"Hello, darling! Are you good?"

Ah, it's that man again.. I thought to myself when my inattentive eyes caught sight of the foreign guy who lives across the street. I was on my way back from buying lunch just outside the subdivision when his car, leaving the neighbourhood, slowed down so he could greet me, his eager head leaning out the window.

"I'm good," an automatic reply, more from habit than sincerity, came out of my mouth as I contemplated whether I should return the question he had asked. In all the times he had greeted me whenever we crossed paths, never did I once care to reciprocate his 'how are you's'. Partially because I detest small talk, and further engagement with his pleasantries might lead to that. Another reason is he seems to be always in good spirits, so I see no point in asking it back already knowing the answer. Is there any other way to answer that, though? Who actually says the truth and admits they're awful? Ah, social niceties. I suppose it's common courtesy to at least return the greeting, but like I said, I don't want to drag the conversation further, especially since he's always looked at me with curiosity. So our usual exchange has always been composed of him asking how I am, and me answering: 'I'm good'. But "darling"? That's new. Why can't he ever just pass me by without needing to greet me..

"Smile!" he urged amiably, his face beaming as he did so, prompting me to do the same even though I don't like my smile. He has mentioned on two occasions, in the presence of other people, that he likes my dimples, and though I find them lovely myself, I've always felt like my braces ruin the whole allure.

Inside the car, when he moved along, I saw the two young girls he introduced to me as his daughters last time; one in the front seat, the other in the back with a woman I've never seen before. The lady seemed to be amused by the little conversation that had just transpired, judging from the mirthful expression on her face. Was she his wife? Or a nanny? When the guy told me those girls were his daughters the other day, my eyebrows shot up involuntarily, followed by a question: "Really?"—which sounded half-dubious, half-indifferent. Dubious because I wasn't sure if he was only pulling my leg. They looked nothing like him. Not a drop of his foreign blood seemed visible on the little dames. I assumed perhaps they were adopted or he's a stepfather. Nonetheless, I still gave the kids a friendly "hi".

Several months ago, when I came here to work, I found myself daydreaming of a cute and dashing neighbour, a fantasy fueled by this German guy's content I remembered my older sister showed me on TikTok during the pandemic. His posts were these POV videos that so enchant the hearts of hopeless romantics like myself. Though a lot of people frowned at its excessive "subtle" display of vanity, I enjoyed the whole creation entirely. I think his name was Fabio or Fabian. With the rampant POV videos similar to his circulating around social media, what set his publications apart for me was the overall presentation of its visual and performance quality. Besides the excellent shots and cinematic production, for the most part of the ones I've watched, his acting wasn't cringe, unlike the Elevator Boys'.

My personal favourite was a POV of "your neighbour's son coming back from a jog". Now I don't remember the details exactly, but from my recollection, the setting is this way: You're upstairs looking out the window and you see his athletic figure approaching; his pace goes progressively slower into a walk as he heads for the gate, and—my, my, my... did he have a fantastic arse—and then he glances up and catches your gaze. For the briefest moment, your eyes lock, and then his beautiful sweat-streaked face breaks into a smile, a small and sweet smile that's so casually amused, before he looks away just as casually as he caught you, and proceeds to go on about his day. No lingering, no extra theatrics, no insufferable ostentatiousness. That realistic reaction is what separates him from the awful acting of Elevator Boys, where they continue to smile at you for five blasting minutes thinking it's charming you even more fervently but actually only makes them appear creepy and obnoxious.

Another one is pretty much the same POV, but your windows are across from each other. You see him taking his shirt off, revealing a toned and marvellous torso which invites a tempting curiosity—the kind that makes you wonder what it would feel like to run your hand over what seems like a warm and smooth skin covering the sculpted muscles.. And then he turns around and his idle gaze drifts in your direction. Your eyes meet again and a charming, bashful smile crosses his lips, as if activating the secret connection between you two is a guilty pleasure he is both drawn to and playfully shy about. Then he'd look away as if to break the spell, but the way a soft smile lingers on his handsomeness is a testament that he still savours the sweet aftertaste of the magic that he just ignited.

You pretty much see these scenes in a lot of series and movies, but his videos, to me—short and open to interpretation—really stir the imagination.

There are still plenty of unoccupied houses here.. I wish upon a star we'd get a cute and hot neighbour. It's not even about getting into a relationship with him; I just miss the excitement of having a crush and the activities you do, especially the unnecessary ones, just to take a glimpse of his beautiful visage. If I happen to have one around here, I'll definitely walk my niece more often in the afternoons. Haha. Clean the front yard, water the plants and grass, and then clean some more, maybe the windows from outside—huh, I've never cleaned those... And then the thrill you get when your eyes would meet... Gah, I miss that! And then your delusional self would feel like he surreptitiously watches you too, so you make sure you always look cute. From your perspective, that'll become a routine between you two. Without the need for words, you have entered an eyecontactship. Catching a glimpse of him would light up your day, the slightest interactions would boost your energy, so you're more inspired; the prospect of seeing him again would make you do chores with glee. The days that are usually dreadful become easier and joyful. That's the best source of dopamine, in my opinion.

The foreign one we have here.. I suppose he's not bad-looking but I'm not particularly attracted to him. He looks so much older, maybe around mid thirties to early forties. Of course, his age isn't the issue here; his existence just does not inspire a fantasy. I think he fancies me, though. The first time he spoke to me was when he was walking his dog and saw me outside in the parking space with my niece. A friendly "hello" and a wave of the hand were what he gave us. And then one afternoon, when I was walking my niece by the road, he chanced to have come outside. He strolled toward us. Amicable greetings were thrown, and then he said: "Very beautiful." I was wearing my pajamas and had nothing on my face, meaning I looked like death, so naturally, I thought he was referring to my niece. So I cooed to the little one: "Aww, beautiful? You're very beautiful? Say thank you." She couldn't. She could now, but at that time, no.

Then one Saturday, outside the subdivision whilst waiting for a bus for my niece's monthly pediatric check-up, the foreign guy appeared and with no reluctance in his gait, decided to come near us. To my sister's amusement, he talked to the baby, and then, averting his eyes in my direction, with a smile on his expression and a gesture of a hand toward my face, once again, he said: "Very beautiful."

Although flattering, I was taken aback by the boldness of him throwing out a compliment like that. My sister and brother-in-law were there, and I felt embarrassed. But I smiled and said thank you nonetheless. I suppose, compared to last time, that was a little more believable because I was all dressed up.

He always does this. Even when there are people around, he'd compliment me in front of them and wave a hand toward my face. It's truly embarrassing because I know for sure those people don't agree with him. Like when I went to buy something from the one house-shop here (I've previously mentioned convenience stores here are very far).. When I got there, the foreigner happened to be also around, sitting by the small round table having his morning coffee, and the residents of the house, more or less seven people, were outside too, catering to him, most probably.

"Hello," he said after turning around from where he was seated.

"Hi," was my simple reply.

By this point, nobody else was talking, and everyone was just watching the exchange.

"How are you?"

"I'm good."

A silent hush filled the air as he just continued to stare at me for a few seconds, before turning to the audience and gesturing a hand towards my face again, pronouncing the very two words I was afraid he would say: "Very beautiful."

I could only smile sheepishly and accepted his flattery with a humble: "Thank you." Especially because there's a daughter in that family who I think is the "very beautiful" one. I often saw her biking around and passing my sister's house, her beauty getting lovelier and lovelier each time she fleeted through the wheels she maneuvered. Had I been a lesbian, she would be the cute neighbour in my fantasy. It was so awkward to be stared at whilst I awaited for the eggs I was buying.

During the earlier times the foreign man did this, I thought he spoke little English because he kept repeating the same two words every chance he got. Then I thought perhaps he thought I spoke little English so he had to minimise his words for me to understand them.

Anyway, recently, in the same house-shop, I came to buy a pack of pantyliners and he was there once again. Fortunately, the entire family wasn't present but just this lady who isn't as welcoming as the other older lady who usually tends to my purchases. I would guess they are sisters.

So this lady, who isn't warm like the other, oftentimes looks almost
unapproachable. But during this occasion, she seemed so friendly and inviting. The moment I entered the premises and saw them, the foreign man turned around and put his hand up upon seeing me for a high five, his tall figure towering us both. "Hello. How are you?"

I raised my hand to hit his ready one and said, "Hi."

Then the lady, with a glint of interest in her eyes and a still mirthful expression on her face from the conversation she had with the man, told me: "He said he finds you beautiful."

She said it in my tongue because thankfully, some people here actually speak it. Again, I smiled modestly and uttered my gratitude. Perhaps her remark was in reference to what happened last time, which was months ago and an awkward experience for me.

It was there he introduced to me his two local daughters who were comfortably squeezed in one cushioned chair. He also thought I was eighteen and was shocked to know I wasn't. Bah, oui, monsieur, I'm so old. In an appropriate fashion, it's always a pleasure when a woman is mistaken to be younger than her age, but I couldn't help being sceptical about his intentions. Could he be one of those creeps who likes teenagers so he could groom them? Err...

When the pantyliners were handed to me, the lady asked if I'm still single, as if to the benefit of Mr. Foreign Neighbour. I told her yes. I have a feeling she fancies him by the way she was glowing with his presence. She seems to be a spinster, which is a little bit baffling because at her age, her beauty is still apparent, so she must had been so pretty in her youth. Her marital status is none of my business, of course, but one can't help making conjectures.

So fastforward to now, where the foreigner called me "darling". If that was his wife in the car, wouldn't it be insulting to her face? I mean, I'm not a kid, so ..

Ahhhh. Of all the things I should give you an update about, I chose this. But I think it's because it's trivial so it's easier to discard. Also because.. I've been feeling really ugly these days and despite it all, the foreign man's compliments manage to make me smile as soon as I get home. I'd go back to the mirror where my horrid reflection had upset me, and then search for the beauty the man found in it.

Beauty is subjective and each has their own preferences. But still, I can't help pondering.. Had I been blonde, would he have loved me enough and treated me better?

Justasadgirl's Dear Diary