When we talked of breaking up, translated…
In life, there would be instances when you’d gotten on the wrong rides, and you willingly get off the busses, or were forced off, you must be graceful about it; God had rolled the dice, and whether you win or lose in love, it’s all up to chance, who can win it all? You chase and I run, you throw the ball and I fetch it back, do sort out the trash left behind by those old loves for recycling purposes, maybe, you can make some money off of the recycled loved someday…
We were involved in a swim race, to see who can swim the longest, in the end, I’d swum to the center of the oceans, lost sight of you, and I couldn’t turn back to shores again.
Before I got submerged underneath, I’d decided to write you a letter, like the letters I’d written you in the past, all filled with enormous emotions, it’s just that in this one, the feelings got a bit more complicated. Like how you’d given yourself away in that conversation by starting it with, “We will still be holding onto one another’s hands as we finish up with life,” then, you’d asked me to agree to something, I’d asked immediately, “Did you have sex with that woman?”, your eyes shone, continued, “It’s unimportant.”
In the basement of that old hospital where there are always people coming and going, you can see the trees and the flower bushes, planted with care from the windows, the air had that extra sweet scent to it, and, there’s this cold wall, erected between us. Your somewhat blurred face made a sound, “Nothing’s changed, I still feel the same for you.”
That sounds familiar, I’d also said it to him too. He’d written letter after letter, sent by mail internationally, and, a lot of sweetness became frozen in between the lines, and, there were many kisses at the end of each and every letter too. He’d told of how he’d fly to the island to be with me during his summer holidays, hoped we could have a chance of traveling together. When he’d finally come, the rose of the summers had already bloomed out, they were no longer in season, so, I’d handed him what’s left of the flowers, the thorny branches. I’d made a promise to be his friend for life, “Nothing will ever change between us,” I’d told him.
Another him from another earlier time, he’d told his ex, “I’m not changed, it’s the time that had, we’re no longer on the same page now, I’d met someone more fitting for me, that’s the way it is.” Back then, I’d enjoyed the many flavors of our infatuous love together, like two prairie dogs that met eye-to-eye, we’d had sex every single day, we never separated from one another. A woman in love doesn’t need food at all, thinning myself down made me look more appealing to him, he’d told me, his ex felt “dead” to him, she’d picked her nose in front of him, ate an entire pack of French fries in front of him, “She’d started ruining herself.” That line, I’d understood quite well, whoever loved more, ended up losing more in the relationship.
“I will forever give my body, and my heart to you.” That, was what you’d written me, I believed it to be true. I’d thought, that we’d had a love like Heathcliff and Catherine in The Wuthering Heights, and now, it felt more like the cheesy romance novels.
That evening, we’d sat by the shores, watched a meteor shower, the silvery knives had slashed the blue velvet skies, I didn’t seek out the truth of the astronomical signs, and made countless, careless false promises to you. The first time, we’d traded our lives’ stories. You grew up, deep in the mountains, at age seven, you’d planted a tree, after the tree became full grown, you’d gone to a church boarding school to study, you were what the preachers called a “wild child,” you were willing to trade your promises for an education. During the summer vacations, you’d returned back home to pick the berries, drink a cup of floral teas, and pondered on the truths of life. I’m such a good audience for you, aren’t I! I’d heard the stories over and over, and, every time you’d added some details, I’d compared it with the older version you’d told me of, when this happened, who is this. I took your words to be truths, I was never doubtful toward you.
I’d mistook naïve for a virtue, the love is like a sweet wine, “the drinker will drink once more, the dreamers, dreamed again.” I’d worked hard, to view love is a trial, and you’d become my practice. Loved to the deepest, it’d become the sacrificed goat. I’d immortalized you, there was a halo over your head, powers in your gestures, and, the words you said can bring me blessings.
I’d recalled him at the very beginning, I’d told him of a wish of a girl abandoned and alone, a young woman’s seeking something, in a heartless and darkened world. I’m like Nala who walked out who’d shouted to the world, “at first, I’m one person, a person just like you, at least, I must learn, to be a person,” he, was moved by my words, pulled me toward him, “Now you have me too, you will never feel lonely again.” And still the stories faded out, became bland, the sharpened edges of life started hurting us both. There’s only one taste of bliss for a love, blessed with happiness, but, there were a wide variety of bitterness to a love that’s wrong. That old motorcycle that would give out from time to time, the never-ending journeys, the future in the fogs, I was almost suffocated. I’d left again, didn’t know where I’m headed, but I will take control of the steering wheel myself.
I’d recalled that man who’d aimed well. Back then, I tramped down the road with the dirt and the dust, with cacti on the sides, he looked like a man, who can block everything away. I’d entered with him, into an unpopulated town, he’d pulled the gun out, shot me, and few other women, and posed like a gunslinger in a western, then, rode toward the end of the road again. He said, love, is the chemical reaction when a woman and a man meet, there’s no need to beautify it. And so, sex became like Pilates, an exercise that made you sweat, and after it’d ended, the trainer says goodbye, he has another class to teach next.
When I met you, I thought I’d arrived at a safe harbor, enough, to keep me well until I’d gotten fixed up properly. You still remembered the day the storms hit? I wandered in the canyons, the skies grew dark, the groups of tourists left, the valley became silenced, the creeks rushed, the wind howled, the clouds became dark, there was that dampness in the air. A bit earlier you’d told me you’d come and pick me up, wanted me to wait for you at a certain spot. I’d walked toward the spot with an anxious mind, the rain poured down, like there were holes in the skies, and the fogs obstructed my views and blocked my path, and, this light, a human walked towards me, led me out of the dark mountains. I’d still recalled your gentleness toward me, the way your hands felt, holding mine.
In my recollections, that fuzzy feeling of the smaller creature. Some happened in the daytime, others, in the night, the head, the torsos, the limbs, all five senses, the arousals. The touch, the discoveries, everything was so wild and passionate.
You’d told me, “Nothing has changed.”, that, was the second time you’d betrayed me. That time, you had yet to master your lying ways, about that woman, you’d kept covering up, her hand, her legs, like the sponges, that showed themselves from the sofa that had holes. Last time, you’d chosen me, this time, her, “You can still come and visit with me.” “What if she is there?” “I will not allow her to kiss you in front of me.” What a funny kind of love, funny me, I’d degraded myself into a speck of dust now. Those days of this love, that still felt quite well, you’d called me several times a day to say “hi”, I’d felt this bad omen coming on. I couldn’t help control myself from wanting to call you up at five, that, should be right ‘round the time you woke, and had your first cup of coffee. She’d picked up the phone, told me you just got up, and was busy. Her voice was filled with contempt, this coldness. Up to hear, I was certain, that it, was the end of us. I could see it in the distance, the two of you, making love in bed, using the sheets, the pillows, the mattress, and the quilt I’d bought for you. As she got up, maybe, she was wearing MY robe too, using MY shower gels, to clean herself up.
We’d ended this breakup call in a short forty-eight seconds. That, was such a long call too, started at a mistake twenty-two years ago, followed by endless attempts of explanations, and in the end, we still hadn’t gotten everything out clearly, we’d met up over and over again, attempted to confirm, reconfirm, our paths are intertwined, we still have endless number of things to say to one another. I’m like that woman that picked her nose, believed that everything is fine, because there was NO statics in the calls.
I’d lost you forever.
Recalling how I got dumped that first time, I’d checked my phonebooks, in the middle of the night, called everybody up, other than the garages. I’d told of how deeply you’d cut me, how there will never BE any light in my life again, my world had crumbled and crushed me since.
For this, I’d written four diaries, recorded down the words of love I couldn’t let go of, the details, the scenes, I’d totally fallen for the me that’s suffering now. The second, the third break up, I’d still tortured myself, continued journaling. I’d hoped that my actions can turn me into the artist, Malinda Abramovich deserved to have her life, sent her three heart wrenching heartbreaks to a namely director, for him to make them into film. She said, putting her own pains on stage, it’d helped her through the toughest times of her own life.
As I’m about done, writing this letter, I feel much better now. I thought that I would sink to the bottom of the oceans, but, my skins got filled with air, and I’d floated back up to the surface again. Are you praying for me now? I’d lived for a year now, without thinking of you, I’d almost forgotten about you. I’m even thankful, that the “other woman”, had helped sever the ties, cut off the vines, and the withered away, tree of our love.
I’d understood, that in life, there would be times when we’d taken the wrong busses, willingly or forced off of the rides, we must still hold our heads up high. God had rolled the die, and, whether or not we win out in love, it’s by chance, who can win it all? A game of fetch, a game of tag, separate the past lovers they way one would trash, maybe, one can make some money off of recycling someday too.
Punks, bastards, pretenders, you are all, gone, from my life now. My body was branded, by my soul, I’d recalled it clearly. I will, sit by the furnace on the eve of my getting one year older, and act on this sweet revenge of mine.
“Add some salt to your shadows, pickle it, then, leave it out to dry, and when I get old and gray, I will take you out, and eat you with a drink.” (From “A Sweet Revenge” by Yu Hsia)
I’d loved once, been in full-bloom too, I’d not lived my life in vain.
And so, this, is what the sound of letting go sounds like, it’d took this woman, a VERY long time to finally let go of her ex lover, and, she felt betrayed by him, and yet, she knew, if she is to have a good life after this loser, she must make herself heal back up properly, so she’d worked hard, to leave him and everything about him behind, and she’d finally done it too! Ain’t it a wonder…