Chapter 49: Detachment.

“You aren't going to find anyone until you're happy by yourself.” ⁠—⁠she said. I was already fed up with her bullshit and the motivational one‑liners that she loved to throw around, as if she were some kind of enlightened spirit just because she was able to echo Facebook posts.

I won't say there's not a shed of truth in that sentence, but the absolute self‑reliance that it tries to inspire angered me.

I'm sure nobody is actually thinking about social isolation when they consider independence in their search for happiness. I'm sure that they don't consider how emotionally crushing is to be in a city surrounded by millions of souls yet unable to find anybody that has noble goals and pure motivations to engage with you. It's all about wanting to get in your pants, or worse. No one initiates contact without a vile interest underneath.

The city was the setting where, in order to establish meaningful relationships, you'll either need a lot of luck or to be a far‑sighted deceit spotter.

I liked its diversity, though. The fact that they won't judge you, as long as they don't know you. Anonymity is precious ⁠—⁠irrespective of the need to hide yourself.

Anonymity was the real solution to shame.

It also made very easy to leave. Now, digital anonymity was a completely different ordeal.

Without work nor intention to get another, things became weird. Insusceptible to the light, it would have been difficult to make out day from night if it weren't from the construction noises and vibrations. Being a recluse in a second floor apartment in the city quickly feels like being imprisoned.

The nightmare‑inducing parasites intermittently reminded me that there were people outside of that room. I started to blame Eve for them and for those elusive dots of insanity that they left on my skin. I started to believe that she had let them in. Maybe invited them in.

Regardless of who was to blame specifically, those bastards were destroying the little reason I had to live. A mundane problem had become central after work and mind had conspired to destroy me. I could hear those bastards whisper throughout the nights. Permanently planning to make my life even more miserable. To blame me of everything. They already had cut my income to zero.

I had to leave, to detach that piece full of unhappiness from my life. Silently. I didn't want to go through the sadness of bidding farewell to the only person I had cared about in Los Angeles, Eve.

The match‑making system had to be kept alive. It was an extension of my life. I decided to move the servers. To keep them running. Finding my match, optimizing my future happiness by providing me with a perfect partner.

That and other things, like renting a truck or a van, and getting all my stuff out without Eve noticing. As I became a hoarder in North Hollywood, I reckoned that the Accord wouldn't do for the trip. So it disappeared from my mind.

My plan was to make my final move when Eve was out in the gym. That's the beauty of people that have an ordered, predictable schedule. I would leave her an envelope with the money for the last month's rent and I would take everything that I needed. No note, not a goodbye, but a silent closure. The mouth had to remain closed, its scope leashed. I expected to clock less than one hour in that final step. One hour had to be enough.