stroke.
My beer is brought to me almost immediately and now I have something to focus on. The beer bottle is the most fascinating item I’ve ever encountered. I read the label, sip it slowly and make sure at no point I raise my eyes to meet the gaze of the rest of the room.
I begin to wonder why this situation makes me feel so uncomfortable. I am a solo backpacker, it’s how I travel, that’s the type of traveller I’ve opted to be. I’ve eaten alone dozens and dozens of times without feeling self-conscious or uncomfortable. Bloody Valentine’s Day. Perhaps I’m not as suited to this style of travelling as I like to think.
Sure, I meet people all time at hostels and bars and we laugh and have fun and go out dining together. Maybe I’m bothered because it’s never in a romantic sense? After all, that’s the only thing that makes tonight different.
Maybe I should cut my trip short, pack my bag, go home, phone the Samaritans, undergo intense psychological therapy in order to bring myself out the deepest of depressions that will surely follow this gargantuan episode of isolation.
I force myself to look up. What are they doing? Are they mocking me? They’re waving at me. Aren’t they? They’re beckoning me over! They want me to join them! Oh, the relief! The elation! I am wanted! I won’t have to leave early, listen to Morrissey songs and spend the next few years contemplating my very existence after all.
I stand up and walk over to their table where the two girls and the guy remain seated and present me nothing but welcoming smiles.
“We were waving at you for ages to come over. Are you alone?”
“Yes”, I say. “And thank you.”
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