How to Be Single

[Part 1 of "The Manual" series]

Imagine pleasant things, like a moment of sex that is so good you wish you had it then and there. While at that, allow your lips to gently bite themselves. Feel your fingers tremble, your pupils dilate and your chest heave. Watch your hands reach for something, probably a part of your body between your thighs. Allow it to lead you to a familiar place somewhere between heaven and earth. Suddenly recognize a desire waiting to burst out of its cocoon, a monster peering at the back of your mind, then dream. Fully awake or restlessly sleeping, it does not matter. Yours will be a lonely battle. But that's exactly the point. You are single, or just another star in the nebula.

Beer is a mighty ambrosia. It makes you invincible and brave enough to test every water. It toughens your skin into timber. It washes your soul. It will be a bath you have never had before. Let it skim through your veins like a tractor clearing the land, cleansing it of its own life so that you may die just a little bit more. Lose yourself in the thick of haze. The following morning, find yourself in a different bed. Believe Milan Kundera when he wrote that with death comes the possibility of immortality. But don't die just yet. You have the rest of your life to do that. Say a brief farewell to your sleeping partner—your prey and predator—but do not leave a note. Then, walk away.

Forget whatever happened last night and the other night, just like the rest of the nights that went before. Memory is cruel. History is a sleeping beast, an ogre. A heart, no matter how malevolent, also needs a break from every heartbreak. Let it breathe, even for a while, because you will never know when it will breathe its last, which will be a surprise you will never get to witness.

Take a ride. Take a long trip to anywhere where a map and a compass are not needed. Your primal instincts will help you get lost. In your journey, take sixty-eight random photos. Scan the images. Wonder why the photos are more beautiful than the amber fields, the trees, the afternoon sky and the people you've never met before. Recall that memory is cruel. Pictures are there to help you remember because you always forget. Your mind is a catacomb.

Go to a beach and wear your skin against the wind, the moonlight, the sea and the sand. Drift with your feet along the shore while tender waves reach for your ankles. They will let go eventually. Find a spot where the high tide won't reach you. Encamp and make fire. Eat a banana. Sing. The rest of the night will be cold and lovely. Read a book, a novel pretending to be a tutorial about how to survive in the mountains.

Climb a mountain. Marvel at how small the earth is six thousand feet above itself. Check if the book you've read is right. If it is, you will return to your apartment in one piece, most likely three days and two nights after. Otherwise, you're lost. Awaken a few minutes before sunrise to the sound of birds fluttering close by. The beach is still there; you never left. Before seven, you have to decamp. Leave the whiskey behind. A stranger might need one.

Go to a crowded mall and wear your face on the outside for the first time in a long time. Buy a cup of coffee even if you don't really drink caffeinated beverages. Sit and wait. Pretend to read the same book about surviving in the mountains, not knowing the difference, if there is any, between cities and earthen protrusions. Wait for thirty minutes more. Steal glances at the lovely stranger at the opposite table. Get a pen and a sheet of paper. Write her a letter because you don't know her name and you want to know. Address her as "beautiful stranger" and smile at the silly thought. She will look at you and wonder what you are writing. Before you could give her the letter, she will leave. And she will leave behind the same bottle of whiskey you abandoned several days ago. Keep it.

Hand-over the letter to the lady barista. Don't forget to smile and to watch her smile back. Leave quietly, still wearing the face when you arrived. You begin to think that the lady will wait for your return. Of course, you won't come back. And of course, you thought wrong.

Buy a hamburger. If there's any, separate the cheese. Throw it away. When you're single, you don't want anything that has something to do with cheese. You only want two things: meat and buns, preferably warm.

Understand that nine o'clock in the evening is not the best time to go home. It's too early and too late for everything. Debate with yourself. You'll win the argument at the cost of losing it. Thereafter, patiently wait in line. The train station is dense with countless other single men and women. Suddenly, you are home again, imagining pleasant things.



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