Pearl 🐚🫧

Drabbles from my life, shaped by a chic perspective

[pearliponders]

Friday blog 1

I woke up to the rhythmic pounding of construction men at my door—the kind of intrusion that promises a shiny new kitchen but delivers a week of living in a construction zone. It didn't matter. Despite a measly four hours of sleep, I was fueled by a different kind of caffeine: the high of a "good hair day" and a makeup trick that made my eyes look large enough to see into the future.

I was heading back to the office after a week of being sick, ready to finally face Mr. Mystery. He’s the kind of man who exists solely in the physical realm—a digital ghost whose lack of an online footprint haunts my search history and fuels my curiosity. I was ready for the reveal.

I walked in, eyes wide and hair perfect, only to find… an empty chair.

He was off. All that effort, and the only person who saw my "super nice" makeup was the guy at the deli. It’s funny how the absence of one person can make a whole room feel obsolete. I spent the day tripping over easy tasks and falling behind, distracted by the loud, echoing silence of his empty desk.

By Wednesday, the "New Year, New Me" energy had hit a snag. We’re in the final shedding of the Year of the Snake, and honey, the skin I’m sloughing off is looking a little rough. I haven't showered in two days, my room is a graveyard of "new furniture" dreams, and I’ve fallen back into the holy trinity of stress: drinking, smoking and procrastination.

I’m messy. My bedroom is messy. My habits are messy. But like the kitchen being torn apart downstairs, maybe you have to be a bit of a disaster before you can be a masterpiece.

I went back to work today, another round of perfect hair in tow, only to be met with the same vacant seat. Monday, they say. He returns Monday.

As I sat there with my flawless blowout and my mounting piles of work, I realized that maybe the most mysterious thing about Mr. Mystery isn't his lack of social media, it’s the way I keep dressing up for a man who isn't there to see it.

Is it still a "look" if the target audience is a ghost? Or am I just practicing for the main event?

I’ll try again next shift. After all, the kitchen and the girl are still under construction.

[pearliponders]

My weekly blogs will officially begin Friday 🫧🐚🤍🪽🕊️

[pearliponders]

FIRST BLOG/ DIGITAL DIARY

Pearl here……..

I had almost forgotten what it felt like to have a crush on someone who doesn’t even see you. The humiliation of it. The secrecy. The way no one technically knows but somehow it still feels like there’s a stadium full of people watching every time I try to be casually pleasant. A simple “hi.” A painfully polite “thanks.” And in my head? A full monologue, complete with a laugh track.

So far, that’s been the extent of our relationship. He says hello, hands me my numbers, and I leave. Occasionally, I might catch him at the end of the day. Might. No conversation. No lingering glance. No goodbye. Nothing. And yet somehow, it still hurts an absurd amount for someone I barely know. Which begs the uncomfortable question: at what point does a crush become… parasocial?

Here’s the plot twist: he’s my manager. Of all the men in all the workplaces in all the village, of course it had to be the one who signs off on my day and disappears into managerial mystery. He’s impossibly nonchalant. No social media. No online presence. No photos to obsess over at 2 a.m. Just vibes. And silence. Which, frankly, feels cruel.

Now, I’d love to say I’m approaching this with confidence and emotional maturity. I am not. I’m a bigger girl, no cute euphemisms, no soft lighting. And some days, that fact feels louder than anything else. Especially when attraction doesn’t come easily to me. I don’t fall for people often. It takes forever. So when I finally do, it feels particularly unfair to look in the mirror and think, Really? This is the body I have to bring to the table?

I keep telling myself I’ll change things. New routines. New rules. Eat at certain times. Walk after others. Drink more coffee. As if attraction his or mine can be scheduled neatly between four and six. But boredom has a way of undoing the most ambitious plans, especially when you only work twice a week and have far too much time to think.

Still, tomorrow is a workday. Which means there’s hope. Or at least opportunity. Maybe I’ll try to start a conversation. Maybe it’ll be awkward. Maybe it’ll be nothing. But isn’t that the thing about crushes? They thrive in the maybes.

That’s when I started to ask myself…

Is the pain of wanting someone who doesn’t want you back more embarrassing than never wanting anyone at all?