Love story 1, submitted by B.P.
I look back on September 2014 as a time of many firsts, one of which was walking into my first ever Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Studies class, which was an elective for me. My friend in the class could only sit in the accessible area of this lecture hall, which is why I made a beeline across the lecture hall to the row directly in front of it.
So now that I’m sitting in this seat that I have chosen for this specific reason, I get a text from my friend that she will be skipping class that day, so now I’m left friendless in a class I don’t even have to be in.
Desperate to make this class less painful, I happen to make brief and awkward eye contact with the guy sitting next to me and try to give him a smile. He quickly looked away and instead fixed his gaze on his phone. I remember thinking that this was going to be a looong class.
Lecture begins, and halfway through there’s a group discussion. The guy I made awkward eye contact with earlier is forced to speak to me now, so he introduces himself and we discuss the questions assigned by our prof. Once lecture was over, our prof says a line that I will forever credit them for: “Please make sure you get your group members’ numbers so you are able to form study groups for this class.”
So, I ended up giving Awkward Eye Contact guy my phone number and he starts texting me once I am on my commute home, and we’ve never stopped. He became my first (and only) boyfriend. We’ve been dating for nearly four years now and I can’t help but look back and think that if it hadn’t been for a crazy series of coincidences we never would’ve met.
I also later found out that after the awkward eye contact incident, he just started scrolling back and forth through menus on his phone like a dork. Moral of the story: don’t be afraid to catch someone’s eye, because you never know what could happen from there.
Tinder nightmare, submitted by W.G.Y.
So it was 4 a.m., post frat party, and I just put my drunk friend to sleep. I was crashing at her house at the time, definitely tired but still wide awake. So I think to myself “hey, I’m drunk and young and hot,” and I get on Tinder. Because if you’re up at 4 a.m. and definitely not sober, why not, right?
I match with a guy and we start talking. After the initial chit chat/safety check (I asked for his full name, education, where he worked and the name of his superior officer since he was a Marine visiting, all goes well and he comes over to pick me up. We enter his house and he says, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom first, my room’s on the right so just head in there.” I go to his room, open the lights, and lo and behold, on the wall next to his bed, is a ceiling to floor “TRUMP 2016” flag.
I panic: I have no money for a cab, no data, and my friend is dead asleep with no idea where I am. When he comes back into the room, he tells me he’s super tired and if it’s OK we can just sleep and do stuff in the morning. I squeak “OhyeahthatscoolImtiredanywayhahahahha.” In the morning, I got him to drive me back to my friend’s house and never heard from him again. Bless.
Love story 2, submitted by D.O.
I met my ex-boyfriend in my first semester here. On our first meeting, he pronounced his name wrong because he didn’t know we were from the same country and thought I wouldn’t know how to pronounce it. I corrected him and he laughed and went “I guess you’re Nigerian.”
Fast-forward three months and we are spending all our time together. It started off as just having some company and a “cuddle buddy” seeing as it was winter. All our friends kept telling us that we should just get together but I didn’t think of it that way. This went on for a few weeks until I guess he got fed up, and kissed me while we were talking. I was stunned into silence, and did not address it. I just left and basically ghosted him for the whole weekend because I didn’t know what to think. He was meant to be just a companion, feelings were not meant to be part of the deal. I went away on a short trip and when I got back I met him waiting for me. Tired of running, I spoke to him and that was the beginning of our very interesting 16-month journey.
Our relationship was quite erratic. We had very good highs and very bad lows and we learned a lot about each other, ourselves and everything in between. SFU was very central to our relationship seeing as how we met here, always studied in the library, or stayed in my room in residency. It’s where we had the most amusing dates, deepest laughs, and heart-breaking aches. Sometimes I feel like we went through the process backward: getting into a relationship and then actually learning about each other. I definitely do not regret it and I appreciate the fact that we are still friends. After all, “all good things must come to an end.”
Love story 3, submitted by Z.V.
It was first year, and in retrospect I should’ve just brought a proper jacket for the weather. I was meeting a girl in January and the hell snows which had ravaged SFU to its breaking point in December had not yet melted. Yet the low temperature could not override my intrinsic need to display my own gayness through eclectic fashion choices in the hopes that another queer person would take notice. This was a little ridiculous of me, since I already knew the girl was gay — after all, this was our first date.
She, on the other hand, looked fantastic; bright red lipstick and aquamarine blue hair, the kind ascribed to immortal protagonists in fantasy novels. This was the first date I’d been on where our respective sexualities didn’t warrant any secrets, since we were already past putting up facades around who we liked. The prospect of this date alone was exhilarating.
We met up that day by the first-year Towers where we both lived. Neither of us were from Vancouver, so we planned on exploring downtown. Everything should have been fine, but only hours later all I could think was: Oh I fucked up.
We’d been looking for a place to eat, I was starving and made an impulse decision to enter a random shop. We stood together under the florescent lights of a dingy donair shop, the man at the counter had already asked what we wanted. You dug this grave, Z. If you turn back now she’ll think you’re indecisive and weak . . .
For those internally monologued reasons, we embarked on one of the worst meals to eat on a first date. Simultaneously messy, awkward to handle, and nearly impossible to consume attractively — I’m talking tzatziki-smudged lipstick, onions stuck between your teeth, pieces of lamb accidently falling into the front of your shirt and lodging in your bra. If BuzzFeed hasn’t already written a listicle ranking worst first date meals, assume donairs are at the top.
Later we’d debate what constitutes the perfect first date meal, laugh about ours, and discretely point out any other gay couples we might think were on their first dates. I say later because, despite my poor cuisine choices, we’re still together. Happy Valentine’s Day, A!
