11032012 – Words

It’s been so long. It’s been too long.

I feel that words have been calling me, pulling me in, begging me to Let Them Be.

I mute them. I go on living. I attempt to have actual conversations with actual people.

I try to hide my journal and forget the passwords to my blogs.

I’ve been living in the Real World,

But my Real World Thoughts were undeveloped, unexpressed, and uninteresting to those I shared them with.

So I let these thoughts dance around in my mind before I went to sleep, while I doodled in my lecture hall, while I drove my car.

And this made me feel crazy. In my very real world, where I could not escape to the internet, I didn’t feel like I was fully engaged in my life. I was disinterested in the things happening around me. I was not impressed by all the things that should have impressed me. I was moody. I wanted to talk and listen to others talk about things that are probably not important, but so intriguing nonetheless.

I’m back to my internet community. I enjoy all the email correspondences, comments, feedback, and everything else from my followers and others who stop by to read what I write. It’s a shame that we’re scattered around the globe and cannot meet for coffee and deep talks.

 

Don’t push me.

I’m very determined and goal-oriented. My goals change periodically, and I think that’s okay. I’m learning about myself every step of the way. It would be foolish to cling to a dream I no longer look forward to. Thus, I am learning and shuffling my life around to make room for things, people, and plans that enchant me.

And then I’m confronted with my culture.
My culture that doesn’t force me to do anything, but whose participants are constantly asking the same questions and are worried about the same things. I know that those who love me wish the very best for me. I have been blessed beyond measure with family and friends who are so supportive, caring, and inspirational. But even these very special people in my life are sometimes caught up in our culture – the one that doesn’t intentionally want to cause me harm, but it’s doing so anyway.

“When are you getting married? So and so is…so and so had a baby…Why not?”

At first, I laughed it all off. I’d answer with truth and they’d be concerned. But I’d laugh because I didn’t know what else to do, and because to me, it all seemed obnoxious and ridiculous. To me, it still feels like a question I shouldn’t be asked more than 20 times a month, because I’m young and free and that’s just how I like it. My relationship doesn’t have to be heading in the “I do” direction, because it’s in a great place as it is. Besides, that’s my business. It’s my life and I am allowed to do what I want.

They understand that. They wouldn’t force me to do anything, but their constant nudging and questioning is finally getting to me, but not in the way they want it to get to me.

It’s just making me feel like everything else I do is not important.
It’s making me feel like who I am is not enough.

And I’m not changing my mind about what I want, just because other people ask me questions. That would not be honest to my own self. I am holding tight onto what I want and where I’m going. I ask them to stop – and it’s not stopping. Well, I’m not stopping either.

Mr. Meets-My-Criteria is not always Mr. Right

Note: This is a personal story, and sharing it makes me feel even more awful for breaking a heart. I hope I can forgive myself one day, just like he forgave me.  I apologize for the cheesiness in this story beforehand, but this was one of the many lessons in my life that has taught me to seek pure happiness- the kind that comes from within, rather than  the “happiness” that is defined for us by society, by our friends, and by our own insecurities.

~ 

There once was a boy.
He was wonderful, witty, funny, and charming.
He was from a well to-do family.
He was tall, handsome, and very sweet.
He spoke my language, he understood my culture, he knew my family.

I was visiting family in a small, small town where everybody knew everybody else.
I met him randomly, he was on his motorcycle.
I was awkward, skinny, and jet lagged.

He was good friends with my girl friends, and he shook my hand and said, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I smiled and laughed, and said I needed to go, but that I’d probably see him around.

Later that day, I was surprised by him visiting my friend’s house [where I was at].
He showed up with a bouquet full of hand-picked field daisies – my absolute favorite.

He smiled and gave them to me, and said, “I saw these and I thought of how I met you earlier this day, and wanted to give them to you as a welcoming gift. Hope you enjoy your time here.”
And with that, he drove away.
My friends giggled, and said that he’s just a gentleman.

We became friends, he would call, we would hang out with our mutual friends.
We were just friends, just friends, just friends.
But he liked me, and everyone knew, but there were complications.

He had a girlfriend. Her name was Victoria.
She was bossy, and mean, and she didn’t treat him well.
But she was his girlfriend, and I didn’t want to interfere.

He left her. He said she didn’t appreciate all that he did for her.
He was tired and he knew she wasn’t the kind of girl he wanted to be with.

He was so nice to me, so very nice.
He would get me flowers randomly, he would bring me ice cream from my favorite place, even though they closed before 2 in the morning.

He was sweet, and he liked me, and he gave me more attention than I’ve ever even wanted.
And I liked it, not him, but the attention.

He liked my curly hair, and asked me not to straighten it, or “whatever you do to it.”
He liked my awkwardness, my laugh, my random singing.
He didn’t think I was too skinny.
He didn’t mind my pickiness with food, my indecisiveness, my fears.
He was always, always there when I needed him to be.
And he liked all the things I myself hated about myself.
He made me feel like the most important person in the world.
He was a keeper – that’s what they all said.

But I didn’t like him.
I liked that he fit the criteria I had for a future boyfriend.
He fit it so well.
I liked the attention he gave me, how he was proud of me in front of his friends.
I liked that he was a nice guy.
I liked everything about him, but I didn’t like him.

So I pretended to like him.
I thought maybe one day I would actually like him.
He told me he loved me,
I smiled and hugged him and didn’t say it back.

A few weeks later, he asked me if I felt that way about him,
Since I never said “I love you” back.
So I didn’t know what to do, and I had never loved a boy before,
And thought – maybe this is love and that’s all there is to it..
So, I let the lie come out of my mouth – I love you.

He was happy, and I was happy that he was happy.
And maybe this was forever, but I was confused.

I didn’t love him, I knew that, but what if I never found anybody better than him to love me.
And I really knew that he truly loved me.

But after a few months, and some distance – we fell apart.
Or, rather, my pretending fell apart.
He would call every day, he was sweet and hopeful and everything I could have ever asked for.
But I told him that we couldn’t do this anymore.
He asked me if there was somebody else, and there really wasn’t anybody else.

I told him he was perfect, that he couldn’t have loved me better.
I told him that it wasn’t his fault, it was honestly me.
And this was the most truthful I had every been with him.

But I don’t think he believed me – He thought there was someone else, he thought it was his fault, he thought all of my kind breaking-this-up words were just attempts to make him feel better.
But I was truthful, and I honestly knew he deserved someone who could return his love and kindness.
I wanted to at least LIKE him, and I tried really hard to, but I just didn’t.
And I don’t know why, but I guess that sometimes Mr. Meets-My-Criteria is not always Mr. Right.

We parted ways, he was still a sweetheart.
He’d call on my birthday, on Christmas, and sometimes randomly a few times a month.
We would talk about life, we would laugh about good memories, we were just friends.
But in his good-byes I knew it wasn’t okay.
He wasn’t okay, and I really, really needed him to be okay.

I broke his heart. He told me that.
I saw him a year later, and he hugged me, told me I looked better than ever.
He asked if I would have tea and dessert with him that day.
I figured that that was the least I could do for him.

I apologized. I said I needed to do it in person, rather than on the phone.
He asked me to stop, he said he forgave me a long time ago.
He said he wished that things didn’t end the way they did,
He said he wished things just didn’t end at all.
I said that I was surprised he didn’t hate me,
He said, “Honey, I could never hate you.”
I almost cried. He was too nice to me.

We dropped the topic of “us” and talked about other stuff.
He said he’d dated a few girls, and that they couldn’t compare with me.
I laughed, and told him that that was ridiculous.
He laughed, and thanked me for changing his standards.

It was a nice evening, with an old friend whose heart I broke.

He took me home, and I asked him to please forget about me.
He looked sad, really sad. He said he wouldn’t forget, but that he was learning to let go.
He wished me luck and happiness in my current relationship, and he was sincere.

He finally let go. He has found happiness. We’re both happy.
But I have yet to forgive myself for breaking a heart that was so kind to me.

And from this I learned a lesson:
I learned to trust my instincts.
I learned that you can’t force yourself to love someone.
I learned that just because someone is amazing, they may not be for me to keep.
I learned that being truthful is important, always.

 

12202011