Frou Frou

if love is surrender / then whose war is it anyway

and amidst the damages, i search for the pieces of myself

time, re-discovered

It was a little strange to be alone on the weekend. Usually, it’s a scramble to get myself to Philly or to get Bboy A here to NYC. Unless there was anything mandatory, I would go to lengths to just see him for 24 hours; skip practice, forget homework, leave friends. It became a routine of naps on 2-hour bus rides and sleepless nights in a twin-sized bed. I know that I didn’t mind the strange hours and long distances, because of the oxytocin and the company.

It’s strange to rediscover time. I missed doing some of my own reading, on my own time. I missed having done the reading for classes and finishing problem sets before midnight the day of. I also forgot the need to connect with friends and acquaintances.

It’s nice to finally have some time to myself.

re-views

I have checked his profile again. Not because I’m obsessed, but because it’s a way to help myself through the process. If you hit yourself in the same spot enough time, it will eventually go numb, right?

I’m not good with dealing with shocks. I like things the way they are, the way they were. And so here he goes, taking off his “relationship status” from his profile page again.. What? When? Why? Who is she?

You should probably try to resist looking at his profile.

Probably. Try. Resist. Is he dating someone new? I thought about this for a while. There was an initial shock, and then a glimmer of hope (he’s still in love with me!) before I settled into cautious acceptance. I always ask the same question:

Are you going to date someone else?
… Eventually. Probably. Yes.

Cautious acceptance. And with that, I let him go.

progress/regress

I can now say “Bboy A and I broke up” without breaking into tears. In fact, I can say it with a weak smile on my face, to signify to those who are listening, to myself, to the world… I’m doing OK.

Against my better judgement, I clicked to his facebook profile. It’s a limited profile (thankfully, we are not Facebook friends, yet), but he took to the time to change what he took down when we starting dating.

Relationship Status: Single

This sends me reeling backwards, past the progress that I’ve made in the past 2 weeks; past the brave face, past the joie-de-vivre demeanor, past the excitement and curiosity of singlehood. This sends me back to the days when I didn’t believe that Facebook was the thing for me, to the days when I believed that Bboy A might be the one for me, to the days when I knew I was finally over Big D.

Fuck Facebook. Fuck “love”.

beer and sadness

I venture that different kinds of alcohol have different effects on me.

Grey Goose == happy and giddy
Samuel Adam == not so much

After wine and beer, I tend to get… calm and reflective (at best) or just downright depressed (at worst). B 2.0 and I shared beers and a conversation tonight, in which I talked again about Bboy A. Tonight, a mutual friend mentioned how happy I seemed to be.

Really? Because I shouldn’t, considering the tumultous two weeks I just had.

Love is when you can bear to leave everything behind, just to be with that one person.

Love should be for now and forever. Or else, it’s just cheap. And I don’t want cheap love.

Maybe I should have a disclaimer: Oh, by the way, don’t tell me that you love me until you’re sure it’ll be for now and forever. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear any of it. It’ll surely scare away most boys… at least that ones who are not worth the heartache.

four-letter words

Love is a four-letter word.

Here’s another: fuck.

Fuck love.

rebirth

I saw it coming. I almost willed it coming. But yet, when the moment arrive, I met it with disbelief and trepidation. No, with denial and fear; like I never wanted this to happen even though I had toyed with it in my mind for months to come.

Bboy A and I broke up two weeks ago.

I pity the man who comes to the conclusion that he must break my heart, because I am so bad at letting go. In the span of a four-hour conversation, I rushed through the stages of grief:

1. Denial: Are you serious? Do you know what you’re doing?
2. Pain: You don’t know how hard this is for me, you don’t know how hard this is for me…
   
3. Bargaining: Can you just give us a chance? I can change, we can do better.
   
4. Depression: My body knows of its loneliness. In times of grief, I can rarely sleep more than a couple of hours at a time, no matter how tired my mind becomes. After the finally hanging up the phone at around 5 AM, I rocked myself to sleep, only to wake up 2 hours later.

It wasn’t a new tune for me. When I was dumped by Big D, I couldn’t sleep for days. My body refuses to give me the rest that I need, it forces to me encounter time and time again the initial pain of the conversation. It’s true that it gets easier with every breakup, maybe because Bboy A was never “the one” or even one of “the ones” for me. It’s dealing with the habits that make it hard; the way I called him just to hear his voice, the way I would pick up things for him at the local store, the way I would get excited to spend a weekend out of New York.

this is not a picture of me

This is a poster that Bboy A and I enjoyed in Beijing. It took me a year to my hands on it, for him, for us. I am ashamed to admit that I used it as a final bargaining tool. I told him, through sobs and confusion, that it was for him, for us.

I’m so scared to tell you this, because I’m so afraid that it will mean nothing to you.

I will hold onto it, for the day when Bboy A and I could be friends. Perhaps never in the truest sense, but at least in the sense that Big D and I are able to be friends. I will hold on it, for the day when I could give it to Bboy A without any hidden agenda, malicious intent or unrequited love.