everything is illuminated

I had a dream about you this morning.

We were brought together by a book, a receipt and the promise of money. Maybe we were somewhere in China; everything seemed foreign and grey. We walked into a small bookshop and returned the book to the Asian lady behind the counter. I remember that you had the receipt, somehow; maybe it was a purchase we had made when we were still speaking.

Outside the bookstore, we crossed a busy highway. It was vivid, and I remember the sticky warmth of the polluted air and the drone of motors in our ears. Maybe that’s why we had to yell to get to each other, maybe that’s why I still couldn’t understand why we broke up.

Are you kidding me? you scoffed. It was always so complicated.

But it doesn’t have to be. It didn’t have to be. Just as I was coming to terms with it…

You shook your head, because you were familiar with the barrage of tears and pleads that followed. On that narrow strip of pavement in the middle of the road, you and I stood still, entwined in a past that refuses to let me go. Me with my fists against your chest; you with sadness and pity in your eyes.

I don’t understand, I just don’t understand…

Even in my dreams, I can’t have you. Even in my dreams, I can’t get us back.

finite

At the beginning of this year, I met a guy that I thought I was interested in. In retrospect, I think it was only because he was a nice guy and he was a breakdancer. I have a history of… looking for the “type” that I had just been with. After Big D, I would only check out tall, blond guys. Who majored in the sciences. And had a thinkpad laptop.

So, G, this new kid (Yes, kid, because he’s a sophomore) is now dating C, the girl down the hall from me. I don’t particularly like him anymore, and I can say that I’m pretty good friends with C. But everytime I see him in his PJs in our hall, a small part of me wishes I was still back with Bboy A. Because I’d like to see a bboy in PJs in my room once in a while too, y’know. I find it hard to be happy for them, even though I think that they’re a really cute couple. It’s as if their happiness takes away from mine, as if there was a set amount of “happiness” in this world and that I’ve just been robbed of my share.

I’ve been thinking a lot, lately, about getting back together with Bboy A… and it’s been somehow soothing to think of that every so often and “know” that we’ll date again. I’ve also been thinking a lot, lately, about getting back in touch with him. I wonder how I’ll do it. Perhaps with stark honesty?

I miss you like a bboy mises the beat.

Or a brave demeanor?

Hey, how’re you doing? Things have been busy for me, but good.

Or the tried-and-true humour?

Yo, you never called me back like you said you would! Anyhoo…

Thinking about when we’ll finally talk again has given me something to think about other than just him, in a roundabout away. So if there really is a finite amount of happiness, then he must be ecstatic right about now.

illusions

I take far too much comfort in thinking we may get back together someday. What’s wrong with me? You weren’t that awesome to begin with.

Edit: I submitted this line to Dear Old Love. Through my Google Reader, I’ve discovered that two of my friends like the post. We are so much more alike than I had imagined.

break it down

I miss you like a bboy misses the beat.

I miss you like ska misses syncopation.

mothers

Me too.

My mother and I speak on a weekly basis, and since Bboy A and I broke up 2 months ago, she’s been asking me the same question on a weekly basis.

Have you spoken to him lately?

First off, wtf. Honestly. You’re my mom. You should be on my side. You should be the one who hates him even more than I do because he broke your daughter’s heart. You should be the one convincing me that I deserve better than that. You should be the one telling me to move on and meet “all the other fishes in the sea”.

Every week, I try to explain to you that “I really don’t want to talk about it”. No, I really don’t want to talk about it. No, I really don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ve even hung up on my mom once or twice because she just wouldn’t let it go. Today, I asked her why she’s still asking me about my breakup.

I want to know if either he or you changed your minds.

Secondly, wtf. I got dumped and since then, we have never talked, e-mailed, texted each other. Fuck, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was dating someone else already. So no, we didn’t change our minds. I’m just waiting for you to change yours.

in the dark

We were on the floor of your unusually large dorm room. This was because I was too shy to crawl into your bed, and you were too kind to let me sleep alone on your ground. We compromised by making a bed of blankets, sleeping bags and awkward limbs that were unsure of this new place. (You hated sleeping on the hardwood floor, but you loved the company.)

Sometimes, I like to scatter pieces of myself around.

You turned to face me. How so?

I only tell certain people certain things about myself, so that everyone only gets to keep a fragment of me. And, if they end up disappointing me, only a piece of me will get hurt.

That was the second time I moved something inside of you. Without a word, and just a hint of a sigh, you moved closer and folded your body over the curves of mine, as if to say:

I want to keep the whole you.

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”.

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.