When Selective Men Reject Women

Being a writer and drummer living the free Bohemian life on the beach sure has its perks. Being single in your late 30s in Los Angeles breeds even more options while widening your horizons. However, at some point in our lives we find that our priorities regarding dating and sex begin to change. It usually happens gradually, without one noticing.

After Why I Choose to Remain a Non-Dad for Now — Reflections on Being Childless, the following is another related topic which is based on personal experience, mine and others’.


Like all men, every now and then I have “guys talks”. Whether it’s an old friend, a neighbour, or at the drum circle, I’m often asked: So what happened with that girl/woman from last time? In some cases, I explain to them that [she] was interested to go back to my place, but I wasn’t; so I just left and went back home… alone. 



Now, almost every time I share this reoccurring happening I get weird looks from the guys. It’s like their eyes are speaking to me in a familiar macho language: How could you pass up such a chance? Who does that? You could have called me, you know, and I would have been happy to serve.



Looking back at my life and how guys talks go, one can confidently say that these reactions are actually quite universal throughout the masculine world, especially for single men. And one day I too may have been like that. In fact, during my teenage years I dated the first few girlfriends because they liked me, because they were available.

Later when sex was involved, it was also the female’s choice to agree or not to sleep with me. If that wasn’t the case, it would be called harassment or even rape and I would be in deep trouble. So just like the animal world, when it comes to the domain of flirting and sex it is usually the man who makes the first move while the woman is the one who gets to choose.

 As an evolutionary trait, it’s how things work since women invest more in their offspring.

Sometimes, however, things go the other way round; and it’s the woman who makes the first move. Perhaps in the light of the gender equality wave, this is happening more frequently nowadays.

Personally, I am no longer interested in sharing my time or energy with someone just because they happen to like me. It’s inconceivable to like everyone who like us, simply because “attractiveness standards” is a real thing. If there is no chemistry — be it physical, emotional, or mental connection — it’s better not to get into it. 

I had always been somewhat picky, yet I still used to listen to my penis-brain. Now with maturity one is more in control of that lower brain and urges, which tends to make you even more selective.  

The reality is, during sex there is a merge of energies between the partners. The intimacy makes this transference contagious. If they have positive energy you will feel uplifted afterwards; if it’s negative, you may feel weird for having ‘borrowed’ an energy which doesn’t vibrate with yours. When you’re in touch with your inner workings, you will be able to sense these chemical reactions and it would be almost impossible to disregard them. 

As such, it’s best to connect first before getting into bed. This is not to say that going wild every now and then at a party or with a random lustful stranger(s), or even getting a sensual massage, isn’t fun or worth the experience. But when it gets to everyday dating and building relationships, this is the approach I have been following: Seduce my mind and I’m yours. Despite having to occasionally deal with some women’s catty attitudes, this is how I am true to myself and to them. It’s actually how I virtuously bought my head when it comes to dating and sex. And it’s been working great ever since. 



As for the urges, masturbation could be way more fulfilling than sharing one’s energy and feeling awkward right after. Self-love is healthy and has many benefits. Besides, if you can’t love yourself, you won’t have the capacity to love others. In sexual terms, if you do not enjoy satisfying yourself, you will likely find it hard to satisfy others, or to enjoy sex in general. More about the topic can be found in the recent What’s the Story with Blue Balls (and Blue Vulva). 


That said, while females hitting on males may be a rarer event, it still happens to some. When, then, they are turned down because there is no attraction, sometimes they take the rejection personal and not too well. Even though I habitually make sure to do it nicely and politely, you can still sense a certain degree of hostility, often coupled with confusion. While with some we remain friends, others we rarely, if ever see each other again. Because in some cases rejected women can become so bitterly obnoxious, it is almost impossible to be just friends. It actually makes you grateful you found it out without having to go through all the trouble of dating them.

You see, guys are usually more horny and desperate for sex. This tends to make them more used to being rejected, so many just carry on with their lives when it happens. But it seems that when a woman is told ‘no’, she gets startled and doesn’t know how to act. When you think about it, even the less attractive ones can always find some man who’s ready to bed her — men are horny beasts, remember. So it makes logical sense that women assume that if they are agreeing to jump, the man should promptly ask: How high… or deep?

But the truth remains, women are equally bound to get rejected. And just like the other way round, men also do not owe those they reject any explaining. They do not have to word out certain things like: “You’re not my type or I think you’re too fat/skinny/boring, or it’s your lackluster essence”. Totally unnecessary. So best not get hurt or defensive, Ladies. Also, do not nag, wanting to know why he’s not into you. It won’t matter. Just realise you are not compatible, let it go then move on.

Generally speaking, rejection can happen between couples in ongoing relationships, between friends, or as I mean in this article, between people who just met. Emotional rejection hurts and can have dire implications on our psychological state, for men and women. This is chiefly due to the fact that humans are social animals who are constantly striving to be accepted.

In Emotional First Aid: Practical Strategies for Treating Failure, Rejection, Guilt, and Other Everyday Psychological Injuries, Guy Winch explains that the pain caused by rejection is deeply rooted in the make-up of the human psyche since much earlier times.

If you were living in a hunter/gatherer society, being ostracised meant death. For you couldn’t have survived without your tribe. Therefore we became wired to regard any rejection threat as a warning alert, which triggers us to change our behaviour in order to avoid being ostracised.

A scientific reason why rejection can be so agonising is what studies have shown regarding social rejection and physical pain triggering the same region in the brain. So our body here reacts the same to both situations. As a response, the brain releases its own natural pain killers — the opioids — to make you feel better. 

In clinical psychology, the associated syndrome is called Rejection Sensitivity (RS); defined as “the tendency to “anxiously expect, readily perceive, and overreact to social rejection.” 

Some people are more sensitive to being rejected; others deal with it better. But the resulting unhealed pain could be traumatic and may get worse by triggering a ‘fear’ of rejection, which is capable of jeopardising their future relationships and can further lead to social anxiety and depression.

Interestingly, more studies have found that being rejected by an attractive man makes a woman more likely to turn down an unattractive one. She does so to counter-balance the rejection by using the novel opportunity to restore her self-worth. Huh. 

For the man to reject a woman who’s into him shows that he is confident and satisfied with what he’s got; that he doesn’t need her. Because, for one, he is capable of mastering his penis-brain. Two, she may not be his taste, simply. 

Or perhaps in case he is some kind of creative artist, she may have read or viewed his work and thought she knew (liked) him, despite the fact that he may not know anything about his female fan. 

Whether it’s dating or sex, when a selective man has the courage — and taste — to reject a woman, consequences follow right through. He gains a certain superiority over himself and his masculine ego. He also conquers his horniness which usually controls most men. Naturally, the availability of the choice strengthens his self-worth while at the same time builds and deepens his character.

Further, on the level of societal norms, this choice shatters the conventional paradigm of leaving it for women to choose. If we are both equal as a significant portion of us want to agree, then as a man, I, too, should also have the luxury to choose. 


Just as women are confused by rejection, lots of guys can’t seem to wrap their head around the notion. Many, including some of those I have had those guys talks with throughout the years, have never rejected a woman. If a woman wants to have sex with you, why would you say no? As mentioned, this mentality is a repeated theme in the masculine universe. But it doesn’t have to be this way.


At the very end, if you are a man, know that you can reject a woman without having to feel bad about it. Also know that you can do so without having to explain yourself. Just be decent and honest and she will at least respect you for that. If you are a woman who has been rejected or will get there someday, do not let it bother you. It certainly does not mean that you are unwanted or that there is something wrong with you, so best not to take it personal. Remember that life as we know is constantly evolving and so should we.


Be choosy — it’s beneficial for the gene pool of our species. 

“Give me more wine or leave me alone.”

— Rumi 

ALSO VIEW:

Why I Choose to Remain a Non-Dad for Now — Reflections on Being Childless

Things I Miss From Being in a Relationship

What’s the Story with Blue Balls (and Blue Vulva)

Codependency: What Being Addicted to Someone Means

The Intertwining of Music and Sexuality ― A Djembefola’s Tale

Arugula: The Healthy Ancient Aphrodisiac

Who Are We?

What Being Conscious Means

Personal Questions I'm Often Asked and Their Answers

What’s the Story with Blue Balls (and Blue Vulva)?

Once while working in a hotel in my mid 20s, a reception girl passed out in the back area. I was the only one there and proceeded to carry her and put her on a chair. A colleague helped out before we called the hotel doctor to come check up on her. 



This was maybe an hour before the shift ends, and we agreed that she’ll leave then and I will take her home. Her house was pretty far, so by the time we got there it was already dark. Then, the girl passed out again right there on the seat next to mine.

It was a remote area where I parked the car. I then held her hand while calling her name, trying to gently wake her. At a certain moment I sensed that she might be faking it.

Still, the 22-year-old girl had long hair and legs and looked exceptionally seductive in that short uniform dress. The whole situation of me being her ‘boss’ and her being so vulnerable somehow turned me on — the high possibility that she could be faking it so that something would happen added a certain tabooistic-teenage excitement to the whole ordeal. But morally speaking, there wasn’t much for me to do. 



Eventually, the girl awoke and guided us to her house before saying goodnight and leaving. I did kiss her goodbye on the cheeks though. Then minutes later I began noticing some excruciating pain in my testicles like I have never felt before. I called a friend who’s five years older to tell him about about the adventure as well as the pain that followed. To which he confidently responded: “You need to jack off.

Really?



Now!

”

Hm. I did park the car and, being so up there, it didn’t take much to discharge. I remember that the pain didn’t go away right after. But it slowly kept receding until I got home about half an hour later.

Only then was I acquainted with the concept of blue balls. I mean, generally, it never felt good down there — or up there — when fooling around then not finishing. I’m certain that at least once in their lifetime, all men have experienced that agony caused by the sexual anticipation of foreplay followed by… a big fat nothing.

Usually, to be left hanging like that gets us guys frustrated and possibly even kind of angry at the “cock-teaser”. But it’s actually not their fault, you see. They are not required to finish you off, even though knowing about blue balls could make them inclined to be more empathetic and understanding towards the whole affair.

Yet, I had never really known it was a thing until that day. 

I still didn’t give it much attention. Having always been active — be it with others or alone — it wasn’t something that frequently occurred, hence there was nothing to worry about. Or so I thought.



This incident reminded me of a school boy who during our mid teens had once experienced extreme pain in his testicles. He consulted a doctor who told him that he needed to relieve himself. The guy was kind of religious and apparently thought that masturbation is a sin, so he never did it... until he got blue balls and was forced to. Ha.


As mentioned, since I constantly discharge I don’t remember having experienced serious, or any, pain again up until fast-forwarding to a few days ago. I was out at the Drum Circle when a seductive woman I know got totally pixilated and started physically flirting. Even though due to, once again, my moral fixation, I didn’t go all the way as I would have in normal circumstances, we still lightly played around, in public. We stayed maybe 45 minutes before we all left.



While heading home on the bike, I began feeling some pain building up around the scrotum area. A familiar sensation which at first I didn’t link to anything. But then after getting home the pain had already reached an uncomfortable level — throughout not just the balls but the entire lower abdomen. This was when I remembered blue balls and what happened 14 years earlier in the car.

Of course I did what I had to do. And again, the swelling pain took maybe 15 or 20 minutes afterwards to subside. Then the thought of writing this article to shed light on such mysterious biological phenomenon seemed like a neat idea. Whether you have no balls at all, are a horny teenage boy, or just curious about what blue balls are, one can safely assume that the following general knowledge would interest a wide variety of readers.


So what are blue balls?

When men are physically turned on, blood flows to the penis and testicles causing erection and swelling — from 25 to 50 percent increase in size. Once there is climax, everything goes back to its original dimensions. But if there is no climax after the stimulation, or they do not ‘finish’, the build-up of blood pressure, medically termed Vasocongestion, causes a temporary fluid congestion.

The fluids are produced in the testicles in order to propel sperm through the many tubes; when they have nowhere to go, the congestion causes swelling. This is physically translated as a dulling pain in the cojones. The pain actually feels like someone squeezing them. Aouch.

Epididymal Hypertension is the medical term for blue balls: “Testicular aching that occurs when the blood in the male’s genitals is retained after prolonged sexual arousal and is not dissipated by an orgasm”. Apparently, it does not occur to all males. Perhaps this is related to the different level of testosterone found in men.

Blue balls is not only the result of unfinished business, but it could also be caused by lack of sex, or ejaculation in general — just like our clogged schoolboy.



What is noteworthy is that without ejaculation, more stress, discomfort, and frustration are likely to complement the physical pain. A reason why some men exaggerate their blue balls situation, trying to make their women feel guilty about it.



Even though waiting or sleeping it off, even cold showers, may work in easing the temporary pain and swelling of blue balls, but if being excited got you to this point, then having an orgasm and just cumming may be the only natural, rational relief. Unless you’re some kind weirdo. Ha.

Let us remember that life is too short to spend it frustrated. It is healthy to have an orgasm or two every day. If you can’t find someone suitable to have it with, know that science has proven that masturbating provides plenty of healthy benefits, including stress relief. Now go fuck each other or yourselves and calm down. You do have my blessing.



Speaking of ejaculation, check The Intertwining of Music and Sexuality ― A Djembefola’s Tale where I am investigating the reason why mine seems to exponentially increase following drum sessions. 

The slang expression “blue balls” came to be used when a partner(s) teases a man and leaves him hanging or when a man hasn’t had sex in aeons — describing a state of sexual frustration. ‘Blue’ is punnily suitable as it also means ‘sad’ or ‘depressed’, which could work when the male is trying to make the partner(s) feel sorry for him and get him off. But as mentioned, the phenomenon is scientifically recognised and ‘blue’ in the nomenclature is not just a random colour. 



Epididymal Hypertension is colloquially termed “blue balls”; because it is held that the scrotum area may turn a bluish hue from the accumulation of de-oxigenated blood in the testicles. Oxygen-rich blood on the surface of the skin creates a reddish colour, while blood with little oxygen appears blue. Without “uncloging the pipe”, the blood stays in the testicles and scrotum without circulating to the heart and lungs. This decreases the oxygen level which causes the blueness of the skin.

Speaking of, some people’s faces tend to give that same blueish hue after being addicted to heroin for a long time. Back then, I never made the connection with lack of oxygen, yet several people mentioned they would notice this phenomenon on certain faces — as I did. That is, in addition to the original pale white colour usually prevalent among drug abusers. When, conversely, one would get clean, there is indeed a healthy and vibrant reddish hue that seems to replace the blue, or at least the pale white, while lightening up the face.

This colouration change, however, remains different than the infamous blueish purple overdose face, or the pale grey/ashy for those with darker skin tones.

Interestingly, Ladies and Gentlemen, the condition can also affect females. And it is colloquially called “Blue Vulva”. Seriously.

The medical term is “Pelvic Congestion” and it is caused when women are sexually aroused while the vulva, uterus, and ovaries swell with blood. This causes a similar feeling of the heaviness and aching of blue balls, apparently. Just like men, the discomfort dissipates once orgasm is reached, or after some time has elapsed. But if there is no relief, then they become frustrated and blue vulva it is. Fair and square.

This conveniently reminds me of Femme mal baisée, which is a French term describing a frustrated, intolerable, and unsatisfied woman. According to the expression, the reason why those women become unable to be loving is that they never got their healthy dose of sex.
 

Note that pelvic congestion is different from “Pelvic Congestive Syndrome”, which according this Article is a condition where enlarged varicose veins cause chronic aching in the pelvic region. The pain or discomfort one experiences from (PCS) cannot simply be relieved through orgasm. Bur rather, it is often treated through a procedure called embolization.



Intriguingly, there is not much medical research when it comes to blue balls — or blue vulva. Perhaps because it is a temporary, non-contagious, and non-life-threatening condition, it is not taken seriously by the scientific community. Perhaps also because it doesn’t require therapy, drugs, or any money-making; but the solution simply lies in sexual release.

Such unpopularity makes some people, probably most of them women, think that blue balls is just a myth. Others regard it as an excuse by men to get frisky; or even worse, that the men are just being “big babies” about it. But I’m telling you it is indeed real, and the pain is not fun at all. 


On a parallel note, an additional information I learned recently is that one testicle is often slightly larger than the other. This is usually normal and nothing to worry about. However, if you notice that one testicle has enlarged you should ask your doctor to check it. Generally, the right testicle is larger than the left. Also, one testicle (usually the left) often hangs lower than the other.

Likewise, 65 percent of women have the left breast larger than the right, which is the same percentage of men having a left testis hanging lower than the right. 

Now you know what blue balls is, what causes it, and how to treat it. Perhaps now you can be more empathetic towards yourself and your partners... males or females.

ALSO VIEW: 

Arugula: The Healthy Ancient Aphrodisiac

The Intertwining of Music and Sexuality ― A Djembefola’s Tale

Kicking That Sweet Habit

 

Why I Choose to Remain a Non-Dad for Now — Reflections on Being Childless

When Selective Men Reject Women

The Art of Approaching Women

Codependency: What Being Addicted to Someone Means

Personal Questions I’m Often Asked and Their Answers

Things I Miss From Being in a Relationship

Who Are We?

My Journey Towards Self-Transcendence

How I Dropped Two Waist Sizes in a Few Months

 

The Night I Became a Stripper in Spain

Right after graduating from university I went to visit a friend in Madrid, Spain for three weeks. He had a cosy studio with some pleasant neighbours who would often come hang out with us. One day, a girlfriend of theirs was getting married so they organised a bachelorette party in their flat a few floors below.



Someone came up with the idea of pranking the new bride by bringing a fake stripper... or escort. For some reason or the other they offered me the role. In one way, 23-year-old me was quite chuffed they chose him; not knowing what to expect brought about those fuzzy butterfly feelings. In another, I thought what the hell: If they think I can do it then I probably can.


I showered, got ready ― even trimmed the goatee ― and had a couple of frozen vodka shots to get in the mood. Remember: Do what would makes the better story. This is the motto I always keep in mind to pump myself up before getting into risqué or daring situations. And mind you, I was still a civilian then

The thing is, once I had agreed to do this, there was no turning back. I knew I couldn’t screw up. I couldn’t, for instance, just burst into laughter ― or tears ― while performing. The bride, her bridesmaids, their little bachelorette party, it was my responsibility as a male stripper to make it work. I’m not a half-hearted kind of guy, you see.

If I were to be convincing I needed to be convinced. If you ask anyone in the field they will say that your personality is (almost) as important as your looks. “Sexy” is mainly a state of mind. I still trimmed my goatee, though. This was sincere dedication.

As a [future] storyteller, however, any action would suffice. You just need to dive into it head-first and let it flow.  

So I took a deep breath, opened the door, and went down the stairs.

I recall there was some synchronisation going on. One of the girls came out all quietly, got back in, turned the electronic music on pretty loud, and then back to me.

“Ready?” She asked.

“Tonight is the night I’m living my fantasy. Let’s get it on, baby.” While I think I looked the part, my heart was racing like a hummingbird’s. After all, I had absolutely no experience in stripping. Let us say public stripping.

Inamorato in Madrid, April 2000

While the music began pumping I was lead in to reach the sitting area. There, I could see five or six women in their early to mid-twenties sitting around a table with drinks and various colourful dildos and vibrators. Without much thinking ― or even hellos or proper introduction ― I began dancing to the music, slowly unbuttoning my black shirt. My main focus was the bride because that’s how it should be. So I kept eye contact, giving her seductive Zoolander looks, yet not too much as it could turn creepy. Her friends, too, needed some attention. Or so it is supposed to be were they not part of the prank.  



A couple of minutes through the striptease our bride got up and started sexy dancing with me, which I happily returned. And then soon after something I hadn’t considered came to mind. Now what?

Now the bride was fully believing the act and seemed to be enjoying her time around me. Though I wasn’t sure what the girlfriends had planned, because no one discussed how the night was going to unfold. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if I was there as a stripper or a full escort or something else. Hm, what? I never thought I would write such a sentence, and mean it. Let alone publish it on the World Wide Web. But hey, someone’s got to do it. Let me just use the bold font, so no one misses it.   

It seems probable that the bridesmaids may have left the ending open. They were all lighthearted and had fun personalities. So letting the experience roll as it may is not that strange. Still, though, I didn’t know how far would be too far. I mean, what if something happens then she finds out I’m a fake hooker so she gets mad that I’m not dirty enough ― ruining the bachelorette party in the process.

Oh well, we kept playing around for maybe half an hour before we broke it to her. I then took off my... stripper’s persona and stayed for drinks.

If you got this far and find the ending to be anticlimactic, or feel cheated, let me tell you that a good title can captivate your eyes and entice you to start reading. But only decent storytelling can keep you interested until reaching this Last. Sentence.

Not Sleeping With a French Hooker at 14 is another similar clean article which also took place abroad... only almost a decade prior.

 
As for the debauched in you ― yes I know you exist as seen in the statistics of the blog ― the indecent and more spicy, deviant, daring stuff with actual action are found in the 21 articles from the ever-growing Memoirs of an Incognito Friend series. Starting with The Italian Belly Dancer up until the more recent The Woman Who Came Again — 24 Years Later, those are naturally intended for a mature audience. There is even a warning added to the beginning of each article, which was agreed upon by Google Corporation and Blogger Team from one side and yours truly from the other. Oooh Baby, this is how notorious One Lucky Soul came to be.    

Over and Out. 

ALSO VIEW:

Not Sleeping With a French Hooker at 14
 
Funny Drug-Related Stories

Funny Drug-Related Stories 2

Funny Hotel-Related Stories

Things I Never Told Anyone

More Things I Never (Really) Told Anyone
 

Even More Things I Never (Really) Told Anyone 

Some of my First Times

The Girl Who Wouldn’t Share Toilet Paper

The Spell of the Topless Redhead

Placebo Effect & The LSD Prank

A Dollar & Thirty Four Cents in Me Pocket and Feeling Fine  

The Couple Who Couldn’t Handle My Honesty

Rooting Into The Past

Personal Questions I’m Often Asked and Their Answers

The Ashram Sweeper Who Blocked Me on Facebook

The Bloke Who Thought I’m Too Much of an Alpha Male

The Night We Turned ‘Beast Mode’ On

Banged Up Abroad — My Few Days @ The Don Jail

Banged Up Abroad — A Night @ The London Police Station 

When Bullying my Sister Led to Shutting Her School Down With a Rambo Knife

 
The Day I Became Bill Gate’s Elevator Boy

The Joy of Being a Wanderer and the Credit Card Number
 

  

 

 

 

 

Why I Choose to Remain a Non-Dad for Now — Reflections on Being Childless

During my last year’s trip to Egypt I happened to meet the three children of a close buddy. We were by the beach on the North Coast and he had to leave the two elder ones, a girl and a boy, with me for about 40 minutes by the time he got something done. This was a quite an experience. Not because they are 13 and 8 or because I haven’t met the older versions of them before. But because here I was hanging out with my friend’s offspring, alone.

After a few hours spent swimming in the gorgeous Mediterranean sapphire sea and sharing lots of fun stuff with the kids, at some point his middle son looked at me and genuinely said: “You’re like an old man.”



Huh. “Well I AM an old man, li’l fella,” I replied. Even though I’m two years younger than his father, but with much more white on my beard and hair.


By the time we all later went to have dinner, I had already bonded with the kids, especially the two older ones. I was truly enjoying the company of this lovely family. At the end of the night, my friend somewhat apologetically was like: 

“With the kids and all, this must be a little too much for you.”



I said not too much, but certainly different than my quiet, self-induced solitary life.


Plagued by a philosophical mind, such experiences sure makes one think about topics like life, time, change, the magical beauty of being a child, and, having children — or not. 




Later on that same trip, I met another best friend who had some shocking news for me. By complete chance it was discovered that he had a tumour on his kidney. When he got it removed and it was analysed they found out it was cancerous. Fortunately, because it was discovered early on, he healed and it shouldn’t be growing back. 



He told me: “Imagine I’m a normal guy with a wife, a kid, and a newborn, and in a matter of few days I’m a cancer survivor! It truly changes the way you look at life. I used to have a hectic job and I worried too much. Now I want to enjoy what I’m doing; now I know that life can be so fleeting.” 



Knowing that he had the cleanest past of all of us, the only thing I was capable of saying was that for some, these moments of awakening take years to manifest, while for others it may be a single incident that forever transforms their lives.

Me Brotherman did change jobs and is currently leading a more chilled existence. Ironically, it is through the tests he had to take for his new job that the tumour was detected. 

— ☙ ❊ ❧ —— ☙ ❊ ❧ —— ☙ ❊ ❧ —— ☙ ❊ ❧ —

Fast-forwarding to a couple of days ago in Los Angeles when I reunited with my nephew, Hisham. I had only seen him briefly about two and half years ago, and before that perhaps it’s been six or seven years. Hisham was like a brother and an early teenage accomplice. He’s visiting with his mom, wifey, the two kids, plus a third creation who was just born here in California. 



We spoke on the phone before they passed by at around 2 pm and we went to Santa Monica then back to Venice Beach. This was the first time him and I are together on the Boardwalk since 1996.



Being Sunday, I had the intention of going to the Drum Circle later, but the reunion was so pleasurable that I had no problem to skip it. After a long walk across the Boardwalk, we took the mom and the kids to Abbott Kinney and went to have an early seafood dinner in Santa Monica. Afterwards, we passed by them and headed to their rental house in Mar Vista, which happens to be about four minutes by bike from my place. 



I stayed a couple of hours there with the family, sitting on the couch, having tea, taking photos of the baby, catching up and talking about all sort of things. Then at some point my nephew said:



“Of course this [the kids, the commotion, the ball, the cartoons on the TV] is very loud and unusual to you.”



I said, it is. But I love kids, all kids actually. I just don’t feel like having my own — for now at least.

The next morning, I couldn’t help but once again reflect on the same existential topics: Life, time, change, the magical beauty of being a child, and children. 



The thing with such encounters is that being buddies for such a long time, relating to them or even pondering their lives — and mine — comes naturally. More or less, I’ve only had six or seven close friends who have been around for at least 20 years, including the three mentioned above. All of them currently got a kid or three; the same goes for more than 85 percent of my cousins.

The next weekend the whole family came with me to the Drum Circle. Being in my element, I loved having them and introduced them to the whole gang. It certainly was something to see for the sweet Kiddos. The featured photo is from that day. This specific capture actually made me later think that I would make a kool dad... if I wanted to.

Reuniting with papa Hisham on the Boardwalk... 20 years later

Now to the actual reflections.

I hold that if I were leading a different kind of life, like ones most people I grew up with ended up leading, I would have most probably had kids by this age of 38. And by different I mean for instance, my father had some kind of business which I took over.


Another situation would be if I had stayed in the demanding corporate jobs I’ve held for ten years. If I work for all this time for about 10 hours a day, I would like to come back home to find a partner, maybe also a kid or two; even more so if I wasn’t too passionate about what I’m doing — which was the reality in my case — because I’ll be needing a relief, some kind of mental distraction. 

The thing with living in countries like Egypt is that society is still fixated on marriage and children, where they are equated with happiness and fulfilment. The idea of not getting married and not having children is not widely understood.

 And I’m repeatedly reminded by that mentality whenever I have a chit-chat with a cab driver, or with the guy who works at the Egyptian consulate in L.A who renewed my passport, or my ex-nanny of 35 years who’s still with the family and who’s currently taking care of my 93-year-old grandmother.

In the lower socioeconomic classes, starting a family is a sort of moral obligation and a sign of success in life. For a man to show that he can have his own offspring means that he’s a real man, even if it’s not financially feasible for him or for the rest of his family.

For Arab women, usually there is not much freedom of choice. They leave the parent’s home directly to their new home with their husband. Children are often seen as the surest way to keep the husband from running away or to keep the marriage alive.

In case of divorce, the norm is that the woman goes back to the family house. These patriarchal ideologies allow men to divorce their wives if they cannot conceive. In certain countries in this day and age, it is legal to do so through phone calls, text messages, or e-mails!

As to the possibility for females to remain single and/or childless well into adulthood, this may be seen as a revolutionary act which is usually frowned upon; let alone living by themselves. Though divorcees and widows are in a slightly better category when it comes to being judged, probably due to feelings of empathy towards them and their children, if there are any.

This is how atavistic societies look at those who dare to go against the established norms. 

Generally speaking, being poor and uneducated makes people careless to avoid early pregnancies. And women who start having kids earlier on tend to have more kids. Without proper planning, it also makes people get married and raise families for the wrong reasons. 
 
Sex is another major component in the equation. In the Arab world, most young people do not freely engage in premarital sex, due to culture and religion and so forth. Neither do they have their own places or privacy. So in addition to the social, religious, culture, and biological pressures, by their early twenties, the only way to have sex as well as gain their own independence is through marriage. Various psychosocial problems are ought to follow, which can naturally lead to divorce.

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When I left Egypt and the Old World, I found more people like myself; people not fixated on the conventional life. So I felt at home, though much more in Venice Beach than in Toronto. And I believe this progressive mindset is being adopted by more people nowadays.

Studies are now actually showing that the birth-rates in the U.S are the lowest in recorded American history. Despite the fact that single parents with no income get significant welfare and benefits, but the rate of women who remain childless has doubled from 10 to 20 percent since the 1970s. 

Bret, my previous 45-year-old bungalow-mate, is one of those I have spoken to about the subject who have no intention or even desire to have children. He shared: “The word is overpopulated and full of orphans, if my true intention were to give a child a good life, I would adopt a child and wouldn’t care about passing on my own name, blood, or genes.”

I like the way he thinks and truly respect it.

See, when people lead happy, fulfilled lives they are less likely to go look for happiness elsewhere — be it in partners or children. However, we find that a significant number of people tend to derive their sense of happiness through their offspring. They consider their children to be some sort of achievement to be proud of. In such a way, the novelty adds some excitement to their rather uneventful lives. 



The above certainly does not mean that all parents do this or that they are all essentially unhappy. Some of my friends, acquaintances, and family members are a living proof; and I sincerely reckon they wouldn’t have it any other way, perhaps minus the occasional unplanned pregnancy.

But the truth remains, marriage and having children are no walk in the park, especially these days. For certain adults, it can be one legit burden, which eventually leads to unhappiness; some simply become good at pretending that they’re happy. Despite this, if you ask around they will probably tell you that it’s all worth it.
 
It is of significance to note that my subjects/friends here are considered an educated minority who are living relatively good lives and are not the average.




My own interpretation of the life I chose is that perhaps because I’m deeply connected to the child within me, I don’t feel a need to bring other children into this world. Especially that I’m currently living on the edge and insisting on following my sought-out dream.



Another issue which seems to be a problem for many people who procreate is the fear of being alone. When my uncle and aunt talk about marriage, they often say: One day when you’re old and alone and your knees will hurt, you’ll need to have a wife and kids to help you out.



Well, if that were the case, yes of course I’d love to have people around me if I got sick. But that doesn’t mean I fill my mind with such fear-based ideas and go search for a “family” to create in order to keep me company until that day comes, or not, in the future. 
The reality is, people project their own fears and insecurities on others all the times — often out of concern as it usually happens on the subconscious level. When discussing the above with my close friends I sometimes jovially say that, Mayhap my aunt and uncle are confusing the wife and family combo with a nurse.
Being who I am, nevertheless, I still love my solitude and I’m certainly not afraid of being alone.   

Skuncle Omar teaching kids to be Jesus for the day

These reflections further lead me to a philosophical question which cannot be avoided when contemplating the topic: Would it be a worthy endeavour to bring a child into the world we’re living in, knowing that it’s full of absurdities and uncertainties?



I’m thoroughly fine with the uncertainties I have chosen to live through. But when I ejaculate a baby into being, in a way, I am voluntarily allowing them to go through a certain degree of suffering due to the fact that they will get a taste of the absurdities and uncertainties. 

I am, after all, a co-creator and a big part of the process, which is based on my own choice.

Along these lines, with choice comes responsibility. As good, mature parents should be aware, it is our responsibility to give our children happy, healthy lives. Parents are their children’s first and most important teachers. This means consistently putting them first. If am not capable of offering adequate care and attention to my children, I am jeopardising their lives and entire future. As for myself, I may also end up feeling frustrated and unaccomplished because of today’s high expectations surrounding parenting.

Then again, the absurdities and uncertainties, even the suffering, seem to be integral parts of life and the human condition; they will never vanish. 

So I guess reproducing will always remain a gamble. Still, one must be honest regarding their desire to play along.

I know myself quite well and I cannot accept to bear such a responsibility when I’m not ready. It would simply be wrong, even immoral. Neither can I abandon my child later or leave him or her to their mom and just keep living my life, as some Greek Uber driver once told.


“Just bring the child and it is the mother who usually raise them. I was like you, roaming around and living my life, but everything changed when I had my two children.” 



Well, good for you. And I’m sure your life did change. But why go there in the first place if that’s how one looks at it? Not an appealing option if you ask me.

This reminds of another ‘advice’ I once received from some coworker when I was in my late 20s. “At this age, you need to do something. Get married, then you can get divorced. Or have a child. Just do anything.”

Uhhm. No thank you.

Having a child just to add another replica of yourself to this Pale Blue Dot, or to abide to the conventional norms and be like everyone else, or so you can dress him in your favourite team’s jersey then go around telling people how much you’re proud of him because he just happens to be cheering for the same team, or just for the hell of it, is a selfish act.

Amusingly, voluntary childlessness is often portrayed as being selfish. For me, though, it remains a conscious and rational decision. This keeps me open to all possibilities as well as prevents me from having an obsession about not having children. Biologically speaking, I still got time and I can certainly change my mind one of these days.

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An additional thing I have learned from these interesting reunions with my buddies is that Egyptian parents can now end up paying about L.E 230,000 per year to put three kids in a decent 
“local” school. That’s almost a staggering quarter of a million Egyptian Pounds ($25K). And those are not the most expensive schools; others charge L.E 100, 000 per kid ($10K).

You know I have lived 32 years of my life in Egypt and went to the American University in the 90s where the fees where paid in U.S dollars. But these are kids and those digits are utterly pricey.

 The only way to survive is to be making a lot more than that kind of money. And when you think of the current murky, unstable political and economical situation in the country, one must naturally wonder what kind of job or business would be enough to pay for all that. 




But the fact of the matter is, I did not take over my father’s business, neither did I keep the unfulfilling jobs. What I did, however, is that I have left it all behind and chosen to lead a different kind of life; a life inspired by dreams, visions, growth, novelty, arts, adventures... and uncertainty. Currently I simply see myself as a psychonaut who’s mid-writing his first non-fiction book.

My last partner couldn’t really understand my philosophy. She couldn’t relate to how I can lock myself in for days at a time because I’m working on a new piece. She thought there was something wrong with this behaviour and kept feeling rejected. A true partner, however, should be willing to share your dream; they cannot and should not be forced.

As follows, it is thus safe to say that adding a child to such a Bohemian, nomadic lifestyle would be unfair: For the child, for his mother, and for myself.


Procreating, Ladies and Gentlemen, requires sincere time, effort, dedication, and money. Unless you are willing to sacrifice these things and unless the desire stems from the heart — not because of society, religion, parents, biological clock — you don’t have to get yourselves into that holy matrimony. Do not feel obliged or pressured to do it, and know that there are other alternatives, lifestyles, and reality tunnels. 

True happiness, you see, is a mindset which essentially stems from within. Getting married and having children and watching them grow could be a sensational experience. It is one of the wonders of life, through which humans spread and propagate their existence.

Though it is not for everyone and it is certainly not a need as it’s still widely perceived in some parts of the world. We do not need a partner or children to be happy or to feel whole, remember that. Equally remember that life is fleeting; in one moment it could all be gone. Use your time wisely, my Brethren. 

As Hisham and I agreed yesterday, if we don’t want kids then perhaps there is no point in getting married. That may be one solid truth. We can be in relationships with others without having to get the approval of a legal or religious authority. We are mature adults and we do not need an entity to watch over us and invade our affairs. That’s how I essentially see it. You know I’m rad like that. 
 
At the end, we can only say that people are doing what they can from their own level of consciousness — their own level of understanding. Each of us has his own journey and mountain top ahead. Indeed, happiness and fulfilment mean different things to different people. This entails that our journeys and mountain tops are also different; this is the beauty of our uniqueness.


Just like most people are adding to the gene pool by reproducing, we do need childless children who are keen on adding chlorine into the pool instead of diving right in it. For now, I choose to be one of those volunteers who sacrifice themselves for the collective good of mankind.

Looking forwards to more existential encounters with my buddies’ kiddos.


Childlessly Yours,

Skuncle O

Gettyfied at the Getty Villa with an Ocean view

ALSO VIEW:


Who Are We?

My Journey Towards Self-Transcendence

When Selective Men Reject Women

Things I Miss From Being in a Relationship
 
What Being Conscious Means

Why I Share Stuff

Personal Questions I’m Often Asked and Their Answers
 

How inspiration Is Transferable

Change Is The Only Constant

Things I Got Rid Of To Become Happier

What Nomad Lions Can Teach Us About Growing Through Life