The multiverse guy @AltRealityLens

“Table for one, please.” I looked around, certain everyone noticed. There’s a strange weight to sitting alone. Like you’re taking up space you haven’t earned. Like people feel sorry for you. Last week, I traveled solo for the first time ever—Mérida, Yucatán. A city where I knew no one. One evening, I found a bar with live music. Tables lined the street, all facing the band. Every time I passed, a different group was playing. And each time—it was a song I knew. Like the place was calling me. So I took a table right in front. No idea who was playing that night or even what genre. Still stayed. Everyone else was in groups—twos, fours, loud laughter, shared food. I was the only one alone. I ordered a beer and waited for the music. Around me, it felt like everyone knew each other. Tables greeted each other. Street vendors joked with regulars. It wasn’t just a bar—it was a small world I didn’t belong to. But then the music started. And I stopped caring. A few songs in, the waiter approached. “Would you mind moving to a side chair? We have a group of four waiting who could use this table.” Without thinking, I said yes. I’ve always been quick to give up space. Somewhere deep down, I felt I didn’t deserve the whole table—it was just me. But someone overheard—maybe the owner, or an older waiter. He stepped in. He scolded the younger one. “You can’t do that. He was here first. He has every right to sit there.” Even though I had agreed, he didn’t allow it. And I thank him for that. Because it wasn’t just about a table. It was about dignity. About not needing a group to justify your space. That moment stuck with me. After saying “table for one” many times that week, I learned to own my table. To speak with presence: “It’s just me.” I never truly understood what it meant to be comfortable alone—until that trip. Because all those judgments I imagined were in my head. If we stick to facts, I was doing something most of those people may never try: Traveling alone, miles outside my comfort zone... To meet myself, and no one else... And take a front-row seat in someone else’s world. There’s nothing to judge there. And once you integrate that, it radiates through your skin. People still look—but with curiosity. With respect. Even attraction. And thinking about that moment at the bar… if I could go back, I wouldn’t just say no. I’d say: “Tell them they’re welcome to share the table.” Because we were all there for the same reason: To enjoy music. To unwind. To feel connected. And there’s nothing more human than that.

Part 5: x.com/AltRealityLens…

The multiverse guy @AltRealityLens

2 years ago

Part 5: The Signs "I say you ask her out on a date." That’s what @WriteAlready told me when I first mentioned N. I was looking for guidance, perhaps convincing—and if anyone had successful experiences with baristas, it was him. Logically, I knew that was the answer. But

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Part 4: x.com/AltRealityLens…

The multiverse guy @AltRealityLens

2 years ago

Part 4: Check. "Won’t you invite me for coffee this time?" my ex asked. A few months had passed, and we had fallen into the habit of taking the kids to a bounce park, grabbing coffee, and discussing important things about them while we waited. "Yes, but… let’s go to that

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Those Eyes. Some stories last a lifetime. Some are just a moment. I had no idea that a simple coffee was about to start this story—one I never signed up for. Life had run out of kindness for me around those days. Growth came—but it took more than it gave. As a single dad, my world had shrunk down to three things: Work, kids, and home. There wasn’t much room for anything else. And in those rare, brief moments of solitude, my personal life existed only in passing thoughts. This was one of those days. I had about four hours of free time—a rare luxury. I had no particular plan, so I went to the mall. Wandered around. Bought a couple of books. Killed time walking through the stores. Eventually, I decided to grab a coffee. And that’s where the universe decided to shift. The coffee shop was quiet, the golden hour sunlight flooding the place. I stepped inside, and immediately, I noticed her. A single barista, visibly frustrated, wrestling with a blender that wouldn’t cooperate. She barely glanced at me, frowned, and said: "Hold on." No warmth, no customer service tone—just pure annoyance. I assumed she simply didn’t want another customer at that hour. But then, as if flipping a switch, she ran toward the counter, stopped with a small jump, and smiled. "What can I get you today?" Like a completely different person. Sunlight hit her face. That explained the frowning. Bright smile. Pale skin. Glasses slightly sliding down her nose. And behind them, the most incredible clear eyes I had ever seen. They were a shifting palette, reflecting whatever lived in her mind at that moment. They told stories, outshining the sun with its light. Noticing all of this distracted me from ordering. She must have thought I was slow. I probably saw it in her eyes. Then she took my order, and we moved on. And... I left. Just another pretty girl in a coffee shop. Just another moment in a day filled with too many. Why didn’t the universe warn me that I’d get to know those eyes so well? Where were the signs that I would miss them this much? This story started that day, but I wasn't ready to follow it, yet. But the universe knew, and it never asks. Not in this world, nor the infinite others. To be continued…

Part 5: The Signs "I say you ask her out on a date." That’s what @WriteAlready told me when I first mentioned N. I was looking for guidance, perhaps convincing—and if anyone had successful experiences with baristas, it was him. Logically, I knew that was the answer. But emotionally? It felt impossible. Every time I even thought about it, a wave of nerves hit me. My hands got cold. My chest tightened. The thought of walking up to her and just starting a conversation made me physically anxious. But at the same time— The thought of doing nothing made me anxious too. Planning I was still deciding whether to approach her when I realized— The real question wasn’t if. It was how. The thing is, I had never done this before. Not even with my ex. We met at school through a mutual friend. We hung out between classes. We never had a dramatic "first date." We just... became something. So I had zero experience with this. Not even a failed attempt. I wrote down what I wanted to say. Rehearsed it in my head, over and over. Played out every possible scenario—the good, the bad, and the painfully awkward. Waiting for the "Perfect" Moment. For three long weeks, every Sunday, I told myself: "This time, I’ll do it." And every Sunday, I found a reason not to. The place was too crowded. She looked busy. I was in a bad mood. The moment just wasn’t right. Excuse after excuse. Meanwhile, the doubts crept in. Was I even ready for something new? Did I really want to connect with someone again? Would I even have time for this? Maybe I was just caught up in the fantasy. Maybe I should just let this go. The Coincidences That’s when the universe—or something—started messing with me. While I debated whether to ask for her number, random signs kept showing up. First, the delivery app notifications. Every couple of days, I’d get a notification from a food delivery app. And every time? It was her coffee shop. I had never ordered from there. I had no reason to get those notifications. And yet, they kept appearing. Then, the cashier. One Sunday, right after failing to make my move, I went grocery shopping at a nearby mall. At checkout, a new cashier greeted me. I'm a regular there, but I've never seen her before, and haven't seen her ever since. I looked at her name tag. And froze. She had the exact same name. N. I laughed to myself. "Okay, Universe. I get it." Doubling up. Every time I showed up ready to do it, my heart pounded like a drum. At some point, I stopped playing chess because I couldn’t even focus anymore. One time, I failed to approach her in the morning, so I went back in the afternoon by myself, hoping she'd be there. She wasn’t. I took my laptop, sat outside, and started working anyway. I sighed. Almost an hour went by. Then, out of nowhere— She walked by. She wasn’t working. She was with her mom. And yet— She saw me, stopped, and waved. I barely remember how I reacted. She caught me completely off guard. And just like that, my entire week felt lighter. The Last Hesitation. A day before I finally approached her, I walked into the coffee shop. It was an unplanned visit. I barely slept the night before. I was rushed because I had to head to a concert that night. Everything felt off. I was distracted. Not in the mood. As I was leaving—I looked up. And I saw her. She was standing, looking at me. Not just a glance. That face. It screamed, I’m here. Talk to me. I knew it. And I let the moment pass. I said goodbye to her with resignation. Tripped over a chair on the way out—of course. And something in my stomach sank. That image haunted me for the rest of the day. It followed me to the concert, mixing itself with the music and the energy of the crowd. And finally, I decided. Next time—I had to do it. Or walk away. No other option. The Moment. The next day, we went as usual. She took our order. She didn’t ask for our names. She knew them already. She handed us the beverages and walked away. Then I saw it. On my cup. A tiny, hand-drawn heart next to my name. No other cup had one. I checked. And just like that— Everything in my mind went quiet. This was my sign. The Approach. A few minutes later, she stepped out of the coffee shop, alone. Now. That was my chance. I asked the kids to wait for me. I followed her. She was by the balcony, looking out over the mall. I got a closer. "Hey." She jumped. "Oh my God, you scared me!" she laughed. "Yeah… Sorry." I chuckled, feeling my heart pounding. Then—before I could overthink it— I just went for it. "N. That’s your name, right?" "Yeah!" "So… What color are your eyes?" She blinked, caught off guard. "They’re green. But it depends. On the light, and what I’m wearing. Sometimes they look blue. Sometimes even gray." "They’re so pretty." She looked away, smiling faintly. "Thank you." And then—my caveman moment. "Truth is… I like you. Would you let me take you out sometime?" "Yes, that would be nice." She said yes! My brain short-circuited. I almost blurted out, "Really? Are you sure?" lol But I caught myself. Instead, I pulled out my phone. "Here, let me save your number." She took it, typed it in, and handed it back. We chatted for a few moments more. I remember every second of it. The way she looked at me. The way my words made her laugh—really laugh. For the first time—we connected. I’ve tried to put it into words, but I can’t. It was just a moment—one that won’t repeat, one that only we lived. The Aftershock. I walked back to the kids and sat down, shaking uncontrollably. I breathed for a few minutes to calm down. She walked in shortly after. Her co-workers were staring at me, and then at her. When I felt ready, I asked the kids to grab their things. As we left, I turned back. "I'll text you." "Sure! Bye!" she smiled. A few steps away— "Dad, why are you smiling like that?" My daughter asked. "I just asked N. out." They gasped. "Really?!" I nodded, still grinning like an idiot. We talked about it for a moment. Then I said. "Okay, listen—your dad won’t function properly for a few days. Please be patient with me." Both of them laughed. "Okay, as long as you can still drive us home," my daughter said. And for the first time in years— I felt like something new was about to begin.

Part 4: Check. "Won’t you invite me for coffee this time?" my ex asked. A few months had passed, and we had fallen into the habit of taking the kids to a bounce park, grabbing coffee, and discussing important things about them while we waited. "Yes, but… let’s go to that other coffee shop," I replied. She found it suspicious but agreed. The problem? Our usual coffee shop was her coffee shop. And up until now, I never cared. But at this point, we’d been going there every Sunday for a few weeks. And now? I didn’t want her to see us together. At first, the barista and I had only small interactions. The first time, she kept mixing up “decaf” and “lactose-free” while taking my order. We both laugh about it. (In English, you’d think she was having a stroke. But in Spanish, the words sound similar.) Another time, she made a funny face at a rude customer when he left. "I saw that," I teased. She blushed. "Sorry!" Every week, it was the same routine. Chess club ended at 1 PM. We walked upstairs. And there she was. Looking taller behind the counter, her presence effortless. Kind. She often combs her hair in a way that always leaves a single strand pointing upward—like a feather. It distracts me every time. I let the kids order first because her bright eyes always make me forget what I’m about to say. She’s always kind to them. Helps them order playfully. Suggests things they might like. One time, I watched her secretly give my son a handful of cookies for no reason. As a dad, I never realized before how much these little gestures would mean to me. She moves through the café with ease, always laughing, always playful. Sometimes, she just starts dancing or singing out of the blue, as if she’s in her own world. The place feels different when she’s there. At least, it does for me. Over time, she started greeting us personally. Even when she wasn’t working the counter. Even when she was busy. And every time we left, she’d wave goodbye—more effusively than before. I knew her name by then. I read it off her name tag. I won’t post it here, but I’ll call her N. And now? I look forward to Sundays. The rest of my week is chaos. Stress, exhaustion, the constant weight of responsibility. But ever since she became part of my Sundays, the rest of my week feels lighter too. Lately, I’ve started noticing something else. She glances at me now. From behind the counter. When she steps out to deliver an order. When she thinks I’m not looking. If I catch her, I give her a faint smile. She smiles back. We both look away. Maybe she's curious. Maybe she’s just being friendly. Maybe she saw me trying to figure out what color her eyes actually are. Which I swear, I couldn't tell for the longest time. Who knows? But every time I get that glance, I can’t stop thinking about it for days. I told my ex all this. I know it might not be the healthiest thing, but we’re friends now. She still knows me better than anyone. And she could tell something was up. "And… are you into her?" my ex asked, studying me. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Then, finally— "I think I am." And the second I said it, I knew it was true. That night, I asked my ex to wait with the kids for a few minutes. I walked around the corner. The coffee shop was closed. The glass doors shut. The lights were dim, but she was still inside, cleaning in the kitchen. Her hair still looked like a feather. She didn’t see me. And yet, just seeing her was enough. That day, I realized I had to do something. But what? I was clueless... Was I even ready? Did I even want this? Despite the doubts, I kept visiting. And she kept growing on me. But I’ll save that for another day.

@GonzPaoli Thank you, @GonzPaoli, for stopping by! Glad you liked it! Writing this made me tear up too, but it’s been helping me process everything.

The Black Cup. Three months before I met those eyes, thirteen years of shared experiences shattered in an instant. A single sobbed "I can’t do this anymore" and it was over. My first and only relationship ended in my car, my fingers wrapped around a black coffee cup from Seven Eleven, after the dumbest argument ever. No screaming. No fight. Just two people who had forgotten how to listen to each other. We both knew this moment was coming. And suddenly, the person who once knew every inch of your soul feels like a stranger. An opponent, guarding something that no longer belongs to both of you. I’ll spare you the weeks of debating, arguing, and confusion. The final agreement was simple: she would start working, find a new place, and move out. The kids would stay with me—I work remotely, and this was their home, their routines, their safety. She had nothing—no job, no experience, just a freshly printed degree and a desperate need to prove to herself that she could do this. A long shot. But if there’s one thing I’ve always admired about her, it’s her determination. Somehow, she made it happen. Within a couple of weeks, she had a job. Two months later, she was moving out. It happened on April 10th, 2024. The kids and I had just returned from Mazatlán, where we had witnessed a solar eclipse. While we were gone, she had moved her belongings out of the house. When we returned, we sat down with the kids and told them the truth. She was leaving. That night. After the hardest talk of my life, we drove their mom to her new place, and they said their goodbyes. I wasn’t prepared for what came next. Restless nights, holding my daughter as she sobbed into my chest, whispering for her mom. A memory that still makes me tear up every time. I felt guilty. Useless as a father. Clueless. She was asking for something I could not provide. From that moment, I stopped being a person—I became the glue holding the fragments of our broken home together. My own pain could wait. Theirs couldn’t. One day, somewhere in the middle of the chaos, I noticed it. The black coffee cup. It was still there, sitting on a shelf, untouched. I should’ve thrown it away, but I didn’t. Maybe it was because it was the last thing I held in that moment—the last moment before everything shattered. Maybe because it was proof that it all really happened. Instead, it became a symbol. Of the end of my life as I knew it, and the beginning of my wildest year so far. We'll get there, but as I've said, I wasn't ready to follow my story with the barista yet. This version of myself would never connect with her. Something was amiss. Because through this process, I thought I knew who I was. But that was a lie. One morning, I realized something. Days had passed, and I hadn’t had a single cup of coffee. I used to drink it every day. Then it hit me. I had built my life around someone else’s presence. Around an identity that no longer existed. And without it, I wasn’t sure what was left of me. The worst part? I was so disconnected from myself, I couldn’t even see how broken I was. Not until someone unexpected came along. Not to save me. Not to fix me. Just to make me see the truth. But that’s for another chapter...

Part 3: 30K Steps. "You know… I kind of had a crush on you back when we worked together." I stared at the message. It was from my closest friend. She lived in Mexico City, and even though I had only seen her twice in person, we had talked every day for years. And, without a doubt, she was one of the most beautiful women I knew. "Really? Me?" I kept repeating in my head, feeling my ego swell. We started talking about it. So instead of the weekend retreat I had been planning, I booked a trip to Mexico City. I needed to know. Was this real? Did we have the same connection in person? I once read that beautiful women have the unique ability to make men feel self-conscious. And man, the second I saw her again, I felt naked. All the confidence I had built from that message? Fake. Based on a version of me that had died with my marriage. I felt awkward, disconnected, stuck in my head. She left quickly, and I was mad at myself. After all, this was still my closest friend—there were a thousand things we could have talked about. Instead, I was distant. Maybe even rude. Once she left, I unraveled. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. And the worst part? I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to be me again. The rest of the trip wasn’t what I expected either, but it changed me. It was my first time traveling for pleasure by myself. No plans. No responsibilities. I love walking, and exploring an unknown city gave me time to think, to clear my head, to reconnect with myself. While wandering in Bosque de Chapultepec, I stumbled upon a place I had visited years before—with my family. A small pond, where we had once sat on a bench, eating ice cream. That time, it had started raining out of the blue, and we had to run to a nearby coffee shop. Now, I stood there, staring at that bench. "The last time I was here, I had a family." I thought. And I broke. I had thought I was making progress. But at that moment, I felt like I had lost everything. The realization of how radically different my life was hit me right there. I walked away, in tears, with a knot in my throat that lasted weeks. There's one coincidence from that trip that still lingers in my mind. At some point, I tried an app called Randonautica. I don’t actually believe in that stuff, but the idea of exploring an unknown city through randomness sounded fun. It ended up leading me... nowhere... BUT, right in front of where I was supposed to go, there was a coffee shop. The same brand as the one where the barista whose eyes would soon become familiar worked. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. But I was hungry, and since I knew the brand from home, I went in for a quick lunch and coffee. (The photo is real—taken that day, in that very place.) I did so many new things on that trip. Met interesting people. Did over 30k steps on a single day. Went to a club for the first time in my life. Knowing I wouldn’t see any of those people again felt refreshing—it allowed me to explore different aspects of myself freely. Finally, at the airport, waiting for my flight home, I texted my friend to say goodbye, thanking her for meeting up with me. "I was happy to see you. After all that is going on in your life, you look calm. That’s good." She replied. And I felt like a fraud. I realized how broken I was—and how good I was at hiding it. From others. From me. I couldn't stop tearing up from that moment up until I landed. To make it worse, when I got back home, my relationship with her felt different. She took hours to reply. Then a full day. Then two. Felt that not only did I miss the chance for something more... I had also lost my closest friend in the process. For weeks, I felt lost, broken, and without anyone I could truly talk to. The loneliness hit me hard. I met a dark part of myself I didn’t want to. One that despised me. One that whispered, over and over, how stupid I was. How lonely. How I've let everything crumble in my hands. I needed to do something. Finding another close friend would take months. A potential new partner? Not even on the map. So, I tried to level up my social life. Complimenting strangers. Chatting up cashiers. Making small talk... Meetups, social events, deep talks with interesting people, ridiculous conversations with crazy ones. And for a while, I convinced myself it was working. Until it didn’t. Don’t get me wrong—I learned valuable skills. I gained confidence, learned to open up about problems, and finally asked for help when I needed it. The problem was, around this time, I had to quit my job and take multiple part-time gigs just to stay afloat for a couple of months. Sometimes working 16 hours a day. Pushing that, plus household tasks, the kids, taxes, bills, and social exhaustion… One day, I crashed. I slept for sixteen hours straight. Woke up just as exhausted. That day, I hit rock bottom. And in a brutally honest conversation with myself, I finally asked: "Why am I doing this to myself?" What was I really looking for? I didn’t need more random connections. I didn’t need to prove to myself that I could talk to strangers. And for sure, it was not the time to work 16-hour days. I needed to be present. For myself. For my kids. So I let go. I stopped grinding. Stopped forcing social interactions. Stopped trying to escape my reality. And slowly, life started to feel lighter. We started going to parks, shopping, and having fun together again. One day, while walking through a shopping mall, my son’s eyes lit up. "Look! There's a chess club on Sundays. Can we go?" I hesitated. It took me a couple of weeks to say yes. But eventually, we went. And we kept going. Every Sunday. My daughter would go to the playground next to the chess tables, while my son and I would get beaten up by the chess pros. And that’s when the universe nudged me forward. Not with words. Just a quiet knowing. Because, after every chess club meeting, we visited a coffee shop. And those eyes became part of our routine. But that’s a story for next time.

@WriteAlready Hey Nick! Thank you! I hope I can do it justice, as it was one of the most beautiful things that have ever happened to me. As a teaser, the whole story is coffee-related. Ironically, thanks to her, I no longer drink coffee.

@WriteAlready Audio is not working for me when I join as a speaker 😕

@GonzPaoli ERRR!

@icreatelife Wololo! Let's play someday! who's up?

Here's a thought experiment for you: Toss a coin and think about committing to the result, as if you’re doing it tomorrow: - If the option that landed feels right, do that. - If not, do the opposite. Another option could be to do both! Seek ways to explore those interests in your current environment. Volunteer to teach, look for projects in your current job that require those skills or take it on as a personal creative challenge. If, after trying them, you actually like those things, the path will be much clearer.

@imTheToha So cool! Is it a perceptron?

Mission Log entry #7: Perfect Blue Universe 🌌U-Az5+🌌 Finding the Zentari was a real challenge... But getting them to sell me some of their art? Felt nearly impossible. They are hands down the best artists in the universe but have never sold a piece. The reason? They are always chasing perfection. Progressing one stroke at a time, sometimes taking years for each. They believe that by crafting the perfect piece, they can achieve enlightenment and transcend this realm, just as a legendary Master once did. Years ago, the Zentari deliberately isolated themselves within a remote moon to avoid distractions and outside influences that could dilute their craft. This self-imposed exile made them legends, and their location, a mystery. The building itself is a work of art, home to hundreds of thousands of unique pieces. But the art inside? It's just mind-blowing. Crystals carved in ways that seem impossible, paintings so moving they'd make you tear up, and sculptures that look like they could start walking any moment. The piece I'm after belongs to the Valorian clan. It was started several generations ago, but now it's in the hands of Lira, a young Zentari. Despite her age, her commitment to the craft is evident, and she carries the weight of her ancestors' legacy with grace. But convincing her to part with the piece? That's a tale for another day.

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