*Sorry for the password protection. I just wanted to know whether it was okay to post this already. Please note that even if things went the way they did, we’re still friends. 🙂 So, no hate comments okay? And if you’re reading this, Anton, no need to type in the password anymore.
We have to survive, in a day by day kind of way. No matter what, we have to function. That is the only truth right now. Everything else is probably a lie. Life is probably a lie and the world may be too big for love to be real. In fact, all of love might not even amount to anything at all. But wait, I’m not here to disappoint you. I’m just lonely and hurting. Aren’t we all?
Without being too imposing, I just need some space to understand everything that’s happened in the last 48 hours or so.
Wow, it’s so difficult to have the ground fall apart and feel like I have none of ’em wings to rescue me from the fall. Evan is right about the crashing, the falling and the breathing. Last night (Wednesday where I am), I lay in bed thinking that everything I was ever afraid of finally came true. I am a twenty-one year old failure who does not feel prepared to work or grow up at all. And to top it off, I’m alone again and I don’t know how I got here at all. I came home last night dazed. I wanted to grab a pair of socks, put on some rubber shoes and run. I wanted to run away…from here, from this place that wreaked of you and all of what we were.
I don’t understand why tenses are so easily changed by amateurish writers. Past becomes present when present becomes past and yet the meaning doesn’t change, does it? Past was alone and present is just the same. Find one tense and stick with it.
I can’t make that joke because you said it’s mean and hurtful. Well, imagine stumbling upon the words all on my own and having to utter them just to feel whole in that hey-i-understand-where-we’re-at,-i-think kind of way? Do you see how our actions affect the ordinariness of speech such that instead of saying “we are a good couple” I had to correct myself mid-sentence and say, “well, we were.” I never correct myself mid-sentence unless I know for sure you’ll beat me to it. And what about the hand-holding nightmare of it all? When after some time together, I feel like we’re back to basics…struggling to find where it all began.
I was out today unable to stay cloistered in these walls. Your voice had a finality to it this morning when you said meeting wasn’t a good idea. “It isn’t a good idea.” I can hear you say it now and I can’t recall ever thinking you would find these words and direct them at me. At no point did I see this coming. I thought I was the caged bird and I really believed, as I do still, that I knew why the caged bird sang. Naturally it was love, in case you didn’t follow the allusion to Maya Angelou and point being maybe I felt most free when I had a cage to begin with. The less off-kilter word to replace “cage” being “commitment.”
I cannot explain the emptiness and the irony of how it all turned out. When I said yes a year ago I wanted nothing but to throw up and yesterday, when it became clear that things were moving toward the opposite direction, I held my hand to my mouth and thought it would happen again. But I didn’t. I think my body knows when to stop and my spirit knows when it has to stand up and fight for what it loves, for what it wants and needs but cannot have. I was not about to leave just as I had come. Please understand, you knew it would come to this but I had no clue. All I had was a bag full of movies I knew you’d love and so much hope in everything good in the world. I can’t even get myself to watch Young Frankenstein alone without thinking about that time when we saw The Producers…
Then it happened. I know now how Daniel Kitson felt when he had to do a show and make people laugh right after he had just been broken. Here is his account of how it is:
The world is too big for love to be real. There are too many people in the world to ever know, beyond everything, that you are with the right person. That your heart is as swollen as it can be. Think of all the people in China. It is unlikely anyone will ever meet all of them. How can we know for certain, that trapped inside a foreign language and thumping in a foreign heart there isn’t a love that is meant for us. The infinite possibility of existence, its limitless potential, is the proof that we need that love is nothing more than an imagination, a human folly, friendship swollen with self-importance, a final retreat from the storm of possibility. The love of our life could so easily have been someone else. It is random and accidental, haphazard and unsystematic. That which we feel for one person, clinging on to the delusion of destiny, could so easily be felt for a million people should the timing and the meetings and the mutual readiness have coalesced at some other time in some other place. Should someone else have accepted us or rejected us then everything would have been different. And once we know this, we know that all love is a lie. Not honesty but deception. Not heroism but cowardice. An unspoken agreement of mutual consolidation and compromise, a shield from possibility and a bed in which to sleep, nothing more than that.
But I do still miss her.
For you of course, I’ll say “I do still miss him” even without the “still” because I really do. I’ll never understand why people who are loved always feel more the presence of the void compared to the existence of love from those who care enough to show it. Why are we so afraid to let ourselves be open to the one thing that will inevitably save us from the futility of life? I bet this was all Sisyphus wanted, some company when he rolled that stupid rock up the hill and watched it fall again and again throughout his days.
There is nothing here but the possibility of love. Everything we can ever manage on our own isn’t worth a damn if there isn’t someone who’ll hold our hand and help us walk through it all. I don’t understand how the simplicity of love has to be made complex by big words like commitment and ambition. Isn’t the purpose of life just love? “Measure in love” they sing, not success.
I have to come to terms with this. But mostly, I just have to get over the fear of waking up–not sleeping makes it easier because there are hardly any lapses in thought or emotion. But waking up is like peeling a wound. It’s a slow reminder of being vulnerable to all this pain and once the skin is peeled, the wound is opened again and there isn’t any of that comfort that comes with wearing a band-aid. There’s only pain and a whole lot of space. Even Brautigan warned me about this before:
Spinning like a ghost
on the bottom of a
I’m haunted by all
the space that I
will live without
Do you understand now? Do you realize how two years of being constantly together can affect people in a most poignant way? I feel like the house burned down and I can’t figure out where to begin picking up the pieces and rebuilding. Did I mention that I loved at all?
I survived today on sheer will. I did message you in the morning. Then I called, tears welling in my eyes. I pushed you to answer because I wanted someone to explain this all to me away from the dreamy yellow light we had when I last saw you. I wanted to face the daylight and understand what those strange shapes were that cast shadows on my walls at 3am when I couldn’t sleep, nay, couldn’t breathe. I am so sorry for that. I just really had to be told, you know? I have to hear it to know that it’s real. When I heard the beep and realized I still had the phone on my ear, I dialed Petra and broke down. I knew immediately what I had to do. I knew where to go. So, I left. I had to hug Mom and tell her. First she thought Petra was pregnant cause I was crying and my first words were, “I’m going to Petra’s.” Then when I said no she asked if Petra’d broken up with anyone and I shook my head still…then finally I asked her the one thing I really needed from her. I asked her to be strong for me. She teared up mid-hug and asked if I was pregnant! Wtf? Huh? 🙂 Sometimes we have the most clueless parents. I really should have filled her in some more. I really should have explained to her that we weren’t the type to have sex unless we knew that this would be a forever sort of thing. I wish I explained to her that you weren’t the “young man in his sexual prime who wanted sex above all.” I wish I told her that was me. I wish I knew courage and honesty–enough to tell her that she needn’t worry because no matter how steamy our romance, it wasn’t lewd or devoid of meaning. I wish I told her about nights when we could have done everything imaginable to each other but chose instead to talk and later fall asleep.
I wish I could explain to my family how deeply we felt for each other. I wish I told my sister’s outright that I have simple desires in life: to live, to love, to hope, to share and to be good. I don’t care for success or money which isn’t to say I lack drive but rather to say, these don’t matter as much to me by comparison. I’m tired of living up to a standard that inadvertently and oppositely affects the way I live my life. From now on I will be stronger and louder in explaining that all I really want is to find someone who will know me and appreciate all of who I am. I want them to know that more than financial stability, I want peace. The kind that I used to know when you and I would fall asleep in some random place and wake up next to each other, quietly watching the other come back to the world. I want that so bad I can’t sleep for fear of waking up without it.
I’m tired of being defined by people who will never live that way I do. I just want to love them without being judged or told off.
And as for you? I just want you to read Bob Marley’s words:
Miss me when I’m not there, okay love?
And me? Well, I refuse to believe Kitson. Before I knew him, I was well acquainted with the Postal Service and they did sing my manifesto of sorts…
I want so badly to believe that “there is truth,
that love is real”
and I want life in every word to the extent
that it’s absurd
I am grateful, okay? Not angry. We never did each other wrong and I’m proud of that. If it has to end then let it. But like I said, we have to make it worthwhile. We have to make sure that if our reason for breaking up is to find who we are and be the best of ourselves, then we have to go out and do it. Against all odds. I don’t wish to waste all of what we had. And if people talk, like they’re bound to do, let them. Just tell them to fuck off if they ever insinuate that one of us was too good for the other. It’s a lie and you know it.
I love you, no matter how silly or hard it is to say.
And I’m grateful too for great friends–for a Gabbie who is in Cavite, working, but manages to call me in the morning and at night, for a Ven whom I cannot talk to yet because I want her to survive med school…but who nonetheless loves me, for a Maika who is leaving for the States today but agrees anyway to have lunch, for a Petra who took me into her arms and held me while I bawled, then offered me her bed and good advice from Garcia Villa:
Find, love, x,y,z
Find, God, A,B,C
also, for an Evan who, despite my being plugged to my music, went out of his way to feed me dinner and take me home.
Where would I be without you guys?
And, you, of course.