I cannot wait for the days to pass
Beirut, October 31, 2017
I have made a brilliant discovery: Christina Rossetti, poet, was born on december 5, 1830, which means she was born exactly 159 years before me! (All of this to needlessly say that we share the same birthday.)
The crying has not subsided. I did, however speak about my intentions to leave the job. I will be free come January, I think. So soon and I cannot wait for the days to pass.
I am writing today because I need to. There will be days, I hope, when I won't have to write posts that revolve exclusively around sadness or a heart broken too soon. Today is not one of them.
It's been three days and one ridiculous outfit since my last post, where I claimed (very wrongly, it seems) that I was at peace; that my state at the moment was one of contentment and repose. It is not. Not yet, at least. It feels like there is a dark cloud, hanging above me. A sadness. And no, this is not a sadness about my life, or my choices. I usually very cleverly mask my realities behind presumptions, allotting my sadness to dad's absence or discomfort/restlessness related to being at work or the anxiety that pounds at me every day, asking me, again, do you know what you want to do with your life now? Those are all valid sources of pain and sadness for me. But when they come together with heartbreak, they make for a terrible combination.
Today, however, I want to say things as they are. I am sad because a boy has exited my life (as they all seem to do:) by vanishing off the face of the earth. Yes, I met this boy only three times in my life. A total of ten hours spent in the company of one another. Just ten little hours of my life. Surely not enough to warrant all of the crying I have done, or the vast time I spent wondering what exactly I did wrong or why, again, I could not be enough for him.
This is what I know: he does not want to be with me. He said it clearly to my face. I fooled myself into thinking he was speaking tentatively. That there was room for discussion. There was room for nothing. He had already decided everything, and all I could do was sit idly by, listen to his justifications, and spectate the breaking of my heart. I fooled myself. When I thought about him ceaselessly in Spain, wishing that I could be transported back to Beirut just so I could see him. When I drove to his place telling myself this was going to go well, because I just felt it in my heart. Because we were so well suited for each other. When I thought our love for literature meant we could read to each other fantasy and young adult books, or spend long nights watching Myazaki movies. I fooled myself. When I bothered and got him a little present that I knew I could not give to anyone else no matter what the outcome of (what I now know to be our last) conversation would be. I fooled myself. Completely and utterly. An idiot.
But what right do I have to be angry at someone for deceiving me, for doing what they think is right by them? I cannot be angry at him. In the same way I expect to be respected for speaking my mind, for saying no, I don't want to be here, I don't want to be with you, I should respect him too. But all of this rationalising is of no use to me. There is nothing I can do with it. It only reinforces the shame, the humiliation I feel when it becomes clear to me that I've let myself open up to someone who awakened my love with no intention of returning even a wee bit of it.
I am awash with so much sadness. Earlier, I lay on my bed and listened to birds chirping outside. At that moment there were three of us: me, this ludicrous grief, and the birds chirping outside. Ludicrous because why should I care about someone so soon? How could I? I keep asking myself these questions. I keep hearing my friends tell me "You have no right." - As if I chose this sadness, as if I willingly claimed a right to it. It is no use now trying to pretend that these little meetings, that this little connection we had (felt only by me) is not affecting me so much. It is absolutely and incredibly hard to believe, and maybe I "have no right" to feel anything so soon, but I do. And I am in pain.
I go back to the moment I let him into my life. Boys online. I should have known better. I never should have done that. Never. I cannot bear the idea that I am but an experiment for someone discovering a new dating app, playing. When I look at myself and admire the person that I have become, the reader and the writer in me give me such pride, such empathy, such belief in the goodness of people. Years before that, all I could see was a self-effacing girl, needing others to validate her, lacking in self-confidence and shy beyond reason. Pimples and a big nose, and the credulous readiness to see a monster in the mirror, to hate herself. I thought I was someone no one could ever like. Then I grew up and realised there was so much I can love about myself, including the nose. But then, as soon as I met these boys, one after the other, they confirmed to my younger self what it had always known. That it had judged correctly. That indeed no one could ever like me. I hate these people for making me feel this way. For making me question myself, my worth. For making me feel like an experiment, a game. Someone insignificant you can erase from your life. With such ease. I hate these people for causing me to lie to myself. To make myself believe I am a monster, when I am a majestic, glorious unicorn.
As for now, I must acknowledge the sadness. It is here, it envelops me, my sight, my body, my brain. No use pretending it isn't real, or escaping it. I must go through it in order to heal. A few day, a few weeks maybe. I will write it out. I will write the sadness out of my system. In words that I will read in the future and, no doubt, cringe at beyond belief. But I find no other solution to save myself from this needless harm. Wasted. All of this attention, squandered on terrible, unworthy people.
I remind myself once more of all the previous unfulfilled attempts with boys. Conversations that ended mid-sentence, cliff-hangers where questions remained unanswered, books unreturned, emails that came too late, breaking inconvenient news. Everything that vanished before you have time to grasp it and decide whether you actually want it or not. Boys who play, and do nothing but. I got over all of these situations, I even got over the boy whose utter (self-admitted) incapacity to be with me (let alone try) I thought I could never get over; the boy I may have even secretly loved without really "having the right" to. I got over him.
And so I know. Someday soon, this boy will be insignificant, too. Sadness will shift into indifference. The days will pass. I cannot wait for the days to pass.
(ps: if you are reading this, please do not judge me too harshly for publishing such dramatic words and feelings. I cannot help myself.)
I have made a brilliant discovery: Christina Rossetti, poet, was born on december 5, 1830, which means she was born exactly 159 years before me! (All of this to needlessly say that we share the same birthday.)
The crying has not subsided. I did, however speak about my intentions to leave the job. I will be free come January, I think. So soon and I cannot wait for the days to pass.
I am writing today because I need to. There will be days, I hope, when I won't have to write posts that revolve exclusively around sadness or a heart broken too soon. Today is not one of them.
It's been three days and one ridiculous outfit since my last post, where I claimed (very wrongly, it seems) that I was at peace; that my state at the moment was one of contentment and repose. It is not. Not yet, at least. It feels like there is a dark cloud, hanging above me. A sadness. And no, this is not a sadness about my life, or my choices. I usually very cleverly mask my realities behind presumptions, allotting my sadness to dad's absence or discomfort/restlessness related to being at work or the anxiety that pounds at me every day, asking me, again, do you know what you want to do with your life now? Those are all valid sources of pain and sadness for me. But when they come together with heartbreak, they make for a terrible combination.
Today, however, I want to say things as they are. I am sad because a boy has exited my life (as they all seem to do:) by vanishing off the face of the earth. Yes, I met this boy only three times in my life. A total of ten hours spent in the company of one another. Just ten little hours of my life. Surely not enough to warrant all of the crying I have done, or the vast time I spent wondering what exactly I did wrong or why, again, I could not be enough for him.
This is what I know: he does not want to be with me. He said it clearly to my face. I fooled myself into thinking he was speaking tentatively. That there was room for discussion. There was room for nothing. He had already decided everything, and all I could do was sit idly by, listen to his justifications, and spectate the breaking of my heart. I fooled myself. When I thought about him ceaselessly in Spain, wishing that I could be transported back to Beirut just so I could see him. When I drove to his place telling myself this was going to go well, because I just felt it in my heart. Because we were so well suited for each other. When I thought our love for literature meant we could read to each other fantasy and young adult books, or spend long nights watching Myazaki movies. I fooled myself. When I bothered and got him a little present that I knew I could not give to anyone else no matter what the outcome of (what I now know to be our last) conversation would be. I fooled myself. Completely and utterly. An idiot.
But what right do I have to be angry at someone for deceiving me, for doing what they think is right by them? I cannot be angry at him. In the same way I expect to be respected for speaking my mind, for saying no, I don't want to be here, I don't want to be with you, I should respect him too. But all of this rationalising is of no use to me. There is nothing I can do with it. It only reinforces the shame, the humiliation I feel when it becomes clear to me that I've let myself open up to someone who awakened my love with no intention of returning even a wee bit of it.
I am awash with so much sadness. Earlier, I lay on my bed and listened to birds chirping outside. At that moment there were three of us: me, this ludicrous grief, and the birds chirping outside. Ludicrous because why should I care about someone so soon? How could I? I keep asking myself these questions. I keep hearing my friends tell me "You have no right." - As if I chose this sadness, as if I willingly claimed a right to it. It is no use now trying to pretend that these little meetings, that this little connection we had (felt only by me) is not affecting me so much. It is absolutely and incredibly hard to believe, and maybe I "have no right" to feel anything so soon, but I do. And I am in pain.
I go back to the moment I let him into my life. Boys online. I should have known better. I never should have done that. Never. I cannot bear the idea that I am but an experiment for someone discovering a new dating app, playing. When I look at myself and admire the person that I have become, the reader and the writer in me give me such pride, such empathy, such belief in the goodness of people. Years before that, all I could see was a self-effacing girl, needing others to validate her, lacking in self-confidence and shy beyond reason. Pimples and a big nose, and the credulous readiness to see a monster in the mirror, to hate herself. I thought I was someone no one could ever like. Then I grew up and realised there was so much I can love about myself, including the nose. But then, as soon as I met these boys, one after the other, they confirmed to my younger self what it had always known. That it had judged correctly. That indeed no one could ever like me. I hate these people for making me feel this way. For making me question myself, my worth. For making me feel like an experiment, a game. Someone insignificant you can erase from your life. With such ease. I hate these people for causing me to lie to myself. To make myself believe I am a monster, when I am a majestic, glorious unicorn.
As for now, I must acknowledge the sadness. It is here, it envelops me, my sight, my body, my brain. No use pretending it isn't real, or escaping it. I must go through it in order to heal. A few day, a few weeks maybe. I will write it out. I will write the sadness out of my system. In words that I will read in the future and, no doubt, cringe at beyond belief. But I find no other solution to save myself from this needless harm. Wasted. All of this attention, squandered on terrible, unworthy people.
I remind myself once more of all the previous unfulfilled attempts with boys. Conversations that ended mid-sentence, cliff-hangers where questions remained unanswered, books unreturned, emails that came too late, breaking inconvenient news. Everything that vanished before you have time to grasp it and decide whether you actually want it or not. Boys who play, and do nothing but. I got over all of these situations, I even got over the boy whose utter (self-admitted) incapacity to be with me (let alone try) I thought I could never get over; the boy I may have even secretly loved without really "having the right" to. I got over him.
And so I know. Someday soon, this boy will be insignificant, too. Sadness will shift into indifference. The days will pass. I cannot wait for the days to pass.
(ps: if you are reading this, please do not judge me too harshly for publishing such dramatic words and feelings. I cannot help myself.)
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