10 Jan 36 Questions
It was an early Monday morning, day 2 of my third-ever solo vacation. This time, I had picked Tokyo. Japan had always been a place I wanted to visit since 2014 when I promised myself I would take at least one solo trip a year. So I figured, if I had six days left, I might as well make some new friends. To make it more fun, I gave myself the challenge of finding someone to try out an experiment with. A couple years ago, I read a New York Times article titled “To Fall in Love With Anyone, Do This”, which I have always been super skeptical about but I have to admit—it also made me extremely curious. It’s an article that claims that by asking another person a list of 36 questions, you can fall in love with each other instantaneously. If it sounds crazy, it’s because it is.
Step one was to find a guy, so I resorted to the infinite amount of fish there is in the Bumble sea, and started swiping. I wasn’t looking for anything too specific: I just wanted a handsome, job-having, age-appropriate man. Preferably one that spoke the same language as me. Within the first ten minutes, I matched with a Richard and started up a conversation. Used a GIF as my opener—you know the Kelly Kapowski one where she’s flirtatiously waving? Well, that one. Works like a charm. We got to talking and decided to grab dinner that same night.
We met at 8pm at Tenichi Ginza Honten, a restaurant that I picked. It was supposedly a must-visit for celebrities and other important people. It was kind of pricey but Richard seemed like a guy that could afford a delicious, sort of expensive tempura meal. And he was. He was also a lot cuter in person and super funny. He was there on a study-abroad adventure, which also meant he was down for anything. We found ourselves talking about all the things you’re not supposed to talk about on a first date: religion, politics, and yes, even our absolutely horrible exes. I realized I hadn’t had a connection like that in over two years. He offered to pay for dinner and the two bottles of wine we had consumed, and we left. I wasn’t sure if it was the wine, or the stimulating vibe of the city, but I had a weird feeling in my stomach. And I hadn’t even approached the subject of the article. But I must admit—I was feeling strangely bold. So I told him. He was cool about it, although doubtful, which, if he was a rational human being, I expected him to be.
We asked. We asked the night away. We cried together at the “what is your most terrible memory?” question and laughed together at the “do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?” question. We shared, we held hands, we kissed, we kissed, we kissed. I felt like I really knew him and I one hundred percent let myself go. I opened up my heart. He knew things even my best friend doesn’t know. I learned more from him than I ever had about any partner I’d had before. But still, I wasn’t in love. I couldn’t be in love. We went back to his apartment. We slept together. He had an exam the next morning, early. I woke up an hour before his alarm went off and left without saying a word. His number was already saved on my phone.
As I was walking to the train, I touched my earlobes and realized I had left my earrings on his nightstand.
“SHIT!”, I yelled. Not because of the earrings, though. In that moment, I came to terms with the truth: leaving was easy. But not coming back was going to be hard.
