noun:adjective
the difference between the two and why you should know the meaning of words before you puff your chest to argue over them | part one
“it was so fucked up that you called [redacted] a misogynist. if [redacted] called you a whore i’d be upset. but guess what, hannah? he didn’t.”
pause.
why is it that men will always equate a man’s gendered mistreatment of a woman to her sexual liberty? is being a slut, being a whore, so egregious of an attribute that it warrants a man to abuse and disrespect? never mind that they do the same when they think her to be virginal. and what are the parameters to determine her a slut, a whore, anyway? is the expectation for her to reserve her sexual energy for one man and one man only, while he lies and manipulates to hide the fact that he’s spreading his energy, his seed, indiscriminately—is that not a man exhibiting whore-like behavior? all while he offers up only half of his attention, one foot in my door and the other in his obsession for newness? in so failing to realize that the grass is green where you water it, where you care for it, not just on the other side.
besides, [redacted] couldn’t call me a “whore” anyway. i made it clear from the start—i’m not a casual creature, i don’t date around and i most certainly do not entertain multiple people at once. i’m intentional with my time, it’s difficult enough to make space for the people i love and the things i enjoy while working a full time job in an intensive industry. i refuse to waste it juggling men who demand exclusivity but practice none of their own. who don’t even know what it is they want from their time spent with a woman, aside from cheap, surface-level sexual conquest. who don’t even really know that they dislike women.
play.
“i never called [redacted] a misogynist. i said he was misogynistic.”
“one’s a noun and the other’s an adjective, what’s the difference?!”
i blink. thrice. i inhale. i feel the sharpest exhale of my life leave my body.
pause.
it’s a rare occurrence to render me speechless. talks too much, was what all my educators stamped onto my report cards. disrupts class. there was always a question, always a different perspective, to voice. to explore. that hasn’t changed much as i stepped into womanhood. “you always have to have the last word,” an ex would say—never mind that he was constantly contradicting his own—’cause god forbid a woman be perceptive enough to see the holes in a man’s argument.
but this. “what’s the difference between the noun and the adjective?” you mean to tell me, this bilingual man on the phone, does not have a mastery of both languages? you mean to tell me, this bilingual man on the phone—attacking a woman for daring to call out his homie’s bad behavior—doesn’t even know the meaning of the word that sparked this entire fight??
stop.
ad·jec·tive
/ˈajəktiv/
noun. grammar
a word that modifies a noun. denotes a quality, quantity, or distinction.
the behavior.
i dated a man i thought i knew. his name was a familiar sound and the memory of him had always been pleasant. for twelve years, his existence was a quiet certainty, lodged in some small, unspoken part of my heart and mind. even with time and distance between us, i’d always say, “he’s one of my favorite people to know.” because he was, once. those who know him can attest to his calm, gentle nature. to his deep, unwavering appreciation for music. i enjoyed his quick wit, his quiet and sharp humor—you really had to listen to catch it. and i like people who keep me on my toes—who keep my brain engaged. people like that are rare, and they take such different forms.
we had been friends, in another more youthful and reckless lifetime. back when i was trauma bonded to someone not worth a proper mention, back when he and i were part of a tight knit group bound in the relentless chase of good vibes. we went from group camping trips and three-day benders to the occasional instagram reaction—the inevitable drift after a breakup that fractures an enmeshed group. nearly three years post-[my]breakup we’d reconnect and spend two more attempting to spend time, catch up. “we gotta hang,” he’d say. “show me your vinyl collection and we’ll get food.”
when the world stood still, holding its breath—unsure how a new virus would alter mankind—when a nation deemed commerce more important than the health of its citizens and loosened restrictions, we sat in the park. blankets on the grass, soaking in the september sun, chatting over pine & crane. he was the first person outside my tightly kept pod that i’d see. it was comforting to know some things stayed the same. that he still felt safe. that he understood.
four years would pass before i saw him again—at a wedding on the big island, eight days spent with a reincarnation of the first group we built with the groom—a group now on its fifth cycle—getting acquainted with everyone and bearing witness to the newlyweds say i do. leading up to the wedding, i looked forward to the reconnection with old friends, cherished souls from a another time. i was excited to catch up with [redacted] again. talk updates. talk music, unabashedly. share songs with someone whose taste runs as wide and deep as mine. exchange thoughts with someone whose mind is as boundless and fluid as mine.
and somewhere in those eight days was a spark—small, unexpected but natural. i was doubtful at first, mindful of hawai’i’s magick and the secluded nature of the trip. but once we were back home that spark became a seed—one he tended to, one he watered. would it grow?
i’ve never dated a friend. yet, with each incompatible lover, i held onto hope—that one day, i’d know a love rooted in friendship, supported by growth. imagine a love like that? someone who’s known me through every stage, who traces the lessons i’ve lived as easily as the outline of my body, while i hold his journey just as dear. just as close. every kiss a silent prayer of devotion. a promise, whispered and returned—i choose you. today and every day. in this lifetime, and the next. so i danced—tentative and open—letting him set the pace, leaning into the possibility and stepping forward with intention, as he continued to water this little sprout.
ninety days. that’s the average time span of newness. of new relationship energy1. enough time to decide if a connection is worth carrying beyond the honeymoon phase and abide by the three-month rule2. [redacted] made it just past that mark—though maybe i should stop the count at the first day i felt him pulling away. felt his avoidance. slowly, his foot shifted elsewhere, eyes half-focused and his mind already orbiting another source of newness. and his foot that lingered in my door felt heavy with abandon, even as i cracked open small windows of dialogue. so he can recalibrate—adjust his mouth to match his actions. but instead of candor he gave me “yes, yes i’m your man,” only to duck and dodge afterwards.
for two weeks he kept me in a space so gray i wondered if i’d gone colorblind. for two weeks he denied me water. the sprout—once green, once budding—turned yellow and brittle, bending under the weight of thirst. do i fight? or do i fly? with anyone else, i would have flown, turned ghost without a trace. but before this, before everything else, we were friends. we were friends. so i trusted him to be tender, hold my vulnerability as i laid my heart bare: i’m hurt, i am hurting, can we connect? can you course correct?
i thought i knew him. i had known him to be gentle, kind and caring. he had shown me attentiveness, vulnerability, awareness. so i didn’t consider that he would be callous. didn’t think he would be so defensive. deflective. dismissive and demeaning. “i actually didn’t answer that i was your man,” he said. funny, how the quickest he’s ever responded to me was to darvo3. “i was intoxicated so i don’t remember. besides, we could’ve had a reasonable conversation about this but you’re being aggressive.”
i wonder which part—out of everything—this thirty-eight-year-old man saw as aggression. was it when i said, ‘since i have no explanation for your actions, i can only assume one of two things: either you’ve been trying to play me for a dumb bitch from the start or you’re incapable of being candid about what you want’? was it the point-blank ‘both are disrespectful and egregiously hurtful to me and my time’? or was it the final boundary i set when i said ‘i’m open to conversation if you’re willing to be real. willing to make amends. but if that’s not what you’re bringing to the table, i refuse to engage any further’ that became the nail on the coffin?
because god forbid a woman be self-possessed—be bold enough to advocate for herself. and god forbid she recognizes i’m sorry ifs as invalidating deflections, not sincere apologies. that type a is a man’s code for a woman’s “crazy”—crazy for expecting commitments to be honored. crazy for requiring a respect for time. crazy for wanting clear communication. imagine that.
“i’m shocked by your misogynistic undertones,” i carefully said, patient in my effort to show how patriarchal thought was ingrained into his logic. “you are implying that my very valid feelings are making me irrational.” he didn’t miss a beat when he retorted, “it’s easy to dismiss it as misogyny, but to me your behavior is unwarranted, it’s too soon to exhibit this intensity.”
too soon, as if we started this dance as strangers. too soon, as if he didn’t quietly decide he had had enough, as he left me out to dry.
“polyamorous people describe the glowing, exciting, bubbly feeling of being enraptured with a new partner as new relationship energy. monogamists can experience this effervescent glee as well, usually when they have just begun to date someone about whom they are quite excited. closely akin to the feeling of falling in love, nre happens when people are fascinated with each other but not yet aware of the negative aspects of their new crush. in the grips of nre, everything the new hottie says is captivating—but it is not yet clear, say, that they have terrible politics or leave their dirty clothes all over the living room.“
sheff, e. a. (2019, october 17). new relationship energy: what it is & how to deal with it. psychology today.
“the three-month dating rule basically insists that 3 months is the ideal amount of time for you to get a genuine idea or full picture of the person you’re dating. the goal is to help you weed out people who might be love-bombing, or secretly toxic, or just putting on a good face in the early phases of dating when, in actuality, they aren't so great.”
england, a. (2024, june 26). could the three-month dating rule help you find lasting love?. verywell mind.
“darvo is an acronym that stands for deny, attack, and reverse victim and offender. it describes a manipulative tactic often used by abusers to avoid taking responsibility for their actions and shift the blame onto their victims.”
fleming, l. (2023, august 8). how narcissists use darvo to avoid accountability. verywell mind.