I don’t even know anymore.

When men no longer need women…

Perhaps I don’t give a damn whether what I just said is true or not. Sounds like the kind of thing a burnt-out soul would mutter before lighting its last cigarette, doesn’t it? There are plenty of ideal men out there — hell, not just in our species. And me? I’ve never once stopped to check if I was someone’s idea of the perfect man.

I’m in love with solitude, or if you want to romanticize it, call it “individual liberty” or some other glorified crap. But truth is, I’m greedy. I want to love, and I want to be loved. Love between couples, sometimes pure, sometimes dark. But fate, or just my own stupidity, made sure every love story I touched turned into something completely different than what I had in mind.

Males are always drawn to females. Doesn’t matter how loud we scream that we don’t need women, that we’re fine on our own, jerking off to freedom and protein shakes. It’s just biology, right? Without coming together, this rock called Earth wouldn’t be crawling with life.

But that was the story of another time. Now we’ve modernized ourselves into numbness. Advanced to the point of becoming obsolete. The primal urge? Outdated. Swapped for digital cravings, ego fixes, and dopamine loops.

Still, that’s just my opinion. And I’m not here to represent truth or falsehood. I’m just here. Talking. Thinking. So maybe take a seat and think it through with me.

Our men’s perspective.

June is supposedly Men’s Health Month, my dear bros.

Physically…

How’s it going lately? You been taking care of that meat suit of yours, huh? Those chiseled shoulders, that fresh-scented chest pumped up like it’s ready for war, six-pack abs sharp enough to slice bread. Just don’t skip leg day, alright? But tell me this — who the hell are we getting fit for? Is it for you, my dude? Or is it for that girl next door you keep bumping into while taking out the trash? Or it’s for that jasmine-scented coworker you can’t talk to for more than three sentences before your voice cracks like a teenage boy at a punk show?

Be honest with yourself.

Here’s how I see it. No shame if you’re grinding at the gym for some girl. Hell, if that’s what gets your heart racing and your arms pumping, go for it. You still walk away with the gains, don’t you? But never forget whose body it is. Yours. Not hers. Not society’s. Not internet’s. So the effort, the sweat, the soreness, that better be for you first. Because if you’re not the reason you’re doing this, then what the hell are you even building?

And in that moment, did you ever wonder if a woman’s body really belongs to her, or if it’s just something we’re all trying to claim for ourselves? I think it’s both. But the truth is, it’s never ours. Not really. We just get to borrow it, maybe on some heated, reckless night when the world feels like it’s finally spinning our way. It’s not ownership. It’s a fleeting contract written in sweat and lust, signed with sighs, and gone before the ink even dries.

Anyway, if there’s no woman around in the literal, physical sense, you can always fall back on the old rule of the left hand or the right hand. Your most loyal companions. Always there. Always available. No dinner dates, no small talk, no awkward silences.

There’s this saying in Buddhist teachings, something along the lines of “Desire is the root of all suffering.”

My friend, there is a high possibility that you and I should just commit to No Nut November for the rest of the goddamn year. Who knows, our sex drive will vanish faster than the U.S. or Chinese government can switch sides in a diplomatic handshake.

On the battlefield of this so-called victory, you no longer need women.

Mentally…

That’s the physical part. But what about the mind? Do men need women to comfort them, encourage them, care for them? Sure. It gives your mental life wings, makes everything feel worth it. But wait a minute. Those things, we can do for each other too, can’t we? And honestly, sometimes a few words from a close male friend hit deeper than anything a woman could say, simply because she’s never had to drag herself through the same hunter-gatherer world. She’s never felt the ache in your bones after chasing something all day and coming back empty-handed. And when the hunter returns, does he get to complain? About how sore he is, how he didn’t bring home more than yesterday? Once or twice, I guess. But after that, shut up and get back out there. Your woman at home won’t say it, but her silence will.

If you’re willing to sacrifice everything just to hear a few sweet words from a woman, by all means, go ahead. As for me… ahem… I’m not so sure about that.

We men break our backs on construction sites, spill blood in endless wars, spend sleepless nights that mean not coming home. If we’re lucky, the woman waiting at home understands. If not… then what?

I’ve seen many fathers push themselves a little harder, work a little longer, just so their kid can have a shot at a better future. They don’t get to see their children often, but their eyes still light up when they look at a photo. And yet, sometimes what they get in return is blame — blame for not being there enough, for not sharing the load of raising a child. But listen, my father, the man I deeply respect, and my mother, the woman I dearly love, both worked their asses off so I could sit here and write this to you in peace. I’m lucky, I know that. Still, there are so many other fathers out there — tired, silent, alone — grinding through life just to give their kid a better tomorrow.

What do men work so hard for? For their families. Because society told them they have to break their backs building the house, while women build the home. But have you seen the cost of building a house these days? The time, the energy, the pressure? Thing is, women have changed. Many of them now stand shoulder to shoulder with men, not just waiting in the finished home, but helping lay the bricks. That kind of woman deserves real respect, because she still sees a home worth building. At this point, it’s not about roles anymore. It’s about sharing. So both the man and the woman can feel they’re living for each other first, not just living up to some outdated instruction manual handed down by society.

But hey, dear society, if women are allowed to cry because they’re the “weaker” sex, then let men break down once in a while too, okay? You say we’re supposed to be tough and unshakable. Fine. We are. But if we have to be that way all the time, then the forest’s gonna be full of nooses hanging from quiet branches.

We would really appreciate it if women shared the emotional weight with us. That kind of connection, yeah, that’s what happiness could actually look like. But let’s be honest, most of the time men are left to wrestle their emotions alone. Not because women don’t care, but because they’re often too busy dealing with a hundred invisible burdens of their own.

And that’s okay. We get it. Having a woman who’s willing to walk with us inside our own minds — that’s rare. That’s gold. But if we don’t have it, well, we’ve gotten used to the silence anyway.

Confessions to women.

Women? Yeah, they bleed too. Not just once a month, but in ways we don’t always see. In the dark corners of their minds where self-worth gets eaten alive by expectations. In the silent screams behind perfect smiles. You think it’s easy juggling love, work, looks, family, and staying sane in a world that tells them to be soft and strong at the same time?

They’ve got their own kind of battlefield. It’s not trenches and bullets. It’s mirrors and silence. It’s “You’re too much” and “You’re not enough” all in the same breath. And most of the time, they fight it without even letting us know there’s a war going on.

So yeah, women suffer too. Differently, but deeply. And if we stop swinging our pain like a sword and start sitting in it together, we just might both make it out alive.

Just my narrow-ass view of the world. I’ve tried. Tried to love women, tried to understand them, in all their storms and stillness. I’ve failed, I’ve stumbled, but damn it, I tried. That must count for something. And if these words, messy and flawed as they are, reach the women out there, I hope they don’t read them as blame or bitterness. I hope they hear a man learning, unlearning, relearning. I hope they hear someone who doesn’t pretend to get it all, but wants to.

Because under all the noise, I really do give a damn. About them. About us. About the weird, wild, wonderful ways we keep colliding and connecting.

Feminism?

I hear about feminism all the time. The word gets thrown around like confetti at a parade. Equality, justice, the great balancing act between men and women. But frankly is, I don’t give a damn about the definition. I don’t sit around quoting theories or joining crusades. I don’t need to. Because being a man, to me, means something simpler. It means showing up for the women who built me. My grandmother. My mother. Women who didn’t need to preach strength because they lived it every day. One day, a wife I’ll love with whatever I’ve got left. A daughter I’ll raise to never settle for half of anything.

I don’t fight for a fair world by shouting louder. I do it by being better for them.

Honestly, I think everything born into this world has its own value. Feminism is no different, even if sometimes it feels a bit extreme. Perhaps that’s just because of some extreme individuals, but women themselves? They’re damn lovable.

But these days, I see more and more men following this idea called “Men Going Their Own Way.” Basically, we, the real men, choose to walk our own path. The one we want.

This is not a protest movement. Nobody’s striking, nobody’s marching the streets shouting slogans, nobody’s banging tables demanding men’s rights back. There’s no rallying cry, no organization behind it, no manifestos or agendas, no elections, no spokesperson. Mostly, people just slapped a name on this phenomenon based on how modern men react.

Men like that still live fully for their dreams, for their ambitions, doing what they truly want, but they don’t owe anyone an explanation about what they’re up to.

Youth? Of women?

I’ve never quite understood the obsession some women have with preserving youth like it’s some sacred relic. I heard about a woman once who, after securing every last dime from her ex-husband in court, went on to demand compensation for her so-called lost youth. It made me wonder, if separation lets you reclaim your youth, do you also erase the laughter, the late-night talks, the years spent building something together? Or are those memories just disposable?

Youth isn’t a currency exclusive to one gender. We all have it, we just spend it differently. For women, I think it’s tied to beauty, spontaneity, or the freedom to explore. For men, youth often shows up in quieter forms. Weekend football matches. Drinking a few cans of beer together on a hot summer afternoon. That old guitar we kept playing until the strings snapped. The overtime hours traded for bills and future plans. The silent decision to skip one more night out, just to put a little more into savings.

Youth isn’t just about having fresh skin or wild hair — it’s the grit, the daily grind, and the choices we make that shape our lives. If someone wants to demand “youth compensation” from me, I’d probably just offer them an iced black coffee and a reality check.

That’s why the memory sticks with me. I was sitting in the park with a book on astronomy, something that still pulls at me the way it did when I was younger. A little girl came up, no older than six, and asked me what I was reading. Then she tilted her head and asked if it was something I used to love when I was her age. And just like that, I paused. She couldn’t have known that once upon a time, I wanted to be an astronaut. I thought I’d float through space like it was just another playground. That dream was beautiful, and like most beautiful things, it stayed where I left it in childhood.

Life didn’t hand me the stars. It handed me something else. And that turned out to be just fine.

My youth didn’t vanish. It reshaped itself into nights spent learning, failing, trying again. It became long walks home after work. Quiet pride in paying rent on time. The thrill of finding music that understood me when people didn’t. And over time, I realized I didn’t need to chase what I lost. I only needed to notice what I’d gained.

Most men don’t talk about it, but we all carry a hundred versions of the life we could have lived. We don’t need applause for the one we picked. Just enough peace to say it’s ours.

Right now, I talk to my parents more than ever. I laugh with friends who’ve seen all the worst parts of me. I still have a job that challenges me and hobbies that heal me. I’m not drifting through the stars, but somehow, I still feel like I’m moving forward. And that’s enough.

We would rather live alone than live together.

A lot of men have stopped bothering with the endless noise about what women want. Honestly, I get it. Everyone has their preferences, and every desire is valid in its own way. Women are entitled to their lists. She could be into abs and sharp suits. She might want a man with money to spare, charm that lights up a room, and is a head taller than her. That’s fine. That’s real. And yes, some guys have all that. They’re the polished one percent that the rest of the world looks up to.

But what about the rest of us?

The other ninety-nine percent quietly check out of that game. Not because they hate it. Not because they’re bitter. But because they’ve learned the rules were never written with them in mind. So they look inward. They build themselves, brick by brick, for reasons that have nothing to do with being chosen. They learn to cook. They figure out how to press a shirt before an interview. Some even learn to stitch up a ripped sleeve, or if not, they know where to get it done.

It’s not about winning anyone over. It’s about knowing they can stand on their own. And that might be the most honest kind of strength there is.

What’s that phrase with four words again? Economy, decency, finesse, reality.

Women demand perfection from men, but do men get to ask for the same in return?

A lot of men these days have simply lost interest in approaching women to ask for their number. Because the line between being a potential date and being labeled a creepy stalker has grown razor-thin. It’s not about intentions anymore. It’s about optics. A man can cross that invisible line without even realizing it, just because he doesn’t match someone’s personal aesthetic.

I watched a man, maybe thirty-something, walk up to a girl outside a coffee shop. She was mid-twenties, scrolling her phone, sipping something overpriced. He handed her a card. Said something simple like, “You seem interesting. If you ever feel like talking, here’s my number.” No pick-up lines. No forced charm. Just a man tossing a bottle with a message into the ocean.

She took the card, blinked, didn’t say much. He left.

Ten seconds later, she turned to her friend and mimed gagging, as if it were a stand-up comedy routine. Then she pulled out her phone and typed as if she were live-streaming the apocalypse. He might have been a creep in her eyes. That’s the twist. Doesn’t matter what you do. In her story, you’re either the charming romantic guy or the delusional jerk she screenshots in her group chat with the caption, “What the hell was this pervert thinking?”

And I realized something in that moment.

Most men might never try again. Not because they’re weak or bitter, but because the risk of being misread has become too high. In a world with cameras on every wall and social media ready to twist anything into a story, many men would rather disappear into the background than be mistaken for the villain in someone else’s highlight reel.

I used to be the kind of guy people love to label. Bad boy. Fuck boy. Whatever makes the story easier to tell. Back when I was younger, running high on hormones and endless energy, I’d strike up conversations with any woman who caught my eye. Most of it led to short-term fun, mostly physical, rarely meaningful. Looking back now, I honestly feel ashamed of that version of myself. That kind of man? In my eyes today, he was a piece of shit. Frankly, I’m paying the price for it now — love hasn’t exactly gone smoothly, and more than a few women have walked away the moment they learned who I used to be.

But here’s the thing. At least back then, I had the guts to face the fear. The fear of rejection. And trust me, I got rejected a lot. Women turned me down faster than a moth flits from light to light. I’ve been rejected more times than countries I’ve visited. But back then, approaching a woman, striking up a conversation, that was still a thing. Still possible. Still accepted. These days? Not really. Not anymore.

Anyway, I made the mess, I deal with it.

Sadly, the more I tried to do my best in dating, the more disappointment I got. It’s not that I’ve lost sight of the kind of partner I want. I know who she is. I just don’t believe I’ll find her anymore. I’m not saying I’m some flawless catch, but I’m not boring either. Life’s put me through enough to make me sharp, grounded, and strangely magnetic. I know women feel that when they meet me. The problem is, whatever draws them in is usually the same thing that sends them walking away. Someone once told me I’m “magnetic but unsafe.” Fair enough. I didn’t argue. I didn’t apologize either. I’ve had moments where I genuinely thought, “This is her. Finally.” And each time it ended the same way. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore.

The men I know, at least the honest ones, often say they’re exhausted by dating. Not because they’ve given up on love, but because they’ve tried hard and still feel like women always expect more than they can offer. Women have the right to choose, to be selective, that’s fair. But many men have come to a point where they no longer feel the need to constantly prove themselves just to be seen as worthy. Instead of playing a game where they’re always one step behind, they’ve chosen to focus on themselves, to become better for their own sake. Women can keep choosing from the men still standing in front of them. The rest of us aren’t waiting around to be options anymore. Life’s already hard enough.

I, along with many other men, have slowly lost the spark for dating, and honestly, there’s a strange sense of freedom in not having to chase it anymore.

For me, losing interest in dating was a long, gradual shift. Being single now feels natural, like something that was meant to happen — not forced, not lonely, just right. In fact, I’ve never seen my personal growth and quality of life rise this fast. Being single doesn’t mean being alone. It means having the freedom to explore, to chase what excites you, to push past your own limits. Most of all, it means having a kind of peace you might never find in a relationship. If a relationship doesn’t bring more joy than being single, I think everyone knows the outcome of the choice the man makes.

Of course, for those who are in happy relationships, good for you. Everyone has their own life to live. I’m not promoting the idea of staying single. I just know that for myself, I don’t feel the need to change anything about how I’m living right now. I’ve had people come into my life saying they accepted everything about me. But after a while, they started pointing out things I should change. The reality is, men often make a lot of adjustments to fit into someone else’s life, especially when it comes to relationships and family. I’ve done that too. I tried so hard to adapt that, by the time it was over, I didn’t really know who I was anymore. Change can be good when it helps both people grow and feel fulfilled. But when the change is done under the label of love and partnership, yet deep down it feels forced, that’s when problems begin.

To be honest, dating feels like a waste of time for me now. It’s expensive, emotionally draining, and just not worth the stress. I used to wish I had someone to hold hands with, hug, or talk to when I got home. But over the past few years, I’ve found myself leaning more and more toward the idea of staying single for good, even though I genuinely want kids and emotional connection.

Mentally, I often think, “If women keep asking where all the good men have gone, maybe us single men just aren’t good enough for you.” These days, dating doesn’t seem worth the effort anymore. Not when it leaves me feeling anxious and unhappy with myself. Do I sometimes wish I could go back in time and be braver when I was younger? Of course. That probably would have helped. But this is where I am now and I think I should learn to appreciate the upsides of being on my own.

Free as birds.

After everything, I still love women like crazy, just like most men do. But the thing is, we’ve also come to see that we don’t really need them that much.

I still have close female friends. I still talk to my mom every day. But when it comes to marriage, please, give me a break.

If you know me, you know I’ve spent my whole life chasing one ideal — to be a free man. Like a bird that can fly anywhere it wants. Getting into a relationship now would feel like someone buying me a cage. A nice one, I guess. I’d still be able to look at the world, but I’d never quite reach the places I long for.

And to the men out there, do whatever it is you want to do. Whether you’re like me or not, that’s completely fine.

Time flies like an arrow,
And hearts don’t wait forever.