“Pandemic Dating Diaries” is a TBI series that features moments in love, dating, and sex during Covid-19 directly from our readers. Have a story you’d like to submit? Email us or DM us on Twitter or Instagram.
Months into the pandemic, I found myself on a Friday night lounging in my work pajamas, binging a Netflix docuseries while scrolling on Tinder. I stumbled upon Tinder’s paid subscriptions and immediately thought, “Paying for dating apps… Nobody does that! …Right?”
I’m a Type A person with a long history of failed romantic endeavors. I’m assertive in my career and life aspirations. I…
— I don’t want to hear “I can’t believe this.”
I want you to read up on the history you’ve had the privilege to ignore.
— I don’t want your opinions or thoughts.
I want you to listen to the Black experiences you’ve chosen to forget.
— I don’t want your #BLM Instagram story reposts.
— I don’t want your passive Twitter likes.
I want you to follow Black tragedies as much as you follow Black trends.
— I don’t want to vindicate your white guilt…
The other day I was writing in a coffee shop, and a man in a red flannel commented on a sticker on my laptop. “‘Careful or you will end up in my novel?’”
I was mid-sentence and caught off-guard. “Ah, yeah.. I’m a writer” And then the normal conversation follows:
Where do you go to school?
What do you like to read?
What do you write about?
And I told him about my essay collection about names and identity
“Well how do you define yourself?” he asked.
“Ha, that’s a short question that requires a long answer, but I guess…