Friday, April 1, 2016

His words

"I know there's no such thing as forever, and there will always be endings. Miniature deaths. Practice rounds for the final ending, but let us not be morbid now... now... because life is to know love, and to know its slow peel away from my bones.

I will miss these people as one who misses strangers with whom one has small talk on the train every day, their lack of presence causing but a mere ripple in the totality of a life, but the ripple is perceived, and felt, all the same.

I should be missing her the most, but perhaps I've had enough lead time to prep for the separation. We both knew it was coming; who initiated it, and why, was and remains irrelevant, because endings, even when seen approaching from a distance, hurt all the same. They resonate, they ripple, they reverberate out into the years ahead, long after the ending arrived, and made itself known, and caused the usual, predictable damage.

Damage. What damage? I feel fine. I'm okay. This is what I wanted. The relationship needed to end, and here we are... at this hour, with her somewhere, and I'm here in her apartment - our apartment for a moment in time.

Damage. What damage? My heart is not broken. I am not alone. I am not facing the future without the hope, the prospect, of yet another partnership, perhaps the final partnership, the one I've required this entire time.

Damage. Yes, there is damage. I've had to watch her sob and feel powerless to console her - the villain can't be the hero at the same time.

I wish it didn't have to end like this. Like - what?

Like - with palpable silence, the kind which makes one wonder if she's invisible if she even exists in his eyes, while he seems completely detached from that which he cares for so deeply - according to him.

Like - with desperation, with pleas to stay, even if the words were never said; beggary shows itself on the skin, wafting from the pores, much like alcoholism.

Like - I've paid closer attention to the older black men on the train, on the platform pissing, crossing the street desperate for something, sitting in cafes, all without wedding bands, some without kids, and I'm scared to death of growing old and alone.

Endings make room for beginnings. I see the tiny cycles occurring from day to day. How the end of a relationship is a rupture, a split, and maybe something new will grow forth from the fracture - or not - but I tend to the wound anyway. The wound is mine. It is a new geographical point on my body. A new city on my skin.

The end is never silent. It is near silent, almost pitch black. I think of the train tunnel leading into Penn Station, the way it's completely dark, but not quite as a few lights whiz by. The steel wheels thump and hum underneath the train, and strangers whisper behind you, or rustle newspapers, or stand as their backs creak and knees creak. The end reminds me of a body slowly aging, and randomly hurting; it is the cognitive dissonance of knowing this is the end, even as the train pulls into the station, and with an exhale, you see life is head of you, still.

Trying too hard

She has always been that girl who tries damn hard for everything that she wants, who'd put people through hell with her stubbornness just so she could have things. Sometimes she hurts herself in the process; sometimes she hurts others. Her belief that nothing in this world cannot be achieved if you try hard enough has caused her so much pain, so much self-worth lost in the lines of trying too hard.

And it's evident when everything in her life starts to fall apart. Her trying too hard, ironically, seems to not be enough at all. Her guy walked away from her life, her best friend died in an accident, her results plummeted, she's stressed out from work, her health is deteriorating, her life was just in shambles. Every morning she woke up and told herself that if she tried hard enough, everything will be okay, everything will get better, but it never did get better.

Her wanting to make him happy meant her trying too hard to push him away, or forcing him to make decisions, her indecisiveness, her trying too hard to get an answer, she needs an answer. Her constant replaying of her best friend's last voice note to her didn't bring him back, and she tried so hard to forget, to not think about him, and all it brought was just memories and dreams and hopes 

Her trying hard to distract herself from life by working hard just caused her too much stress that she don't sleep, she can't sleep. She busied herself so much she lost any sense of passion for her work, and she just drifted day by day, "trying hard" to work hard.

And then her health... what happened to that? Between work and life and forgetting and remembering she truly, truly lost herself. She allowed herself to deteriorate to the point where her body is struggling to keep up, and it's like her body is self destructing, screaming at her to stop. trying. so. hard.

And then her therapist told her to go back to reading, and writing, and it helped. All the time she took to read and write made her pause and think about life, and she realized in the midst of making everything perfect she lost sight of all the beautiful imperfections around her.

So she stopped. She started accepting him as just friends, nothing more, nothing else. She stopped beating herself up whenever she thought about her best friend, and started embracing the tears and the sadness that envelops her. She stopped trying extremely hard to seem happy and cheerful and instead, just started to let her emotions fall through, even if it meant letting everyone see her facade and realize that something is wrong with her.

There are so many things that she can't control. Getting her heart broken, losing someone in her life, random acts of meanness and kindness, dying,... And so she's letting things be.

"At some point you will realize that you have done too much for someone, that the only next possible step to do is to stop. Leave them alone. Walk away. It's not like you're giving up, and it's not like you shouldn't try. It's just that you have to draw the line of determination from desperation. What is truly yours will eventually be yours, and what is not, no matter how hard you try, will never be."

Your mum reads my blog.