Of battles lost

"There are casualties, while you're sorting your life out. People get hurt. Hearts get broken," she said.

"I don't know what you want from me. Your life is in order and mine is not".

She looked at him sadly. Shaking her head, she said "It's not a competition".

A yellow jacket

She could feel his eyes burning holes on her back. All she had to do was turn around. And flash him a little smile, maybe? Her hands were trembling slightly. Her stomach in knots. She wanted to turn around. She wanted to stare back into his dark eyes. Feel the hypnotic pull of his gaze.

The store owner, a fat, pudgy man, was standing right in front of her now, explaining how the calf skin leather was so soft and smooth.

“It will be so easy to fold and put in your bag. Here lady, feel it” he said.

She reached to touch the jacket. It did feel soft and smooth. Was he still behind her? Why didn’t she just turn around and look.

“How much is it?” she asked the store owner.

“550 dollars” he said. “But for you, I give not 60 percent discount like I give others. For you lady, I give very special discount - 65 percent. So only 500 dollars. OK?”

He thrust the jacket into her arms. She held it up.

“Mirror over there. Come lady, try on”

She could have resisted. But she didn't want to. She wanted to stay longer. She wanted one more look into the stranger’s eyes. She wanted to know why her stomach was in knots.

She'd gotten off the bus and on to the dusty roads of Izmir with four other people. A friendly elderly couple from Australia, a short man who wore a light pink t-shirt that stretched over his beer belly - who said he was from the Philippines, and an unshaven tour guide who had a bad cough. When the guide said they were visiting a leather store on their way back, she was feeling too hot and sweaty to be impressed. But when they arrived at the square, orange building, she was thankful to be out of the sun and in the dark air-conditioned room. They were served apple iced tea in tiny Turkish tea glasses and made to sit in front of what appeared to be a fashion runway.

As it turned out, it was a runway. And the stranger with the dark eyes came on first, when the lights hit the runway and music came on. As he stepped out, she saw him scan the room briefly, then his gaze landed on her face. Her heart pounded as his gaze deepened, his eyes locked on hers, as he walked right towards her. She couldn't look away and she realised she was holding her breath. He reached the end of the runway, so close to her, she could have touched him if she stretched her hands. His eyes bore into hers, not a flicker of emotion on his face, not even a hint of a smile. She was dangerously close to a fit of giggles.

She had to look away. And the moment she did, he turned around and walked away. Then, the next model came on. And the next. And the next. And then it ended. Fluorescent lights came on and they were ushered through a tiny door into a bright room.

And there he was, the dark-eyed stranger, standing in a corner amongst some leathery things. Oh how she wished she'd had the borrowed confidence of alcohol in her blood stream. She might have walked up to him then and said 'hi'. But she'd only had apple iced tea, and it did nothing for her. She felt hot and sweaty. And felt a sudden urge to smell her armpits.

So she pretended to concentrate on a yellow jacket hanging on the stall in front of her. The store owner of course, took that as a sign of interest and came rushing over.

"Mirror over there. Come lady, try on"

Holding the jacket in her hand, she walked over to the mirror.

"Amir! Don't just stand about. Come help this beautiful lady try this"

She watched the dark-eyed stranger, walking over, taking the jacket off her hand and holding it up for her to slip her arms into. All the while, as she looked at the mirror, she saw his eyes never left hers. Not once.

The jealous woman

She wasn't jealous of them. She was jealous of what they had – people. People to be with on a lazy Sunday afternoon and do stuff together, almost like a family, without the blood ties that bind you down. Instead, a family for the meeting of likeminded minds.

She had no people. And the realization bore down on her like a heavy weight, as though someone had climbed unto her shoulder and just sat there while she lugged him, a terrible heavy weight, as she moved about.

What was it about her, she thought. 

She read enough self-help crap on the internet to supposedly keep her sane. The 7 habits of highly effective people, the 10 things you do that brings you down, 5 things optimists do differently, 1 question you should ask yourself every day, 6 anwers happy people have that we don't.

Really, does this shit help anyone? If she was in the midst of an anxiety attack, would she stop, log on to the net and read one of these posts to make her feel better?

Or would she walk to her kitchen sink, pick up the knife sitting in its holder, imagine it grazing, no, cutting her skin, drawing blood. Thick, red, blood.

So what was it about her – that made her want to pick up that knife?

She didn’t really want to die. She wanted to feel pain. To feel alive. To scratch herself hard, and see the streaks across her wrist. The marks shouldn’t last the night, should disappear by morning. Is that all the guts she's got?

Why did she think herself so flawed, so used, so not worthy of love. Of kindness. Of compassion.

Her mind, reading those internet articles, tell her otherwise, of course. But deep down, she can’t get rid of the picture of her mouth closing in on his dick, a little at first, but then taking it down whole, right to the very end, till it feels like she's choking. Maybe she did choke a little, but he just holds her head down, she has no say. In that helpless moment, she does not feel fear, only need. Need for more.

I never do

"I don't get you... with her" I say shaking my head. "I really don't"

"I know you don't. You're not the first person to say that."

There is silence. I look down at the table. The bar is crowded, there is music but it's muffled because it's coming from inside the bar and we're seated on the outside. So all we hear is mixed conversations from the other tall tables around us. He gets a faraway look in his eyes, absently picks his mug of beer and gulps down a fair bit. The yellow liquid swirls around in the mug as he lays it down again.

"The thing is I can imagine my life without a lot of people in it. But I can't imagine my life without her."

He looks at me then. A quick glance probably to see how I would react to this revelation.

"That's probably the most profound thing you've ever said to me about your relationship with her. Why didn't you ever tell me this before?"

"I don't know. I think I just realised it myself" he says.

I just sip my beer and don't reply.

"But honestly, most of the time it feels like we're brother and sister " he adds.

I shake my head again. "Yes, that I've heard before"

"Sometimes though..."

He pauses. Takes another swig out of his mug.

"Sometimes what?" I ask.

"Sometimes I just want to grab her, push her against the wall and take her right there" he says looking at me again.

"But then..." he continues "I never do".

A stranger

photo credit

This time last year I went around wearing a rubberband around my wrist - to prevent my thoughts drifting back to Mr Stupid. Each time it did I'd flick myself, basically training my mind not to dwell on the past - any kind of memory, bad or good that included him, I wanted to banish from my head. I'd have scoffed at this technique before, but I had a serious problem when it came to that guy. And I was open to trying anything that might have saved me any more emotional heartache and precious time preoccupied with a past that did not mean anything to anyone anymore. It worked. More or less.

At the time, an unnerving thought crossed my mind time and again - how on earth did I let myself get so emotionally vested on someone who just wasn't on the same page as me. But I realised I was done with all the 'whys' and 'hows' and 'why nots'. What I wanted was to just move past it. Put it behind me as just a bad chapter rather than a colossal tragedy that ruined my life. Take responsibility for my part in the equation and somehow forgive him his weakness and wrong-doings.

Afterall, I was one who put my heart out to a guy who was indecisive from the start. The quintessential 'hot and cold' guy. He would kiss me one moment and pretend it never happened. Hold my hand after a couple of drinks and then fake an amnesia that he did. He would hug me to sleep if I wanted him to, wake up in the middle of the night to kiss my forehead making me feel precious and loved but the next day be remote and cold. He'd rest his head close to my heart, talking to me and holding me like he never wanted to let go. But the thing is... he always did.

He was my friend one moment, a lover the next and then a distant stranger.

And my mistake was letting him get away with it. I let him treat me like a friend and a lover at the same time although it was hurting me. I looked for instantaneous gratification with him, always getting carried away in the moment, rather than holding back and holding out for more - for him to actually step up, be a man and take responsibility for his words and actions. I let him back in my life again and again, whenever he came looking for me - whether this was a masochistic tendency, plain naiveté or an impalpable optimism which made me truly believe each time I let him back in again things would be different - I don't know. Probably all of the above.

I needed to forgive myself for falling in love with a weak man. A man who held so much of promise but never lived up to it. I knew he wasn't evil or bad or intentionally set out to hurt me. And he probably was looking for a friend in me. But his penis got in the way. And I needed to forgive him and his penis for that.

"You are everything I look for in someone" he once told me.

But when I asked "So, why not me?"

His reply was "I don't know".

Maybe he really didn't. Maybe he didn't want to hurt my feelings anymore than he already had. Maybe I didn't fit his convolutedly conditioned mind's ideal of a wife. So all the chemistry in the world and being his best friend didn't help. In his mind I just wasn't a 'fit'. And so, I needed to forgive his head for that. 

At the time I wanted to tell him this: "I feel you're making a mistake. I feel you're bound by some ideal in your head and you are not following your heart. I feel you're settling for mediocrity when you could have had more. I feel if you gave us half a chance, we could have had the time of our lives. But you've made your choice. And now that I think about it, I'm not entirely certain whose loss it is really."

I never did come around to telling him that. Instead I cut all contact with him and I moved on. Just like that, life happened and he wasn't in it anymore.

We bumped into each other in a bar a few months ago and he told me rather nervously that he was getting married. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shell-shocked. I never thought he was capable of such commitment but apparently I was wrong. I stood there, staring at this guy I once knew so well. He looked and felt the same, his musky scent, his wiry hair, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes that accompanied his quick laugh. But he was a stranger. Everything was different.

There was a time when I thought a news like that would break me into a million unfixable pieces. I thought hearing it, I'd have a million questions to ask. But I didn't. Instead I hugged him, kissed him on the cheek and wished him well.

Life goes on.

The ghost of boyfriend past

Photo credit

He pursued me relentlessly. I kept bumping into him everywhere. The cafeteria, the library, the common area, on my walk back across the huge field after classes, in that little convenience shop on campus. At first I thought it was coincidence. Later I found out it was by design. He was stalking me.

The first conversation I had with him was when I sneaked away from playing squash with my friends into the campus empty hall to play the piano by myself. I heard this loud footsteps, purposefully headed towards me. I turned around and saw him there. He grabbed a chair and came sat next to me. I remember he asked me about the song I was playing a moment ago and then casually invited me to go to a fair that was in town that weekend. I don't remember what I said but I remember my stomach doing flips and my hands trembling when he walked away.

He was by far the handsomest guy on campus. Tall, broad-shouldered with a lean athletic build. He was the football and basketball star. He'd dated one of the prettiest girls on campus. But it had ended badly. Everyone knew. He was dark and brooding. With careless, unkempt hair and swag. He walked around campus carrying serious books like Victor Hugo's Les Misérables. He was a charmer and a rebel. My heart didn't stand a chance.

He asked me out a few times before I finally said yes. It was to the movie Armageddon and I had run out of excuses to say no. Till this day the Aerosmith song 'I don't want to miss a thing' reminds me of him. He terrified me somewhat with his intensity but thrilled me at the same time. I was enthralled. At 19, he was the most enigmatic person I'd ever met.

Of course I fell in love.

It was an incredibly hot, unbelievably passionate and awfully short love affair. The days and nights were a haze of endless conversation and lovemaking. We did it everywhere. Both, the conversation and the love-making. The phrase waking up making love to the wall made complete sense then, as even the nights not spent with him, I would wake up dreaming that he was touching me. One time I was away from campus for a couple of days, and when I got back he was standing at my door with a box of ice-cream. The look on his face was utter need and we didn't make it to the bedroom, the urgency of our need to be with each other so immense.  

And then one day, as if on cue, he broke my heart.

It was tragic. I suffered a kind of pain I had never experienced before. I rebelliously and somewhat stereotypically cropped my hair so short I must have looked like a boy who wore dark red lipstick everywhere. I bawled, weeped, screamed and thought I was going to die from my broken heart. But I didn't. I survived and started dating again. Even falling for someone else.

Things between us would have ended there but by some twist of fate, he walked into my life again. An older, supposedly wiser version of ourselves gave it another shot. It was less intense, he was less brooding. His hair was tidier, a product of conditioning at the workplace and he was less a rebel and more a responsible adult. But I saw sides of him this time that I only saw glimpses of before; his kind, giving and generous side. He wanted to provide for me and take care of me, not just get into my pants. And I fell in love with him all over again. It was like a grown up adaptation of our previous crazy, passionate love affair. I thought myself to be the luckiest girl in the world to have a second chance at my first love. It was my happy ending.

We talked of marriage and a lifetime together. Then, precipitously, I got cold feet. It got too hard, I had to make too many sacrifices, I met someone new. It was my turn to break his heart.

But he survived and moved on like I did the first time around. And yesterday (cheers to you, facebook), I learnt of his engagement with the girl he moved on to. I knew they were serious, but the news did make me somewhat sad, nostalgic and want to listen to Adele.

It was Jeffrey Euginedes who said somewhere that the greatest love stories don't have happy endings. If that were true, I guess this was my great love story.

A, I wish you the best. x

You don't know a good thing till it's gone

I'm feeling the itch to write again, despite thinking that I wouldn't anymore. Unfortunately, my first post in a long while, is a very, very sombre one.

But then again, it has been a sobering last couple of months. So much has happened. Yet so little has truly changed.

I lost someone very dear to me towards the end of last year. He was my age. We were close once. But we had a fight a few years ago and stopped speaking to each other. It was a silly fight over a parking space and some other petty shit I don't completely remember. We never made up. My pride refused to let me make the first move. He too, had pride the size of Africa. Just two weeks before the tragic incident, he passed a very important exam which he had been working really hard for the last couple of years. The family threw a celebration. At the party, I had this urge to just go up to him, extend my hand and wish him 'congratulations'.

But I didn't. I shoved the impulse away. My pride won. Again.

The younger me used to run to him with boy trouble. He never let me wallow in self-pity. I remember, when I was 21 or 22, I broke up with a dude and it seemed like the end of the world. At midnight, I ran to him wanting some comfort. He was already standing outside his place waiting for me. I ran into his arms, he hugged me and just said gruffly 'Forget him'. He then took me out for a drive. We stopped at a friend's house and by 2am I was laughing again.

I took it for granted that we would have all the time in the world to make up.

How was I to know or even remotely anticpate that I would receive an awful call at 3.30am, close to dawn a fateful day in October, informing me that he was gone. I'll never forget that feeling of fear that immediately gripped me and refused to shake off for weeks. I'll never forget the visit to the mortuary with his sister the next morning. Seeing him on that steel trolley, half covered with a black bag, is the stuff of all my nightmares rolled into one tragic, one very real moment.

Of all the clichés in the world, I'm now relating to this one: you don't know a good thing till it's gone.

He was far from perfect. He had a short temper. He had way too much pride. He was a lot like me.

But his life was a hard one since he was a child whilst mine was mostly sheltered. For him to turn out to be all that he was despite everything he'd been through, makes him infinitely stronger, braver and finer than I could ever wish to be. A diamond in the rough. A gem underneath the rough, sometimes coarse exterior. I recognised the gem when I was younger. I lost sight of it in recent years...too caught up with my frivolous wants and demands. I'll probably kick myself for it for the rest of my life.

I miss you my brother. Rest in peace.

I'm not your Mrs. Right, but...

As I sat with Mr. P yesterday in front of the TV watching yet another horror flick, guessing who was going to die next, our conversation took a turn to this...

"I'm getting married next year" I say suddenly. 

"What? You're kidding.." he says, looking at me disbelievingly.

"No, I'm not. I'm serious. It's all set. I'm working out the details now."

He's silent. I stare at the TV trying not to laugh. After a while...

"How did this happen?" he asks.

I say as nonchalantly as I can, "Oh, it's an arranged marriage. My mum introduced us."

"You are kidding, right?"

I don't answer. I just smile. Still not looking at him.

"God. You're serious! What the fuck?"

"Why can't I get married?" I ask.

"But why arranged? What..you can't meet someone at a bar or something?"  he says mockingly.

"Well, I haven't met anyone 'marriable' at a bar so far.... I don't think that's going to change."

"What dodgy bars do you hanging out at?" he quips.

I smack him.

He laughs. Then says "Well, it is very third world of you... "

"What? Shut up. I'm not getting any younger. And I want a baby."

"I'll give you a baby" he says kissing me at the side of my head.

"Very funny" I retort, "I can't have a baby out of wedlock. Too much of a scandal."

"Then we should get married" he states readily.

Then he starts laughing.

 Idiot.

I deserve better.

I've been repeating these words in my head like a mantra. This past week, it is how I greet myself in the mornings. I wake up and my mind, as a habit, starts thinking about him. But instead of allowing myself to wallow in some sentimental, nostalgic thought, I shake it off and tell myself, I deserve better.

Because you know what? I do. 

I mean I know this. It is not an overnight realisation. It is not something that just suddenly came to me. I know this. I demand quality in almost all aspects of my life. My family, my friends, my job, where I live, the places I eat.

I work hard and I get paid well for it. I have been blessed with a supportive, loving family. I mean we have our issues but underlying all that is a steady, unwavering love which keeps me strong even in my darkest moments. And my friends... I have no time for wayward friends.

I generally eat well. I take care of my body. My studio is cosy and comfortable because I've made it so. I love going back to my place to unwind after a long day at work. I've filled it with photographs of happy memories, little plants, plenty of books, my travel artifacts and scented candles. The rent is costly, but I pay it because I deserve a good place to live. I bought myself a decent car because I wanted one to drive around. I buy myself gorgeous shoes because I basically deserve those little treats. I spend money on manicures and pedicures and facials and spas and little holidays because I deserve all of this.

So why is it, when I demand for so much from basically all aspects of my life, do I settle for so little when it comes to a boy? Why do I make excuses for him and tell myself it is OK that he did not show on the day we were supposed to meet to have our 'talk'? Why did I so readily accept his apology the next day when he claimed 'some things came up'... when I knew he was deliberately avoiding me? Why did I excuse his behaviour based on some bullshit that I've been fed that says guys hate confrontation and so it makes it OK for him to not show? Newsflash - I hate confrontations too, but I'm willing to do it because WE FUCKING HAVE ISSUES TO RESOLVE!

And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Talking to a friend last Thursday showed me just how many excuses I was making for him. All to justify me continuing to see him, talk to him and be with him. The cherry on the icing has to be when I told her "You know, I feel if I gave up on him, there might not be anyone else who'd really be there for him. He is that isolated."

She looked at me and said what any good friend would in that situation "Babe, that honestly is his problem. You should take care of yourself first, don't you think?"

Hmm. Succinct.

So, no doubt he has been my friend. No doubt he has cheered me up when I was feeling down. No doubt we have fun when we are together.

But, we have crossed lines that friends should not have crossed. We have said and done things which make a platonic relationship impossible. All that loving in the dark, forbidden touches, whispers of sweet nothings, only to be greeted by the harsh light of the next day, where he pretends I didn't spend the night in his arms and I pretend it's fine, because I don't want to bloody rock the boat - it is not what I want.

Because guess what, I fucking deserve better.

Drunk

In her glazy, drunken haze, her subconscious made one last feeble attempt, 'He’s getting married next week. Don’t do it.'

Perhaps if her subconscious had been louder.. Because all she heard was the sound of  blood rushing to her head going whoosh, like waves hitting the shore. And his voice whispering “Oh, god, you’re so hot” as his hand groped her butt and squeezed it hard.

"Let's get out of here" she said.

He breathed "OK" and the sour fumes of the whiskey they'd been drinking since 6pm hit her square in the face.

They scrambled for their wallets, paid the waiter probably more than was needed and stumbled out of the bar, giggling.

Groundhog Day

So, from the 3 questions I received from Lifebeginsat30ty's Blogger Santa project,  I've chosen to write about a day in my life that I wouldn't mind re-living over and over again.

The thing is there are so many days to pick from that I had a hard time pinning it down to one. I mean I’ve had so many fun-filled days where I felt like I was at a theme park trying to pick which ride to go on next.

But when it comes down to actually choose one day, I pick a day, which at that time, signified a possibility… a chance at something potentially wonderful happening in my life…

The day starts with me waking up to find myself in his arms. I stiffen at first at the unusualness of the situation. Then a warm glow passes through me as I realise whose arms I’m in. I stay there basking in the warmth of his embrace as I try to recollect how we got here. The last I remember he’d tucked me in his bed and although I had drunkenly asked him to stay with me, left the room to go sleep on the couch. He must have changed his mind sometime during the night. I smile to myself.

I feel him stirring. And I close my eyes, pretending to sleep. He shifts. He’s probably uncomfortable as my head is resting on his right arm. So I turn towards him and find him looking at me. I smile. His eyes crinkle as he returns my smile.

He then gives me a tickle and jumps out of bed before dashing into the bathroom. When he comes out, he slides back into bed next to me. I smell peppermint on his breath. I know what’s going to happen next, so I follow suit. I wake up to freshen up, brush my teeth and apply some Body Shop shea butter to my lips.

I come back to bed and lie next to him. He’s switched on the TV and I pretend watching it for a while but his fingers moving up and down my arm is distracting me. I turn towards him and he looks at me for the longest time before his lips close down on mine. It’s not exactly our first kiss as I kissed him the night before (drunkenly). But let’s say it’s our first proper kiss.

We stay in bed for the most part of the day, just kissing. We take little breaks from kissing when he orders us some lunch from McDonalds and we eat the lunch not leaving his bed. But other than that we just kiss and kiss and kiss. He doesn’t grope me. He doesn’t try get into my pants. He just kisses me. His hands move under my shirt a few times but stop short from touching my breasts. I’m not sure if he’s teasing me or taking it slow.

We hardly exchange any words. Seems as though words just aren’t necessary. With our bodies glued, our lips entwined do all the talking for us.

It starts getting dark outside, and we get hungry. He asks me if I’d like to eat. I say yes, but we alternate between kissing each other and just lying there, me in his arms, as though reluctant to leave the bed.

Finally, we do get out of bed. I shower and change out of his shirt which he lent me the night before. We decide to go for Chinese. I check the time, it’s almost 10pm. We’ve spent an entire day in bed just kissing.

As we walk into the restaurant our hands brush each others. We order this spicy chicken dish which I love which comes with curry leaves and some rice. Sitting opposite him in the restaurant, as we wait for our food to come, I look at him in a whole new light.

Yesterday, he was just my friend. Today however, he may be infinitely more.

She's just not that into you!

Fine, I'm not that into you...

a) when I don't pick up my phone when you call. And no, I am not playing hard to get.

b) when I don't return your texts. Its mostly because I don't think it's necessary for me to report to you on my day and also probably because I don't have an appropriate response when you text me 'hey, how you doing?' when I'm in the midst of a meeting or I'm pulling my hair out trying to meet a deadline. But it could also be because I just forgot. Yes, that's how little you cross my mind.

c) and when I do return one text after your three incessant ones, it is only because I'm being polite and hate to see you be so pathetic. And if my text says 'hey, been busy. talk later' I don't really want to talk later, I'm just procastinating, and I'm hoping you're not so thick to not take a hint.

d) but if you are that thick and take my 'talk later' text as an invitation to call me later, please refer to (a) above.

e) when I tell you I'm not looking for anything random or otherwise right now, I'm basically telling you to back off. Leave me alone. I'm just not into you. Of course I'm looking for a relationship with the man of my dreams, it's just that I don't think you're cute enough or funny enough for me to want to date you and yes, I can make up my mind on that in the first five minutes from when I meet you.

f) and no I don't want to be 'just' friends. I have enough friends. Please don't pretend that you want to be 'just' friends, when it's so darn obvious you want to get into my pants.

Ladies, feel free to add on to this list :)