Tuesday, August 27, 2013
“It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.” ~Alfred. Lord Tennyson
Some people and events impact and leave their mark on us. Some feels warm and fuzzy, outright blessed, while others hit us like bullets to the heart.
I met someone really special. It wasn't my first taste of love but I was sheepishly drunk with it. They were eyes I could look into forever, and a voice I could hear till the end of time—it was absolutely frightening.
We were colleagues, good friends. I unwittingly got involved in his life, and eventually found myself wanting to get even more involved.
After a period of ambiguous yes-no-maybes, just like other "mutual-understanding-relationships", things became clear that it was never mutual at all. He's committed to someone else. All these time, they were together. He had to choose but he chose him.
I was distraught, destroyed. Shot. In the heart. Barely breathing.
“Move on”
There was a cacophony of voices, concerned friends, self-help books, screaming, demanding me to let it go, let him go.
They were all voices echoing the same rational advice. It is only logical to disconnect, eject, and proceed. Move on.
I couldn’t.
Not a day went by without me cross-examining myself for faults, things I should or shouldn’t have done, things I could do to fix it, to fight for it, to make him choose me.
Listening to music with blaring earphones only gave a brief respite. Reason left me as soon I put the earphones off my ears. My mind wandered back to the hurts when I stopped listening, deaf and ever-desperate.
“Move on!!”
Why linger? It was a horrid state to be in. I really wanted to snap out of that self-absorbed paralysis, but something kept me there.
After a more than month of marinating in the much celebrated soup of love, loss, and lament, I guess I never have fumbled out of it.
Nothing's changed. I'm still holding on to something I am not even certain of.
I know no one is spared from metaphorical bullets, but no one has to stay hurt. I’ve experienced a generous slice of pain and tasted a foolish sentiment. But I want it. I want every inch of pain. I want to feel every bit of it until it hurts no more.
Forgiveness.
It’s ludicrous, in the sense that amidst the injustice and hurt, the idea of forgiving seems to border on divine martyrdom. But what I’ve been experiencing wasn’t a saintly sacrifice.
It was something I arrived at, a lucky tumble into the clearing. It was a long fumble in the dark. After everything, I still chose to forgive him and tried to be good friends with him. Stupid. But for me, that's compromise. I would die if I run away from him. If I can't have him as my boyfriend, maybe, at least, I could have him as a good friend, like we've always been.
Don’t run.
I thought of running miles to get my mind off him—physically move away from him at work, tried to write him off as I thought he did to me. But I have no choice but to stay.
Whenever there is a quiet moment, his face comes back with a vengeance. There is no “clear history” button; there is no shutting emotion out.
Too bad we cannot process feelings mechanically, surgically remove “bad parts” from our being. If that were even remotely possible, the world would be devoid of sappy love songs and affluent shrinks.
I didn’t meditate ceremoniously; I was probably face-deep in a hearty slice of cake. It still hurts. (but a little less now)
The most ironic thing was that running away from the problem is also running in circles.
I was pointlessly replaying events in my head, ceaseless analyzing, obsessively scrutinizing my actions, and wallowing in sappy country music and desserts.
Not only does nothing get solved, nothing else gets done, either. I was able to ask myself, and listen for the first time, the first most important question: What am I doing?
Life is not cruel when it does not wait. Life always goes on, whether we are in the mood to join it or not.
I had to ask myself: what is it that I want?
I wanted talk about it with him, for the nth time. I wanted him to tell me, face to face, what went wrong, again. Hoping that now, it would sink in and I would realize that I really have to move on.
I wanted my pain to be acknowledged. Because I couldn’t get him to acknowledge my hurting, I locked myself in limbo.
When a valued relationship ends, it’s natural to lament, but it’s easy to become morbidly self-indulgent, stewing in the predicament.
Like having blinkers on, I’ve excluded everything else, even the fact that other people hurt—forgetting that my pain is but one in many.
Everybody hurts.
Even him. I know.
It occurred to me that he may be having a difficult time, as well. He gave an answer, He gave an explanation. But I can't accept it. I don't want to accept it. I still want him to choose me.
I was desperate. Obsessed.
Blaming.
I never stopped feeling bad for myself, I was able to see the effects of my actions on his side and consider his perspective, empathising with his difficulties.
Trace the blame if you will, but the meeting of two individuals and their eventual parting isn’t the fault of one.
So bent on confronting him, I deprived myself of "closure" in any other ways than the way I’d envisioned. He didn’t force me to be in pain. I did.
We are all one in pain—we act from pain and make mistakes from pain, and we all deserve forgiveness and kindness.
I realize that he only did what he thought was best at that moment. He didn’t make the best choice of action, but neither did I. I reacted in the only way I could then.
When I see him at work , I still feel angry at myself. I still want him.
I saw that he was still that charming individual that I first loved. Even though it was a couple of weeks ago and now, that our parts in each other’s life are over, I still wish he chose me.
Maybe in time, without knowing it, I’d forgiven him and myself.
I guess I’d moved on.
It wrenches on the heart when things change, because whether it is the love of a friend or lover, we offer ourselves with every coffee shared, every lingering gaze held.
We can’t take back what we offered. But maybe the point is learning not to want to, because those moments were beautiful.
I have to be brave. I have to be strong and move on. No matter how tiny my steps are, what's important is that I'm moving on.
Everybody gets hurt. The world wont stop turning just because I am hurt. I have to move on.
I am moving on.
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