“Why do you go to the garden?” he asked.
“I don’t know that many places in this city yet, but there are a few places I know. They’re personal landmarks, in a way. Safe places. So I go there sometimes, spend time, see if there’s anyone looking for me.”
“Like people who know you?”
“Not exactly. Strangers usually. People seem to have a way of finding me when they need to talk to me.”
I’ve been waiting all night to ask…
Do these meet somewhere, these dreams?
Are they memories?
Or are they really the unrealities of my mind?
In my dreams last night, I was looking for my pants.
Or maybe I was looking for yours…
I don’t remember.
“If you know the guy’s game so well, tell me what’s the secret to a woman’s game?”
This guy was a lower vibrating one. Quite douchie. Asian–I wish I hadn’t made that comment about Asians not approaching me, because that probably made this meeting inevitable. This one was sadly cheesy, though I will not punish a whole category of men for his ignorance. But, clearly, he was never going to understand me.
“A strong woman knows that the secret to a woman’s game, is to have no game.”
His brow creases. He gets irritated when he gets frustrated.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Does it not make sense, or do you just not understand it?”
“You’re basically saying that a woman’s game is to have no game, but by going out of your way to have no game and act aloof, is still a game.”
“Of course, if you’re going out of your way to be aloof. By resisting the game, is to still be playing the game. The key is, to not even engage in the game.”
“That still doesn’t make any sense. I don’t agree with you.”
“Then we’ll agree to disagree.”
“Fair enough,” he said, but I can tell he’s irritated. I’m nice enough not to point out the fact that he was here was proof of what I said. I don’t engage in the game. I go over or under any false pretenses that any man presents when he approaches me. I let the men approach me, thinking it was their idea when what really draws them is a curiosity as to why I’m not “in it.” I’d ignored all of his “lines” and “ploys” and talked to him like a human being. And because of it, he hadn’t been able to put me on tilt. He had no hold on me. In the context of the game, he was failing to dominate. In the context of real life, he was engaged in an illusion, a projection, and I was watching him the way one watches a dog chase its tail, careful to not engage and get bit.
“Do you agree that the key for the man’s game is to take advantage of a woman’s insecurities?” he had asked me earlier. He said it like he hoped it would shock and offend me.
“Of course,” I’d said. ” That’s the most effective way. But it’s in your genes. It’s like why hunters go to watering holes. A deer is most vulnerable while it’s eating or drinking water. The hunter is taking advantage of a vulnerability to increase his chances of the kill. In a bar, a man is looking for the vulnerabilities of a woman, whether she has it inherently, or he creates it via her insecurities. It’s a strategy geared to increase his chances of success.”
But if a woman can see a man trying to use negative tactics to his advantage, then she should immediately know: 1. the kind of person he is; 2. the level of his own insecurities; 3. his intentions.
The game speaks for itself. As does its players.
The rewards occur between those who don’t engage, and talk to each other like equal, powerful human beings. Through conscious recognition, it becomes a natural filtering system for quality control.