Last night, after posting the bitter, whiny post about my ex, I realized it was way too whiny and I can’t even stand it myself. So I decided enough was enough. My life is full of better and much more writing-worthy things than just the breakup or how sad I am about it. If I truly am in this pursuit of Wholeness thing I need to get over myself and truly look at my life as a whole and all the things that make it what it is. And I have plenty, plenty more and fun stuff to talk about.
You’d think that after 30 years, the girl would’ve learned something
October 31, 2006 at 9:50 am (The Engineer)
But no.
I apparently lack the part in the brain that makes you step away from something painful. If there is a pre-relationships seminar, I missed this panel.
What is she talking about, you wonder? The fact that I still believe that people can be “friends” after a breakup. I mean, I know it’s not easy, but I figured if we both said we were willing to, we could, no? Apparently not. And well, I guess I should have known better, as it’s waaay to early to be “friends”, but as always, I don’t follow the logical steps of life and do my own thing.
First mistake: His birthday is this weekend. I was supposed to come down but now I’m not. So I shipped his gift and asked to be told it had arrived properly. Obsessive that I am, I sent it with a tracking confirmation. I know it got there last Thursday. He’s still to call or email to say, “gee, thanks for the packet. The expensive gift you sent has not been lost in the mail and my idiot roommate didn’t lose it.” No.
Second mistake: I saw on TV a commercial for a class he’s interested in taking. I emailed him the info and said, “Isn’t this a golden opportunity?” It’s here in NY, and there’s another one in Boston. To make sure he didn’t think it was a ploy to suck him in, I added that I can’t offer him to stay in the apartment, as I will be out of town that weekend and the roommates would feel weird. No answer to that either.
Aaaaargghhh!! Why o why do I follow my good heart? Why don’t I do the stuff other women do and am all proud and vindictive? It takes A LOT for me to shut someone out of my life and I thought his actions, though mean in many aspects, did not deserve a shutdown.
Is he busy? Does he not care? Does he already have another woman? Does he want to keep his distance and is fading me out because, as he once said, it’s too difficult to talk to me and not have me next to him? It doesn’t matter. The fact that he doesn’t answer hurts too much. I feel abandoned once again, just like in the relationship.
Today, in a little ferry boat trip to New Jersey, Violet commented that this silence of his should show me what a good riddance breaking up with him was. She also pointed out that I should not call him on his birthday. I am the type of person who can’t just not call or email you if you are important in her life, but I’m not sure I should call. If I do, it will the last phone call I make to him. There is only so much I can take and be true to myself and today I discovered that the only way to really heal and move on from this is to not have any contact with him at all. It sucks, but it’s the way it is.
The whole thing, though, makes me feel stupid. Stupid for writing him, stupid for hoping for an answer, stupid for even writing this whiny post. I’m 30, shouldn’t I be more adult? Perhaps with this things, in life, there is no easy growing up process. But I’m trying, at least.
I called it, now it’s done
October 25, 2006 at 5:00 am (The Engineer)
Remember a post of about a month ago, when I said that my relationship was over and we just needed to accept it? Well, it’s over as of yesterday. And it’s a weirdly good feeling. I miss him and have spent part of the day in a daze and even, at times, tears. But mostly I know it was the right thing to do, the necessary thing to do.
I won’t bore you with the details of an hour and a half long conversation. Suffice it to say that it was good and honest, that we both not only spoke our pieces but had the courage to tell the other person things they needed to hear but were afraid to say. Sad, that it wasn’t enough to love each other or to want to make it.
It feels very strange to be where I am today. I am (sorry for being so immodest) happy I’ve gotten to where I am. Because I know it has been hard work to let go of my fear of being alone and the feeling that I should perhaps settle for “less” because that’s all I deserve. Thank God somewhere along the road (with the help of therapists, friends and roommates) I discovered that I love myself more than I will ever love any partner and that if, as in this case, he couldn’t love me like I needed to be loved then I wouldn’t settle for that. It’s also fair for him. I clearly wasn’t making him happy either, so best to go our separate ways.
I knew for a long time, that it would all come out in due time. That what I had bottled up one day would overflow. Last night it did, and I think it’s in part because hours earlier, I had also gathered up the courage to talk to my mother about another difficult item in my life: My stepdad and his way of treating me. That is the topic of another post, and I will no doubt go back to it, as I am sure yesterday’s conversation with mom will not be the last. However, the fact that I was able to tell her everything felt very good. It also left me emotionally drained and it was then that I realized that I could no longer be quiet about my feelings in my relationship with my now ex-boyfriend. The being quiet and afraid to let go was choking me and not allowing me to focus on other important things in my life, such as… ummm, gradschool (eety beety important, don’t you think?). So I spoke up and though painful, it was good to do so. Months ago, when we broke up for the first time, he did it and I didn’t see it coming. It felt like I had been run over. Today, it feels more like I went in for surgery to remove a bad limb or tumor. I’m still sore from the surgery, but starting to heal because I needed to be without what was weighing me down.
My heart races slower as time goes by. I will be fine. I made the decision to take care of myself and that feels sooo good. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I am ready to embrace it. A little scared, but ready anyways. After all, I’m always telling my friend Violet, the courageous person is not the one who doesn’t feel fear, but the one who is afraid and jumps anyway. Time to put my money where my mouth is, no?
No, I’ve not forgotten you
October 24, 2006 at 11:04 pm (Uncategorized)
I’ve just been busy, dear blog. But later today, I will update you and boy do I have news!
It’s not me, it’s you. And no, we can’t be friends
October 9, 2006 at 3:32 am (Uncategorized)
I’ve been checking the stats on this blog and apparently nobody reads it. In a way that’s better, seeing as lately all I feel like doing is bitch in here, it’s good nobody is here to scold me about it or be bored by it.
And now for the title of this post. It’s the title of a book that deals with breakups and uses that line to explain the breakup with a man. In my case, it has nothing to do with a man or a breakup. It has to do with a confrontation I had last night with a friend of a friend.
Background info: As you read (if anyone reads) this blog, you will eventually get the full “story of my life” or the “this is how I think I got here”. Here’s part of it: After my parents split up, my mom and I moved back to her (mine?) home country when I was 10 years old. The contact with that place was not necessarily the best for me. I was a kid who spoke with a different accent, didn’t know the anthem, didn’t understand or know the foods there and constantly compared her new home with the old one. Kids being kids, they teased me to no end. I became a very insecure child, prone to lying to cover my ass and to fit in, desperate to be one of the “cool kids”. As the years went on, I eventually lost my accent (though not fully) and found my niche. Still, I was different. In a society where drinking and smoking was the thing to do, I didn’t. And never caved in to the pressure. In a place where being different was not right, I was. I listened to old music, read strange books, wasn’t cool, etc. Once I got out of high school, I left and came to the US. I’ve returned, but only for vacations. I miss it, but I also like not living there.
Enter last night’s events. We go out with a couple of good friends of mine. They in turn, bring another friend of theirs, her boyfriend and another guy who is friends with her. I met the chick about a month ago and immediately knew we would not get along. She was too much like those people I hated from back home and to top it off, good friends with my cousin, with whom I do not get along and who is very representative of those things I don’t like from home. But it went ok that first meeting. Last night, however, didn’t.
In talking, we got to the topic of whether I can go back there ever to live and if not why. Here’s a cliffs notes to the conversation, in dialogue mode:
Me: I’m not sure. There are good things and bad. But I’m not sure I want to go back to a country that I have so many bad memories of. I was made fun of, I was the weird kid who didn’t fit in.
Chick (In super defensive mode): Well, I think that has to do a lot with what you input. You clearly were sad about your parents split and you brought that with you. That rejection would have happened in any country. I don’t like that you are painting it like it was our fault, like our people are mean like that and other countries are not like that
Me: Oh, I’m sure there’s mean people everywhere. I just happened to have that experience and I have mixed feelings over what the country means to me. That’s all. I just don’t feel like I fit in in a very hypocritical, pressuring society like ours.
Chick: Yes. You are too honest. But I still think it’s not like we are wrong. It’s just your experience
At this time, the waiter comes and asks if we want more drinks
Me: No, thanks. This huge (16 oz) margarita was enough
Chick: What!? You’re not drinking with us? Come on, drink some more!
Me: No, this was enough, I have a busy day tomorrow
Chick: Come on! When are we all gonna get together like this again? Drink some more!
Me: No, really. I’m good
(two more of this exchanges happen. I finally make my point, everyone else orders, waiter leaves. Meanwhile, I think “this is why I don’t fit in, why they drive me crazy. I hate being pushed to do something I don’t want to and I hate that my “no” is not respected. This was how it was back home!!)
Chick (to everyone else in the table): See? It’s because she is this way that she doesn’t fit in.
I just look at her, shocked.
Chick: Oh, that was a joke.
Me: Oh, that’s fine. For you it’s a joke, but I actually know it’s true. I don’t fit in because I am like this.
Chick: No, really, it was a joke, I don’t give a damn whether you drink or not.
Me: Sure it was a joke. For you. For me, it’s serious. Because I am like this, because I do not follow, I don’t fit in.
Chick: Well, whatever. I think you are making this too serious and too bitter. You need to move on. Fine, you had a bad experience, it is not our country’s fault.
Me (giving up on useless arguing): Yeah, I know.
Immediately I ask for the bill and try to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, all the while thinking, “People like you is why I left home!!“
We all go our separate ways, my two friends trying to do some damage control, as they can clearly see I am pissed off and frustrated. They were wonderful. All through the exchange they tried to defend my point and later, as we walked to the subway, asked me why this was such a rough spot for me. I told them the truth and apologized for potentially having ruined their evening.
Now, a full 18 hours later, I am still somewhat bitter, though conversations with my roommate and my man have helped. In fact, I’d like for the chick to talk to him. He also comes from where I come from, but, unlike her, he is not blind. He’s the first to agree with me that yes, our people are wonderful, but they can be closed minded and difficult.
This whole experience is painful to me because it brings difficult feelings to the top of my heart. I love my homeland, I do. But I had to leave it and put several more countries in between us to feel comfortable. Yes, it has wonderful people, like some of my best friends. But it also has idiotic people who feel appearances are more important than honest feelings. People who are racist, elitist and plain dumb, not being able to see that there is a big world out there. I never fit in and I knew it. Not always consciously, but I knew it. In talking with my dear dad, I know I’m not alone. He feels he met my mom while they were both away in school and fell in love with a free spirited, beautiful woman. Then they married and they moved to her country, where she changed, pressured to fit back into a society that expected other things from her. Amongst other things, that one was one of the big ones that broke them.
I am more like him. I tell it how it is, I don’t put up with bullshit and would rather have 5 good friends than 10 bullshit ones. Last night was a big reminder of why I left. It also reminded me of the pain I feel about knowing that I shy away from hanging out with people who share a passport with me and would rather work hard at finding friends who are from other countries and other mindsets. It hurts me.
I know we all come from a place that has people like the ones I can’t stand. That place is also a wonderful place and we love it irregardless. But I feel that I am entitled to my feelings, to saying out loud why I can’t go back, why it’s so hard for me to find a place there. I am who I am and it took me many years to stop condescending to what was expected of me and free myself to speak my mind and find my own path. And that path is clearly one that has led me away from my place of origin. Last night I felt sucked back in. Sucked back into feeling bad for being who I am, having to explain my choices and thoughts as if they were subversive. I won’t go back to that. Twelve years ago I left that all in search for a place I could truly call “home” and be myself in, and I won’t be sucked back in. Which is why, dear Defensive Chick in the bar, I know it’s not me, it’s you. And we can’t be friends.
