Page 3 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

WE’RE FRIENDS BECAUSE WE’RE UNHINGED!

I walked through Luzon Avenue with my MacBook tucked under my arm like I was headed somewhere important and my phone in the other hand like it was one notification away from ruining my day.

I hadn’t opened my laptop since this morning, but carrying it made me feel like a person with direction… or at least a person pretending to have one. That was the thing about working remotely: as long as you had a MacBook and a purposefully neutral expression, people assumed you were productive.

Everyone else around me looked like they knew what they were doing. Couples walked slowly, with their fingers intertwined like love had been scheduled into their morning. Girls laughed too loud. The kind that said, ‘I’m being perceived and I like it.’ Men walked with relaxed confidence of people who never once paused to wonder, ‘Am I too much?’

So I checked my phone again. No new notifications. Of course.

I rolled my eyes and looked at the modern scenery before me.

Cebu—or I liked calling it Southside—had this way of making you feel like your life was almost perfect… if you just squinted hard enough.

Southside specialized in appearances. It made everything seem cinematic. Successful. Effortless.

The couples looked in love.

The content creators looked successful.

The businessmen looked important.

Even the people having breakdowns somehow managed to do it in aesthetically pleasing cafés.

Southside had mastered the art of looking okay.

Maybe that’s why I fit in so well.

Zoomed out, I seemed alright: TikTok-famous, brunch-coded gay guy, emotionally literate in a way that made emotionally unavailable men suspicious. But zoom in, and the cracks showed. Broken-hearted. Attachment issues. Chronic yearning. Overthinking everything while pretending I wasn’t.

I was the kind of gay guy who could give solid relationship advice to friends while actively ignoring it in my own life. I was the kind who knew exactly why something was bad for me and still wanted it anyway.

Thankfully, I still looked fine as hell even if I was going through hell.

“Oh,” I said quietly after I saw my reflection in the glass. “Damn!” Damn because I looked handsome today, and Damn because why did men always break my heart?

So I opened my Camera app, angled myself just right, and took a few photos. Proof of life. Proof of hotness. Proof that whatever I was going through hadn’t ruined my face yet.

James Valle. Thirty-four. Living in Southside for… forever. Tall. Smart. Handsome in a way that aged well. Emotionally intelligent enough to identify my problems and emotionally stupid enough to keep repeating them.

I worked as a virtual assistant, which meant I could work anywhere—cafés, condos, airports, in a random guy’s apartment—I stayed single not because I wanted to, but because timing, fear, and emotionally unavailable men had formed a very effective union against me.

But today, I wore a relaxed but intentional outfit. Clean baby blue button-down shirt, tailored trousers, New Balance 530s, and Ray-Ban shades. The kind of outfit that said, ‘I have my life together,’ even though recent events suggested otherwise.

I kept only stubbles on my chin and this broccoli hair because apparently Gen Z liked it. And while I was a millennial with an old soul, I was not above adapting if it increased my chances of being desired.

Satisfied with my look and the photos I took, I slipped my phone back in my pocket, adjusted the grip on my MacBook and kept walking.

I was about to meet my friends for lunch, which guaranteed laughter, unsolicited advice, and loud and protective love.

I hadn’t seen them for five months since I went offline to ‘find myself.’

“So yeah,” I said to the camera, lowering my voice like I was confessing something illegal. “I’m still doing great. But you will never see me cry in public.”

I smiled—the kind that looked convincing on camera but needed a moment to load in real life.

Behind me, Café Laguna hummed with life: glass clinking, laughter spilling over booths, couples leaning in like they were sharing plot twists instead of fries. I panned the camera slightly, just enough to include the empty chairs around me.

“I’m meeting my friends,” I added quickly, like I had to clarify that I wasn’t alone. “We’re grabbing lunch. Talking things out. Healing. You know, very emotionally responsible behavior.”