Chapter 27: The App Survivor's Guide (or: Where Did They All Go?)

Hello survivors, this is Yael.

As some of you heard in the cheers that rose from my apartment last week, I retired. I deleted the apps. I came to the conclusion that ranking people by the quality of their bathroom selfies was not the way I wanted to end my golden years.

I'm tired of swiping left on men holding fish, and I've pretty much exhausted the "Hey, what's up?" phase, which dies down after three minutes.

I thought a romantic world of chance encounters in line for coffee, a comical fall into the arms of a handsome stranger in a bookstore, awaited me outside, but it turns out the space is an orange recycling bin. It looks eco-friendly, but inside it's still the same garbage, only without filters.

Here is a cold analysis of the alternatives I discovered in the "real world" and apologies in advance for the sarcasm:

Single Arabs: "Survival" the community center version

Imagine a room with fluorescent lighting that brings out bags under everyone's eyes, cheap wine in plastic glasses, and the smell of acidic deodorant mixed with existential despair. These are the reunions of the divorced. Everyone is trying to prove they are "at their best" as they scour the grounds like weary hunters at an end-of-season sale, looking for bargains in a pile of used clothes.

The advantage: You know for sure that they are divorced.

The downside: After five minutes of conversation, you also understand why. The conversation quickly turns into a cross-examination of who got the dog, which leaves zero room for butterflies in the stomach. Next is strong.

Salsa and Latino: Plastic Passion

Someone decided that swinging to Latin music is the way to find love. Let's face it: it's hard to look sexy when you're trying to remember whether it's "one-two-three-kick" or just free-falling onto your partner. You find yourself in "close contact" with a guy named Muti who's wearing a straw hat and trying to do a "roll" with his hips while he steps on your toe and whispers to you, "Relax, flow with the beat." This isn't dating, this is a car accident with a Buena Vista Club soundtrack. Next.

Cooking workshops for adults: Cooking in the sauce of embarrassment

They promise you an "evening of flavors and aromas," but the reality is eight hungry people standing around one cutting board. There's always the guy trying to impress with a Michelin-starred chef's onion-chopping technique while giving you "meaningful" looks over a pile of parsley. You end up eating sticky risotto with someone who spends half an hour explaining why he's a devout vegan but "goes out of his way for a good kebab." Romantic? Maybe if you really like the smell of garlic on a stranger. Next.

Yoga, Vipassana and Nature Walks: Silence is not always golden

Nothing screams "I'm looking for myself" more than a leisurely walk in the Darja River. Then comes Vipassana. Ten days of complete silence. Sounds ideal, doesn't it? No digging. But then you realize you've developed feelings for the guy on the mattress next to you just because he's breathing at the right rate. When he finally opens his mouth on the 11th day, it turns out he's a big fan of conspiracy theories about the Earth being flat. Oops. Next is really strong!

Facebook groups for those aged 60+: Nostalgia and a flower smiley

We've arrived in the realm of "Good Morning and Have a Magical Day." These groups are a combination of a photo album from the 80s and the most sparkly GIF contest on the Internet. There, every post by "Looking for a travel companion" attracts 200 comments from women asking "Where have you been all my life?" and attaching a kiss emoji. It feels like a second-hand market where everyone is trying to convince that the mileage is low and the engine is in great condition, but no one really wants to take a test drive. Next for 40+.

The new hit: "The Mask" on Messenger

A message in Requests from someone without a profile picture who writes to you: "I can't reveal myself here due to my status, but I felt a connection to your energy." Honey, my "energy" is static electricity, and if you're a "senior in the defense establishment," how do you have time to send me a rose emoji at 3 a.m.? Next!

Stories: The Auction of the Soul

We live in an age where "he watched my story in 4 minutes" is considered a romantic declaration of intent. If this is new love, I'd rather go back to the pigeon with a letter tied to a leg. At least pigeons don't ghost. Just poop. Next.

In conclusion:

And what about you? Are you still in the "salsa" stage or have you already moved to the 60+ group on Facebook to get some likes and dress up for a romantic sunset?

And yes, I'm looking for the idea in candles that will light a fire in me. Whip!

Chapter 27: The App Survivor's Guide (or: Where Did They All Go?)