Act II. Chapter I: In Her Eyes

It’s 10:30 pm, and I’m flying high above the mountains of British Columbia. I’ve spent the last few days far away from my hometown of Toronto, in sleepy Vancouver.

Sleepy might be the wrong word to use – apathetic? If the city seemed to care enough to be tranquil, I might even chase the fleeting thoughts I have to move there and leave my past behind.

As the clouds clear off and I stare down at the lights dotting sparingly across the abyss below, I wax philosophical about my actions back at the airport. Anything that will stop me from torturing myself at the hands of the blank page, I suppose.

*******

It started off as one of those nearly missed connections. I’ve got headphones in, aviators on. I’m delirious. It’s been one of those few business trips where everything goes perfectly and you manage to avoid every possible manifestation of Murphy’s Law despite being overdue for karmic justice of the most severe degree.

As I step off the escalator, one of those new country generic songs runs headfirst into the chorus – you know the ones, about young love, alcohol, and fucking in trucks – and I nearly stumble headlong into this girl.

I freeze and halfway adjust, just barely glancing into her shoulder and sending us both turning and facing each other, both apologizing before we can even pull the headphones out. For one long second, our worlds are just loud cacophonies of background music while we dramatically mouth apologies and pull our bags back on our shoulders. Then suddenly, with a loud *pop*, we both jolt back into the present.

“I’m s-so sorry”, I say, because apparently stumbling over just my feet isn’t enough.

“No, no! My fault,” she says, laughing.

She’s got a nice laugh, I can see it now. She’s actually really pretty, and she’s wearing a U of T hoodie. Score.

“You go to U of T?” The first question that I throw is supposed to sound innocent, but the smirk on my face gives me away and for a long second, it floats in the open space between us like a strand of smoke that might just disappear in the breeze.

Her eyes open a little wider, and she puts out a hand, nearly but not quite reaching across the distance. “Life Sci!” She says, and a shred of doubt tears through the BC sunshine. Life Sci at U of T is a program that I’m fairly sure they only offer because suicide rates aren’t high enough at campus to keep the Ivy League of the North status.

Good pitch number two – fastball down the middle.

I lay on my best smirk and say, “I don’t believe you. You seem way too happy to be in Life Sci at U of T. Which campus?”

There it is. Her eyes open wide, and her mouth changes from a half open smile to a real laugh. Strike two. “UTSG! You’re U of T?”

“Sort of. I’m from the high school version, UTSC? You know, same soul crushing academic pressure, same amount of power outlets as World War 2?” I laugh a little, but I see her smile fade off a little and her eyes shift down.

Alright, rein it in cowboy. Little too much sarcasm can be caustic.

But instead, she points out my shoes and looks up at me inquisitively. “Dress shoes and sweatpants?” This time it’s her turn to float the question.

I wind up. Pitch three – let’s go with the fastball again.

“Yeah, I’m a [REDACTED]. Just here on business – I flew in wearing a suit, didn’t want to make the same mistake again.” I shrug at the bag on my shoulder for added effect, but she’s not paying attention.

“A [REDACTED]? But aren’t you in UTS-“

“Yeah, recently graduated. I got lucky in the post grad job sweepstakes.”

The conversation lulls. She takes a step back and her head cocks to the side, half smiling, and I feel self conscious. Four years is a long time to be off the market, have I lost my touch? I’m starting to feel the same jitters that I do right before a big contract comes in. It’s nauseating to me that it’s the closest comparison I have.

Strike that. Let’s go with, it’s the same thrilling fear as that pulse between heartbeats when you’re staring down the sights of a rifle, lining up a perfect shot. Timing your breath so that you’ll pull the trigger right when you finish exhaling and your heartbeat slows just long enough to contemplate all the right and wrong in the world.

There, less nauseating. I think.

Suddenly, a warbling voice blares through the airport PA system, droning unintelligibly about a last departure. I can almost feel it cut through our conversation, and the moment is gone. She was about to say something, but instead looks briefly over her shoulder, biting her lip.

“Hey, I gotta run, but you’re from Toronto right?” She says, pulling out her phone. Her headphones fall off her ears, and I find myself much more curious about what she’s listening to. “What’s your name?”

This is that moment, where she’s asking your name – not because you’re meeting for the first time and she wants to avoid an awkward interaction later on, but because she wants to know what name to put in her phone.

“It’s – wait, you have blue eyes. They’re really nice eyes,” I can hear myself say.

She says something back, but I don’t hear it. The socially anxious part of my brain wonders if I’ve rudely re-inserted my headphones because she’s talking but all I can hear is the sizzle and pop of a new record. Her eyes are really blue. Like a light, almost baby blue. That’s my favourite colour. All at once, I can see myself in her eyes.

I’m just some stranger in the airport. Some stranger who said the right things at the right time and knew when to shut up and when to smile. But this girl knows nothing about me. In her eyes, I’m a nicely packaged item, to be pursued and perused. In her eyes, I’m a faint reminder of academic comfort, shown up on the doorstep of her home town. A welcome interloper in the apathy of carefree Vancouver.

She doesn’t know what came before this. She has no idea of what led to all this, and what the context of it all is. She thinks I’m wearing dress shoes and sweatpants because I got a little lazy and I’ve got the style sense of a gnome. She doesn’t know the scheduling, the grueling exhaustion. Later, she’ll find out that I’m writing something and she might even want to read it, not understanding that I’ll trash it seven times over before I let anyone read it before it’s ready. She can’t possibly understand what it is that I’m after now because she never saw what I was aiming for before it all went wrong.

I don’t like her eyes.

“Sorry,” I say, interjecting in her sentence. I notice her hand is outstretched again, and I can almost feel the fingertips brushing my chest just a hair away. “Don’t live in Toronto anymore. Alberta now. Have a good one!” I quickly turn and plug the headphones back in, just in time to hear the starting raspy lines from Kenny Chesney’s Somewhere With You. 

If my face is calm, it’s only because I’ve gotten good at hiding facial cues for when I’ve just committed social harikari.

As I check the gate again, I hum along to the words that I’ve memorized over the course of a hundred nights. I’ve heard this song enough to carve the words into a tattoo, but this is the first time I’ve heard it and been able to actually relate to it. And here I am, somewhere without her.

Irony.

Apt.

*******

It’s 2:00 am. We’re touching down in Toronto soon, so I’m tapping away on this keyboard trying to finalize this before I use our arrival as a good reason to procrastinate further. Did I mention I had a few Long Islands at the airport bar before we left?

Ostensibly to help with writing. Now I’m thinking that all it did was contribute to my loud snoring around the 12:00 am mark.

I try to find some philosophical reason for why I didn’t give that girl my number. Why the idea of who I was in her eyes was so revolting to me. I guess there’s a lot of reasons. When I was unhappy, the idea of someone wanting to be a part of that was novel to me and a little alluring. It was someone seeing a hurricane and deciding that they weren’t scared and that they wanted to see what it felt like in the center of that storm.

Maybe that’s what the difference was. Her eyes were always like that. Curious in the face of pure insanity and bad decisions. A ferociousness that could match the tempest of a life gone awry and the strength to bring it back on course.

Too many writers always get it wrong – they focus on the colour. Her eyes swam in a sea of blue and dolphins jumped from pool to pool, deeper than the ice caps melting away into the ocean. A vivid, nearly effervescent green that mirrored Central Park at the first Spring bloom. All nonsense – it’s never the colour that gets you.

Typically hypocritical, I almost want to pull out my phone to make sure I describe hers correctly, as if I hadn’t just fallen asleep staring at them, swimming in the impossible thousands of pictures we shared over the years.

As if I wouldn’t know her eyes better than I know my own. Maybe that’s the anxiety in me firing off a final volley – I’ve accepted that perfection should never be a pre-requisite to love, especially not when it comes to loving yourself and being happy.

But when it comes to her, I stutter step and hesitate, crossing myself in strings of discord and anxiety. I want things to be perfect again. I want to reverse and correct the things that we did wrong, and tell her the story of how we fell apart as some kind of funny anecdote,”Honey you wouldn’t believe what happened to us in some horrific alternate timeline.”

What made her different wasn’t the colour. They were dark brown. Just like mine. What made them different was how wide her pupils always were. It didn’t matter – bright light or pitch dark, they were always dilated. Black pools of curiosity, almost as if she was trying to see all the happiness in the day before it slipped behind the veil of another night. The dark brown of her iris just hovering on the corners of her eyes, a dark eclipse.

They kept me alive, those eyes. Silver linings on the edge of a life that was nearly completely gone, that kept me swinging and ducking long after I was dead on my feet.

The choice to write here is intentional. The audience is long gone now, and there’s no more curious onlookers to see what comes next. I’m not sure what comes next either.

I’m here, with my eyes closed, finally playing the song I’ve been working on my entire life. This is happy. For the first time in my life, I’m happy with who I am. I’m happy with me.

When I open my eyes, I don’t know what I’ll see. Maybe an empty room, maybe more people than I’ve ever seen before.

All I know is that I hope that I’ll see those brown eyes, peering back from the darkness.

We’re touching down in Toronto now.

I’m home.

I can go out every night of the week, and go home with anybody I meet.
But it’s just a temporary high, ’cause every time I close my eyes,
I’m somewhere with you. 

Kenny Chesney, Somewhere With You

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Somebody Call the Waahhmbulance: My Lethargy is Killing Me

Why can’t I get past all these mental barriers? Why do I suddenly become an insecure mess at the most inopportune moments? Writing, work, relationships with others; when I should be the most confident, I freeze. I choke.

I’m at a standstill.

I want to do better and I know I could do better but the lack of motivation is crushing. It literally feels like a pillow being pressed against my nose and mouth in the dead of the night. It’s asphyxiating. I focus on the little things, the inconsequential. I rather lay in bed day-dreaming and fantasizing than putting any of my talent or efforts to good use.

Whenever I’m done writing a post I’m on top of the world, compliments abound and I feel invincible. When I accomplish a personal or professional goal I feel exhilarated. I just have to continue ‘following my dreams’ and soon I’ll become the best I can be. When I’m in his arms I feel like the most desirable woman on earth. I scoff at my insecurities because I’m ‘That Bitch’.

But then I get home. I flip on the TV or flip open my laptop. I take my pants off get comfortable and then…nothing. I don’t want to do anything and I worry about everything. I’m not who I want to be, not even close.

Maybe I should get started on that blog post…

God, it’ll probably suck and I’ll have to take hours to edit it and in the end it still won’t be as good as any of the other writers…

I should be more pro-active at work. I’m already taking courses that (I hope) will help me in the long run, maybe I should take on more tasks, network more, mingle with my coworkers…

It hasn’t even been a year yet, besides, I’m just a lowly receptionist. Who cares about me and my ‘Career Advancement’?

Maybe I should call him. Tell him how I feel about him. Ask him all those questions that gnaw at my soul every time we’re together…

I shouldn’t be so damn needy. I’ll just push him away. And what if I don’t like the answers to those questions, what then?

I know I’m being stupid. I know I’m being ridiculous. I know I’m holding myself back. But there you have it.

It is what it is, I guess.

The Man You Shouldn’t Want.

(Link NSFW) http://www.imboycrazy.com/2011/12/reader-submission-the-man-we-want-the-man-we-shouldn’t-want/

You lay there, breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling and you swallow, feeling parched. She is quiet, and you know she’s too quiet, but at this point you’ve stopped caring. You’re tired of trying to figure out her figuring out you figuring out her figuring out you. What used to be wonderful and happy, is now just a complicated game of who is going to figure out the other person first, and you’re just tired of playing this game over and over again. You’re tired of getting your heart broken, so you stop trying.

You don’t mean to – you never mean to. You want to trust again, you want to give your all to someone and have the life that you always wanted to, the life that you always dreamed about. But she’s never asked about your dreams. You’re always the one who has to come up with the information, and although she seems interested in finding out who you are, she never asks. And you feel guilty about making her feel guilty for such a small thing, because maybe she just feels guilty about making you talk about your past, what you want, and what you need. Maybe she’s tired of hearing about your ex and how your ex girlfriend broke your heart in the clutch, and how it’s changed you. Maybe she’s tired about hearing about how hard it is for you to talk to her, how hard it is for you to open up again when you think that it’s all going to shit in the end anyway. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So you just don’t say anything, and the silences get longer.

And before you know it, the seconds tick by and she’s staring at you and you’re staring off into the distance, quiet and reserved, not sure what to do. You’re tired of giving up information about yourself, the things that you’ve always dreamed about and wanted, without her asking about it, so you begin to close up. She’s something different now, something different than what she had been in the very beginning when you were first getting to know each other and she seemed to want you for who you are, the man that you presented to her, instead of the novelty of it all. And you realize that inbetween it all, guilt has seeped in, regret and mistrust, and you’re not sure what to make of that.

You reach over and play with her hair, hoping that maybe she’ll be sparked to ask something, ask anything, ask for the world so you can give her the universe, but she simply places her hand on your face and kisses you. And you’re wondering why you’re here, laying in this bed with yet another girl that you’re going to regret when she’s had her fill of you, and you’re not sure how to answer yourself. For all your brilliance and argumentative nature, the one person you always lose an argument to is yourself.

You’re a smart man, you’re something that no girl should ever pass up on. You’re pretty decent looking, you think fast on your feet, you’re often humourous and sometimes sarcastic. You’re loyal to a fault, and you give a hundred and ten percent of you in every relationship – but you’re starting to realize that you should only have to give fifty percent, and giving a hundred and ten is only a license to make the other person not have to give anything at all.

So you shift over, and now you’re laying inbetween her legs, and she wraps her legs around you and pulls you inside her, and closes her eyes. And you wonder what she’s thinking of, and then you wonder if she’s wondering about what you’re thinking of. All you want is a family and a wife that loves you just as much as you love her, but you’re stuck always doing it by yourself. Always, always always, doing it by yourself. Even as you move inside her, you wonder if she’ll text you, if she’ll call you, what she’ll do. If you text her, will she respond even in the same day? Or will she just respond to get you back in her bed again, or maybe not call you at all because your position has already been filled?

Maybe, just maybe, she’s just as afraid of being hurt as you are, and all you are, are bad news. You’re not safe. You’ve been hurt too much and you’re too much at risk for being an asshole too. You’ve been torn apart and scarred, and everybody knows from a young age that young men with scars are the most dangerous kind of men. But you’re not like that, and you want her to know that, you want her to see that you’re the kind of guy that she’s always been waiting for, the kind of guy that any girl would kill for, the kind of guy that any girl wants to die for. But instead, you just close your mouth, close your mind, and kiss her mouth, and hope that one day she’ll open up to you, and share more than just her bed.

And so when it’s over, you lie in bed for a few seconds, and you’re about to cuddle her and you remember one of the first things that she told you months and months ago, back when you first met. That she doesn’t like cuddling. You remember everything that she’s ever told you, all her likes and dislikes, because it’s important to her so it’s important to you too. So you know if you cuddle her, she’s going to feel uncomfortable. Quietly, you get out of bed and get her a glass of water, and come back to bed, finding her pensive and distant. Suddenly she looks at you, and she looks like she’s going to say something.

And you close your eyes, waiting for her to finally open up to you, waiting for something more than skin deep, waiting for the relationship that you both seem to keep hinting at. Waiting for the spark to turn into an open flame, a burst of red in the otherwise gray life that you both are leading, something, anything.

You want the girl that she used to be, and she wants the man that you’re going to be. You want the girl that stayed up till three o clock online on Facebook talking to you, trying to find out how such a good guy can’t get a girlfriend, and not concluding that something was wrong with him, or that he was just pretending to be a good guy. You want the girl that wanted to be with you to understand you for the guy that you are now, not just for who you want to be and who you used to be. You want the girl who was about to uncover a grand treasure – you – hidden in plain sight for other girls. You want the girl who was about to take you off the market for good, and make every single other girl jealous on the opportunity that they missed in you. And she wants the guy that you claim to be, the guy that gives and gives and gives it all and never asks for anything back. Is it selfish to say, that you would give and give and give it all and never ask for anything back, but still want to not have to ask? Because you’re a realist – you’ve had relationships that have ended in massive wrecks, and you know that even though you don’t ask, you still need something, anything. And then you realize that you haven’t asked her for more, and that’s exactly what started your downward spiral in the first place, and worse still, you need her to help you out of it – to help you fix this relationship and turn it into something real, something amazing, something that the whole world has been wanting ever since we figured out that our genitalia was connected to the matters of the heart, but you just can’t find the fucking words to tell her how you feel, tell her that you need her to fix this. Tell her that you both need to fix this, not just you, because if it’s just you, then it’s always going to be just you. And that you shouldn’t have to ask her, but unless one of you asks something, it’s the relationship that’s getting axed.

But worse still – you don’t even know if that’s what she wants. You guys have talked, yes. She showed interest in you, yes. But now you’re together, now you’re in her bed, or in yours, and it seems that you’ve hit a plateau on her feelings. Maybe she’s just emotionless – but that’s not true, because she showed so much more emotion before. So you have to conclude that she just doesn’t care, and you don’t want to make an ass of yourself for trying to explain this entire essay of feelings to her, because if you do, then not would she still not care, but she might also conclude you’re a clingy freak, and nothing says unmanly like being a clingy freak. You’re a man, aren’t you?

And somewhere, trying to cross back and forth and let that spark turn into an open flame, between your ego and her pensive nature, staring into her eyes, and you into hers, and both being lost in some other plane of existence, you realize that the true problem isn’t that you’re not sure how to go about asking for love, it’s that firstly, you’re not sure that you should have to, and secondly, you’re not sure if she wants that from you. And as she pulls her panties on and gets ready to leave, you’re thinking that if you open your mouth, you’ll ruin this too. So you shut it. And you don’t text. You don’t call, you don’t do anything. And your heart shuts down, because you’re afraid of ruining it or getting hurt, and those two things seem like the only two possible outcomes from this ridiculous situation, and you’re still not sure of how you got here again.

In another realm, in another dimension, in some other alternative universe, she is the girl that you’ve always wanted and needed. Her lips are to die for, her eyes mesmerize you, and her hands hold yours tenderly, rocking back and forth when you’re inside her. She plays with your fingers as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world when you’re shopping, and you don’t even mind shopping anymore because she’s being her when she’s with you, and you love her. And just being with her, seeing the real her, all the time, is all you could ever want. In another life, you run your hands through your hair and then you recline in her lap, and she plays with your hair, running her fingernails across the back of your neck and ears, and you doze off happily. Somewhere else, in another time, you never let guilt and games and plays and mistrust and lack of effort ruin the spark.

But right here, right now, you’re trying to light a match on a windy beach in the pouring rain. And she’s standing right there, and in your eyes, she’s refusing to help you at all.

And so you bring her close before she puts on her bra, and you kiss her navel, hoping that something will change in the next thirty seconds that will bring the two lives together, bring your two lives together. And she looks at her phone, and bites her lip, and pulls off her panties and jumps back into bed again, not even realizing what you were trying to do. Thinking that you just want sex. So you’re mad. And you’ll fuck her hard, you’ll clench the headboard under your hand so hard that your knuckles will actually pop. If she wants sex, then sex is what she’ll get, and you both respond viciously to one another, nipping and biting, angry at each other for not loving, not giving, not asking. Somewhere between biting at her lip and wrapping your arms around her and burying your head in her neck, you’ll realize that this is the death of your relationship.

You aren’t making love to celebrate love.

You’re fucking at a funeral.

And later on, she’ll tell her friends how amazing sex it was, and how you just turned animalistic out of nowhere, but how unreliable you are. She’ll wonder at why you’re not texting, why you’re not calling, and slowly, she’ll start thinking that you’re nothing different from any other guy, that you’re just another asshole who wanted to fuck her and leave her.

Later on, much later down the road, after the hearts have already been broken, after you’ve both taken something perfect and destroyed it, she’ll look at you and think that you’re the man that she wants, but shouldn’t want. And you’ll be a footnote in her love story, until she finds another guy and the stars happen to line up perfectly and they both get caught with their guard down. All she’ll remember you for is being another part of that broken road, an emotionless bloodsucking vampire. Maybe if she knew that you had been thinking about names for your kids together at one point in the relationship, maybe if she knew about how much you liked to draw her but you never could draw her just the perfect way that she actually was, maybe if she had read one of the things, just one of the many, many things that you had written about her, but kept to yourself because you were embarrassed about how much you liked her. Maybe if she knew that you too, wanted to travel the world, and that you were thinking of maybe travelling with her, visiting Spain, visiting islands in the Caribbean, laying under a night of stars and not ruining it with sex – just laying together, looking up at the warm sky and talking, random, stupid thoughts that only you two could ever talk about and be happy talking about it.

And as she puts her panties again and again, you’ll wonder what you’re doing. But you already know what you’re doing, and you already know why you won’t stop – because you still have hope. Hope that maybe this will change, hope that maybe this spark will flare up. And that one tiny bit of hope is worth more than all the misgivings in the world. So you continue living your life, knowing that love isn’t there, and you see the writing on the wall, but refuse to read it.

In the end, you’re just another asshole. In the end, she’s just another bitch. In the end, both of your friends hear two different stories about how emotionless and horrible you both were. In the end, what should have been two people bringing out the best in each other, you became two people who brought out the worst in each other.

In the end, there is nothing but an end.

– Ghost.

“And I, can’t do this by myself – all of these problems, they’re all in your head. And I can’t be somebody else – you took something perfect, and painted it red.”

– Daniel Merriweather, “Red” 

heartbreak.

If I could go back and mark the time in my life where it all went wrong, when I screwed up, when I went downhill and started treading on the path of no return, I’d mark that moment as the moment that I met him.

If I could trace back, it’d be him.

He destroyed me without even knowing he did it, of course then I didn’t know it either.

This is a tale with more confessions that I am willing to make…so, this is all.

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Lessons Learnt

There was a time in my life when I was: careless, bubbly, happy-go-lucky and full of life. There is nothing wrong with that, but wait there’s more. I thought nothing could bring me down, that everything was fun and games. I was so naive. I thought I was invincible.

I hadn’t been acquainted with real life.

That was a long time ago and things are different now. Over the course of my life a lot has changed and so have I, and drastically too. I’ve learnt a lot in life, but sometimes I wish I could have learnt it differently. I wish my path had not been paved with lies, hurt, deceit, pain, manipulation and heartbreak. In hindsight, maybe the way it all played out is how it had to. Sometimes we must hurt, break, and fall in order to rise, learn and become better and stronger. I’ve had my fair share of breakdowns over the past few years. I’ve gotten hurt, lied and been lied to, and cried till I could no longer. I’ve fallen and broken down. It’s just never prevented me from getting up on my feet and rising again, even when I’ll admit I didn’t want to. I didn’t know it then, but I learnt a valuable lesson every time.

Love hurts, life’s strange, nothing lasts and people change.

High school: popularity skid. There is no better way to put it. I started off with so many friends it was unbelievable, that number decreased substantially. People came, and people went. I learnt people change…it used to get to me, I thought there was nothing worse than walking into a class full of familiar faces and realizing how many of them were your friends, and how many of them you were so close to and then have reality lurk in and say now they’re no one, not even acquaintances.

I started high school with plenty of friends too many. Over the last four years that number has decreased substantially. As the days progressed, we drifted, moved on, changed and grew apart. I’ve learnt people change. When I look back sometimes, it all really gets to me. There’s nothing worst then walking into a class full of familiar faces and realizing you talked to most of these people, half of them were people you called your friends, a handful of them were very close to you and have reality lurk in and say now they’re no one, not even acquaintance. I used to think there was nothing worse than that feeling but I learned soon that there is.

[The thing is, that doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. That’s life, I now believe that everyone serves a purpose in your life and you in theirs, and when that purpose has been fulfilled we move on. Some people are meant to be there for a short while, some are meant to be acquaintances while others are meant to be lifelong friends…and you can only have a couple. I walked away with my share, and that’s all that matters right now. It seemed a lot worse than it actually was back then of course.]

I’ve learnt that no matter what you do and how far you are willing to go for someone, you cannot make someone care for you, be there for you like you are for them or love you. I know…because I’ve tried. I have given my all, loved unconditionally – in hope that even half the amount of will be reciprocated – it never was, of course. I’ve learnt love hurts. Not everyone you like will like you back, not everyone will return the love either. I’ve learnt to come to terms with that. It wasn’t always easy though, not as easy as it sounds at all. It was always a war…to love, and not be loved. It’s a constant emotional battle.

I’ve always been there for people through thick and thin, in good times and in bad. I did my best to make things better and help in any way that I could. I’ve learnt you can only be the very best that you can be because you are all you can account for. I’ve given my best, my all. Believe me when I say that because there actually was a time in my life when I was so emotionally bankrupt that I had nothing left to give, nothing left to offer – because I gave, gave, and gave some more and never got back. I’ve learnt its okay to feel like that, because you must first heal yourself before you can heal others and it’s important to feel good about yourself before you can help others feel better.

I’ve learnt to heal, to feel, accept my feelings, and feel better about myself.

I’ve given too much credit. I let people lie to me, hurt me and get the best of me. I let things slide and made exceptions. I’ve been lied to simultaneously, sometimes by the same person but I gave them the benefit of the doubt for the sake of our friendship. But when it all came down to it, and I needed the same consideration I learnt sometimes what you do for people they won’t do for you.

Good times, bad times, friendships, relationships, clicks, groups, life– I learnt nothing lasts.

I’ve made mistakes. I’m not perfect. I’ve done things I wish I could take back. I know if I could go back and do it over, I’d do it all differently but I know that’s wishful thinking and the past cannot be reversed.

I have learnt with time and great difficulty, to forgive myself.

I have learnt:

  • People change and that it is inevitable
  • Love hurts and sometimes you’ll question it
  • Sometimes you will go unnoticed and unappreciated
  • Not everyone you like will like you back
  • Sometimes you must forgive and forget for your own sake
  • It’s important to forgive yourself
  • Sometimes moving on is in the best interest of you and those around you
  • Some risks are worth taking
  • It is important to rise when you fall
  • Life will knock you down more than once, you must get up
  • People will lie and betray you, you must learn to put your trust in yourself
  • Your trust will be broken many times, be careful who you trust
  • You have the ability to make or break yourself
  • Some people are selfish and materialistic
  • Sometimes people will put conditions on love, forever and unconditional
  • To apologize when necessary
  • To not hold grudges because they bring out the worst in me
  • To give second chances
  • You’ll get your heart broken and sometimes you’ll break someone’s heart
  • It’s okay to try and fail, just keep trying
  • You must heal, before you can help others
  • Sometimes the truth will hurt
  • Lying to protect someone doesn’t make it legit
  • You’re not obligated
  • You don’t owe anyone anything
  • The life you’re living could be taken away from you at any moment
  • To put my faith in god not humans
  • We make mistakes, we’re only human
  • Life’s not fair
  • We all make our own choices and decisions
  • To not judge
  • You must walk a mile in someone’s shoes before you have the right to judge them and see where they’re coming from
  • Behind every face, there’s a story waiting to be told
  • There are always two sides to a story
  • Karma’s a bitch, what goes around comes back around
  • To not take life for granted
  • Family is important
  • People will disappoint me and I’ll disappoint them
  • No matter what, life goes on
  • Sometimes you and anything you do is never good enough for someone
  • People will always want more
  • Life’s strange
  • Money can only buy you so much
  • The path less traveled is usually the right path
  • Sometimes people look right past you and through you
  • Sometimes you’ll be held liable for something you didn’t do, judged, and blamed even when you’re innocent
  • People can only hurt and betray you until you let them

I’ve also learnt there will always be someone that will stick by your side through thick and thin, come to your rescue and accept you for who you are. There will be someone that will love you unconditionally and look past your flaws. I’ve learnt family is always going to be there. I’ve learnt there are things that should be given elevated importance and to be more selfless. I’ve learnt sometimes it’s life and death and now or never.

I don’t think I would have been who I am today had it not been for these experiences. I am who I am today because of what I’ve been through, seen, and felt. All of it has helped mould me. I’m far from perfect, I have my flaws, my strengths, my weaknesses – but this me, and I’ve learnt to be proud of it.

I’ve learnt to move on and make the best of what I’ve got.

I’ve learnt it’s never too late for change.

I’ve learnt life’s too short for regrets.

I’ve learnt I’ll continue to learn until I take my last breath and with that I’ll continue to change.

I’ve learnt change is inevitable.

I’ve learnt no matter how much I change, I’ll still have a set of beliefs, morals, and opinions that define me – things no one could take away.

I’ve learnt, I’m learning.

Embrace The Truth

One day:

[+] The positive side: they’ll realize you’re worth it or
[-] the negative side:  you’ll realize they’re not.

They say the only people you need in your life, are the ones that need you in theirs. I never believed that was entirely correct, because sometimes we need people in our lives, regardless of whether or not they want us in theirs. Sometimes just the sheer presence of someone seems as if though it’s worth it, however I stand corrected. Because it’s wrong to make someone priority when all they take you as is an option. I thought it was okay to hold on to people in that you wanted in your life, even when they didn’t want you….because if that one gesture brought a smile to your face, made your day and upheld the false believes and hopes for the future than maybe it worth it for just one more day. However in reality it really isn’t. If the presence of someone that doesn’t give a precious fuck about you has the ability to make you smile, make your day and keep make-believe hopes intact than all I have to say is there are lights ‘flashing’ all around you and you’re failing to recognize all the warning signs. Because by letting them have that importance in your life automatically gives them a power over you, the advantage in a relationship – you don’t want that. It gives them the upper hand, the ability to manipulate you and use you. It’s better to accept reality for what it holds, than to brush it off and take it as something it clearly does not convey. Because in the long run you’ll regret brushing off all the warning signs, and lament all the times you seized to recognize what was right and the times you didn’t follow your instincts. There’s no point to a temporary smile, because of the obvious tears that will follow. There’s no point to a day that went well, because of the several miserable days that will follow. There’s no point in keeping false hopes intact, because they only inflict twice the amount of pain when they come crashing down. The best bet is to embrace and behold whatever the truth and reality may be than to hinder and live a lie, because the repercussion of false hopes and a manipulated sugar-coated truth always inflicts more pain. That does not kill you, can only make you stronger.

It’s true you know..what they say, the only people you need in your life are the ones that need you in theirs.

 

 

–  R

I am me: amazing & incredible.

I am many things and I play many roles.

I am someone’s daughter. I am a sister, a friend, and a confidante. I am an enemy, a student, and an acquaintance. I am a granddaughter, a cousin, an aunt, and a niece. I am a fiancé. I will be a daughter-in-law, a wife and a mother one day.

 

And I am me – amazing & incredible.

 

I spent my childhood trying to be the perfect daughter and the perfect student. I exceed at both. I was a perfectionist. I would always go above and beyond myself trying to be the best that I could possibly be – and I was – it just didn’t end well for me. I got placed on a pedestal from which I inevitably fell. I should have seen it coming really. I couldn’t live up to my parents high-rise expectations…anymore. I tried, I really did…to live for them, to be who they wanted, to make them proud. I failed, and then one day I decided I couldn’t do this anymore. I wanted to live for me. This, this is the point at which I can mark a significant milestone in my life.

Maybe rebelling against your parents is a stepping stone of a sort in every teenager’s life. I don’t know what it was for me…but that’s something I shouldn’t even begin to explore right now.

All these relationships – roles – always had a set of different expectations and needs from me. I tried to be who they wanted me to be for each of them. I tried my best, but most of them would probably say I did a lousy job if you asked them. I suspect that might have been why I stopped trying. I was giving and not getting in return, and I had nothing else to give.

I wanted to live for myself, something that I hadn’t been doing.

I did for awhile. I failed epically at balancing what I wanted and what my parents wanted from me. Old habits die hard.

Somewhere along the way – I didn’t realize it, but – my life became about everyone else, and less about myself. I realized you compromise with one thing, and before you know it you’re doing it again, and again and again. So I started living by these guidelines of being someone’s daughter, someone’s wife-to-be, someone’s daughter-in-law…etc, etc, etc and there was a different protocol for each of course. And slowly that’s all my life became, being some different for everyone. I started talking to my friends less because it was taking more effort to keep in touch than I wanted to make, and perhaps it was the same for them. I fell out of touch and that sphere of my life that defined me just became a vague memory of the past: out of reach, irretrievable.

I remember being ambitious and goal oriented. I love books, and reading, and studying even. I love the feeling I get before an exam, and the feeling I get after I walk out. Crunch time and writing a paper under pressure – it sounds insane, but I love it. I was studying psychology: mental health studies and public policy. I didn’t know where it would take me, but I knew I wanted to pursue either psychology or law afterwards…it was worth a try.

& right now…I’m considering dropping the idea, and taking a two year professional baking course and calling it a day. Where does baking come in? I love it. The feeling you get when something turns out the way it was supposed to and looks just as scrumptious as it did in that photo in the recipe book? – Priceless. But I never really wanted to be a baker, I just enjoy baking.

Let me explain…I think I’m cheating myself trying to take the easy way out. I planned to graduate in 2012 and right now that’s not happening because I’ve been out of school since first year. That’s what gets to me. That three year gap, yes. It’s not a competition and there’s no timeline…but for me there is, I feel like I’m behind and I can’t catch up so it makes me not want it anymore. And I know I’m running the risk of sounding very shallow right now, but deep down I think it might even have something to do with not wanting to do because my parents want me to. Blaming them just seems so much easier, but that also means cheating myself out of a career, an education and things that I really love.

What my problem is? I don’t know who I am anymore…I’ve been so engrossed in trying to be all these people, that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be me for myself. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought because….I don’t want it to be like that anymore.

I no longer want to be bitter over the past. I want to close that chapter of my life on a happy note, and start another without resentment of the past.

I’m just trying to find my way.

I’m trying to find me.

XOXO

– R

I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.   –    Jack London