The Anti-Feminist Diary

Missed Call

I opened the blinds to the window, letting the brightness of the moon creep into my dim room, before taking a giant gulp from my mug. The translucent burgundy liquid was dark enough to hide the bottom of the ceramic cup. Looking down on the city and all the flickering lightbulbs just made me long for their cosmic counterparts that I only see when I visit my hometown. Before going away for college I used to ask myself, how can people trade a life in the peaceful and calm life in the countrysides for a hectic and turbulent life in the city, yet here I am, living in the thick of it. To be fair, I still don't know the answer to my own question.

The big hand finally caught up with the smaller one that's been waiting by the number twelve, now the giant golden tower standing a few kilometers away chimed as everybody else cheered. So many people are out tonight, even though it's freezing. I can see the women rocking their weight from their toes to their heels as their feet grow tired and sore from the poor choice of stilettos. Too bad it was winter, they would've been carrying their shoes, barefoot, by now if it wasn't for the freezing pavement. And all the dickheads they've brought with them to kiss at midnight who just refuses to either give them their shoes since he's got socks to work with or carry them back to their apartment or hotel room because her feet are tired. Poor men. I bet they could've gone to other planets or discovered a cure for cancer and AIDs by now if it wasn't for us women holding them back or keeping them distracted. But then again no, what good does it make to discover such things if there are no women to spend their prize money on. No women to have celebratory sex with. No women to impress. No women to make them feel like men. I didn't know where my mind was taking me with this thought but before I know it, I've finished my drink. The last drop dripped from the edge of my lips, good thing my tongue was quick enough to catch it. I looked down to the bottom of the mug and stared at the black lettering, amazed how his handwriting of our initials actually lasted, even after those hot days or cool nights, lasted, lasted longer than we did.

I went back to the kitchen and grabbed the whole bottle of wine this time. I was enjoying the bitter fermented taste of sweet grapes when my phone stopped playing Ed Sheeran songs and started booming the stupid ringtone across my apartment. I went to my dock and was about to answer the call but then I saw the numbers across the screen. It was a number unsaved in my phone, but the digits I recognized, it was a code that unlocked millions of micro millenniums spent stupidly smiling down on the screen as my thumbs excitedly form replies to your messages, unlocked memories of the countless hours of calls we collected in our log. It's funny how months have gone by that you haven't given me a ring but whenever I check my phone, there's no one else's calls I miss.

I knew you wouldn't change your number, there's too many people on your list to inform if you did. I never thought though, that it still includes me.

The ringing came to a halt and Eddy resumed his song, but not a moment later was interrupted by another call. I didn't pick up. And then another one. I still didn't felt like picking up. And then another one. U. N. I. finally had the chance to finish. Then a notification for a voice mail appeared.

Without hesitation, I played the message, his voice echoed through my living room.

"Pick up. I promise I'm not drunk. Just pick up."

Lair.

"I'm outside your apartment, I want to talk to you." Paul's voice sounded far from sober. "Let me in, I swear I won't do anything you wouldn't like. Just...talk to me." Then it went dead.

I turned my phone off in annoyance, in fear. Fear that I might do something we both wouldn't like. With a deep sigh, I chuck my phone under one of the many pillows on my couch and went back to my room and slept. Freeze to death, Paul.