Those are the common sentences that women of all colors say to me as Im desperately trying to capture a shining light that will brighten my lonely heart: love. Its a repetitive occurrence that seems to happen, while things work out well for certain fancy and uniquely attractive males of various races, as they can obtain that everlasting and super-solid light of love and place it in their hearts. However, that light tends to be unsearchable for me on Chicagos North Side.
You would think that just because there are more than 140,000 women who live on the North Side, I could easily snag the same shining light of love, right? Well, not even. Some women from all racial backgrounds would throw the words picky and hesitant directly at my heart; thats just as sharp as a knife. Others would pitch various adjectives like racist and insecure, too. Lets not forget racially biased and a valid verb that subliminally speaks volumes: stereotyping. These dangerously pernicious words leave me lifeless in my stories of love; my odysseys become repetitive tragic endings.
My perfect metaphor for finding love is someone walking on North Avenue Beach while using a Minelab Equinox 700 metal detector to search for buried treasure. I have a Black male best friend who struggled continuously to retain that beaming light of love while residing in Chicago and eventually found it again when he moved to Milwaukee. I have dealt with continual heartbreaks that are just as bad as the mortifying engagement proposals and wedding altar rejections Netflix viewers have seen on Love Is Blind.
During my time living in Edgewater, women were highly uncertain about igniting a permanent relationship with me, especially since I was a 30-something-year-old Black man who wasnt an engineer, data analyst, lawyer, doctor, or vice president at Goldman Sachs or Merrill Lynch. To this day, I cant find any love in Rogers Park, where I first grew up. Its a curse almost as wicked as the one William Sianis placed on the Chicago Cubs in 1945, which haunted them for 71 years until they finally returned to the World Series and won a decade ago.
I was someone who lived in a studio apartment and did everything I possibly could to survive and manage decently, working a handful of temporary corporate jobs as well as in public relations. I even had the financial capability to pick up the dinner tabs for a myriad of dates I went on in the past. And regardless of my unstable employment, I have a beautiful heart and soul. The point Im attempting to make is that I should be valued in the same way as a white-collar man who has the potential to find love.
Please excuse me for not taking the ultimate initiative to become a Black professional athlete and compete for the Chicago Bulls, Bears, Cubs, White Sox, or Blackhawks, since Im an ice hockey fanatic, especially among those who settle into luxurious heaven in Lincoln Park, Old Town, and the wealthiest of all, the Gold Coast. Also, I can show unconditional love with my heart, not with my wallet. Since I was raised by incredibly strong Black mothers, I was shaped and molded to be a gentleman, not a pretentious prick.
Unfortunately, some women suspect me of being like the men they see in breaking news reports on ABC 7, underground drill rap music videos, crime-themed streaming shows, and even VH1 reality TV shows. Women outside the citys Black North Side community might automatically assume that our men are rough around the edges, a phrase often rooted in racist stereotypes. But heres another complexity: women have to decide whether Im a total catch or a societal threat. Theres no in-between.
Underestimating whether someone from the northern tip of this city can show love is like doubting that an eagle can soar in the sky. Its like saying that Michael Jordan couldnt dunk a basketball or the late Whitney Houston couldnt sing exceptionally well. Of course, Black men can display love and absolute affection like any other human being. They have feelings, too. Despite my tendency to be socially awkward (like any man can be in the city, regardless of race), I deserve to catch the light of love. Other Black men and I in the city know how to fight for, protect, and cherish the true essence of love.
Maybe women cant necessarily visualize my internal feelings about showing love in this region. You dont know if I was raised in a broken home with a single parent. You dont know if I was raised in a hostile environment where my parents were constantly fighting during my childhood. Most importantly, you dont know if I have felt misunderstood by the public throughout my life.
I should never be placed in a deep hole of obscurity where I feel like Im not handsome enough, smart enough, proper enough, successful enough, financially stable enough, or even worthy enough to be loved by a woman romantically. My mother told me one time: To have a partner, she needs to have at least three things: a relationship with God, respect for you, and respect for African culture.
I cant speak for Black male South Siders on holding on to the light of love, but I know its inexorably challenging to do so on the North Side. This message also applies to Black men in Chicago, the suburbs, small towns in Illinois, and even across the country. Let there be love for Chocolate men who reside in Uptown, Lakeview, Irving Park, Albany Park, Jefferson Park, Ravenswood, Lincoln Square, Lincoln Park, Bucktown, and Avondale. And, of course, lets not forget Edgewater and Rogers Park. Chicago may not be the city of love, but our Black men deserve to find a chunk of it, especially me.