looking back...

although summer 2005 was cool, and it was explosive to meet Brian Foo, i actually liked the first part (before Brian/Amelia/Calvin adventures) far better than the second part. i liked being alone, having my morning rituals, my running and biking, my going to classes, my focusing on doing well, my sunny days in central park, my well-balanced life and CENTERED goals, my volunteering, my sweet new friendships...

all of that was much better than the chaos that ensued.

i don't like the late night stuff much. i'm such a morning person...

but looking back over the course of our relationship, i realize that we only remember the trips, the drama, the highlights. we weren't really living in the reality of each others' presence, day-to-day. i was suffocating and completely off-track during my whole relationship with him.

i've learned finally, like alex once said: that it is far better to have a steady, content life, than to be wildly happy or sad. i love to be content; i'm pretty content now.

i act like a dramatic girl when i'm with others, but by myself, i'm usually really chill, and enjoy more than anything, my relaxed routines.

after seeing Brian at the dj frosty freeze memorial last night, and then parting our separate ways on the subway, i realized how lovely it is to leave him. it felt pretty satisfying, actually, to say goodbye. i'm pretty glad to be out of this mess, and starting anew.

even though just this morning, i was working on a video compilation of my photos and footage from montreal with Brian, and creating a mix CD for him, and feeling a little nostalgic and melancholy, even diligently designing and setting up appointments to get a tattoo with his name in Chinese (forever strong) over my heart...but when i got back from class and the gym, i was no longer motivated to reminisce. i wanted to make music, create, get lost in my own projects.

just like that. i'm over him. and it feels great.

i feel like my life is my own again, and this is exactly what i needed. i owe it to bfoo for recognizing this reality, and being strong and firm about maintaining this. cuz i sure as hell can't. but it's definitely the right decision.

Surrender to the change,
My dance instructor Safi told me, as I trembled beneath him, and struggled to hold out my arms for the 15th minute of our warmup.

Pain is an illusion.
Breathe through the pain.
Do not resist the pain.
Accept the pain.

From here, there is only positivity. I have been over-dramatic and lamenting these broken pieces. Last night was an outpouring. I sat in the middle of the street on 38th at 3:00AM, feeling utterly alone, abandoned, broken without him. I quit my job. I threw a great big tantrum, and I called him and called him and called him. No matter what I try, I can't seem to give up gracefully. I am who I am.

But let me remember this, so that I will not falter so again. Shattered, I let the aching consume me, and lost sight of the big picture. In the big scheme of things, this is not so important, I am not so important...there is so much suffering in this world, and I am childish to focus on my own petty hurts. I must reconnect with the people who love and believe in me, and the causes I love and believe in.

I will let go of him.
It is not an act of will, rather it is an act of surrender.

Surrender to the change.

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But the problem is:

If I wanted to forget him, I could forget him so easily. Like I did  with all my other ex's, I move on instantaneously, without a moment of regret, everything blocked out in an instant with the excitement of a new romance. But with him, I want to hold on. I want to use this pain to motivate me to be a better person. Because if I don't consciously change, then I will never grow, and things will always be the same, and I will never have love, because I can never hold love. And for that reason, I must stay attuned to this pain. So that I can internalize it, learn from it, truly transform under its burning.

I must not let myself let go.

(That is what hurts. I can easily find a new romance. I have three lined up already, toys. I am fickle and free with my affection, but not with my love. God, it would be so easy if I could just let go, curse him, forget about him. But I have to respect this relationship with a decent transition time. Holding on means being patient. Well, I am absolutely NOT a patient person; I make all my dreams come true, instantaneously, I am a doer, I am not a waiter, I am not slow and steady like he wants me to be. THIS IS WHAT KILLS ME.)

If I let go, I will forget him, and learn nothing, just as to release my muscles and stretch my arms would be to lose the point of the exercise. Another refrain in a tired song to repeat and repeat again ad infinitum. And with repetition, habits build into deadly patterns, creating the greater pain of trapped and numbing life - I can not submit to that.

This is a moment of strengthening. I must make myself remember.

I was the one to break us up, but he was the one to hold me to my decision. I would have wavered, like we've done so many times before.

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Think positively:

Surrender to the change.

I can splash that white flag with fantastic colors. There is so much to create. I am ready for a world of difference, to pour myself into my passions: artistically, politically. To share a sweet, nurturing apartment with my soul sister Alba. To refocus all my energies on what is right, and cut out all the unnecessary things. To be a better writer, composer, singer, dancer, activist, and more importantly than all of this: a stronger, more caring, and better balanced woman.


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"There is no future. There is no past. We live each moment as our last." Everything vanished in a dream; our Eden was disillusionment. You can't keep me teased on a leash, believing that these tales could be, if I change, if we try again years from now. No. You can't say that and leave me kneeling in your dust. This is it. Good bye means no tomorrow, no path of repentence, no other way. Breaking up means never again. Never again.

Some day these lessons will help me nurture another man, and bring him happiness that with you I never can.


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PEACE.

After dusting off his glasses, he realized that there was no dramatic change.

His living room is the color of shit. And his face blends perfectly into it.

The white girl was still dancing the Arabian dance, three songs later, and that's cool with him. He had already run out of Kalua, and now relied solely on repetition to keep high.

Buddy Jack lied on the couch next to him, asleep. The green cathode light of Arabia reflected off Jack's shiny little face, mirrored the movements of water, and incense, and plaid skirts. This girl Jack met on Facebook, who was supposed to meet up for real, with all her many girlfriends, never showed up. (Who the hell meets up with strangers from Facebook - that's what I asked Jack.) But Jack didn't listen to me, and now he's all Jacked-out, asleep.

Such is life, again.

I peeled away the brown paper of the Kalua bottle. I tossed the bottle against the dirty frat wall. I imagined a smash, a splash, and all the glass shards like rock and roll on the brown carpet, but instead the bottle bounced, in tact, twice, and rolled limply on the floor, next to Jack's feet.

(This disappointment was too great for me, and I left the apartment. Two steps to the door, and no one noticed.)

Meanwhile, Jack's friend was still sitting on the couch, watching the Arabian girl who was now eating popcorn and grinning at her naked girlfriend. He, jealous, too was disappointed - this night of broken promises, and facebook pokes. Jack began to snore, and Jack's friend took a tissue paper and snuffed him out.

This is how Jack died.

At the funeral, his high school friends had a lot to say. And some underclassmen who never knew him, but heard of him from friends or was friended by him on facebook. And Jack would have been happy to know that overall, he was a well-liked man. His creepiness was attributed to his friendly spirit, and his acne was attributed to his incompetent doctor who didn't know jack about skin conditions.

His friend, who accompanied him in his death throes, swore to a fantastic ending: white girls in Arabian dresses that they met in a club downtown, and partied with all night long until they crashed at Jack's room, of exhaustion.