Almost 4 years later

Almost four years later, the boy who broke my heart, the boy’s friend who humiliated me and made me hate the skin people had seen, and the boy who cheated on me met in England. ‘They told me about this book you’re writing’, one of them said. It was the closure I thought I had found in the past four years. To think, that time truly did its healing. That three men now sat in a different country and had my name make its way into the conversation. And for the first time, followed with truth.

Four years later, the boy, now man, who broke my heart messaged me the words I didn’t need to hear. I promise to you that I did not need to hear them. Yet I understand why I cried and smiled after reading it.

‘Listen Angela I’m sorry but if truth be told I’m not in a good place. I’m very ashamed of who I was and what I’ve become and it’s taking its toll on me. I just want to change my life around, be the good guy and all that stereotypical bullshit you see on TV. And honestly, I’m so disgusted by my relationship with you, all I want is to try and make it right, and I feel like the first step is to change my life, and as selfish and pathetic as it sounds, you’re a painful reminder of who I once was, and I need to change that. I’m trying to move out by saving money working odd jobs, and honestly I’m stressed the fuck out and I’m not the most equipped person to handle it. I’m sorry Angela, you at least deserve to know why im acting like this. I really hope to have that coffee with you when all this is all over, and we can have a proper laugh about how ridiculous we once were, but right now I just need some time. I really hope you’re doing well and that you’re life is finally taking the path you want to lead, you really deserve the world Angela. I’m sorry for all the pain and heartache I’ve caused you, you didn’t deserve any of it. From the bottom of my heart I really hope you’ve finally found peace, you really do mean a lot to me.’

Four years later, I have not stopped loving, but rather stopped waiting to be loved. Four years later, I got to be the girl they did not know how to care for. And four years later, I am no longer the girl who lost them, but rather the girl they did not know how to love.

 

‘You really deserve the world, Angela’.

The words I am most grateful for.

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Self-love

I read somewhere, in an article or study, once about how millenials avoid truly feeling their emotions so long as they are negative. It stated that they attempt to cover up the feeling before understanding it first. The first thought that came to mind was that if Fyodor Dostoevsky were born in 1999, he wouldn’t have written shit. He wouldn’t have been as wise as his writing was when exploring his solitude and would have merely attempted to find a superficial method to disguise it before allowing it to be understood.

The second thought was the fact that Charles Bukowski was right. ‘Don’t be so consumed with self-love’ was as wise as it was when I first argued against it. Self-love is beautiful. Yet anything that has the power to consume you is as worthless as beauty without evoking emotions. To feel beautiful has become a task once heartfelt is felt. ‘Take a shower and make yourself feel beautiful’. I was told that the minute I discussed the heartbreak I felt then. I did that, actually. Yet I wish I would have been told to turn it into something that I can respect.

‘Make a podcast about it. Turn it into poetry and display how your heart bled at a local poetry slam. Fucking paint it until the paint dries and it synchronizes with your tears. Dance until crying looks hilarious and stupid alongside your moves. Make a short film that makes you realise how shit you are at filming and the editing gives you anxiety, smoke until you hate it because by then, you’ll realise how useless it is to cry for too long. Do something that makes you remember that which you could control, instead of the pain, the moment you look back at the day you felt sadness. Understand what makes you feel weak and what makes you feel nostalgic. Diferentiate them when you think about them. Go somewhere and think of how lovely the setting is for someone recovering and developing their sense of emotions, rather than a waste of time due to the lack of company. Cry while walking to the bus and show people that there is no reason to hide it. That sadness is as much of an emotion as the ones they present. Yet more real and more often felt. Ask your teacher about sadness. Own the emotion we have created a temporary embarrassment for. The one that we lock in a room until that ‘self-love’ dissolves it. Feel. Fucking feel.’

 

That is what I wish I would have been told.

Conversation With a Friend: Romance- A Podcast

Beautiful

“Also, the girls’ tournament is at the same time in the same place” he stated

“so?”

“The girls’ uniforms for volleyball are 😉, I mean they have very short tight pants”

I felt confused and surprised as the comment came after the words “I love you”

“I mean their asses will look good”

But then I felt inferior.

“But yours still wins sorry” He added to fix it. “#pervertalert”

“Please don’t comment on my body like that, especially when you’ve just mentioned other girls’ bodies”

“Sorry,I was just trying to throw a compliment. You used to like it and now…”

“No” I added with disgust. “I love genuine compliments the way anyone would. But not when its about my ass after you’ve commented on other girls with a hashtag calling yourself a pervert.”

And that’s the problem. Women are constantly ‘complimented’ by the act of comparison between the individual and the surrounding women. As someone who has lived life proving myself I am worthy of myself, and that it is enough, comparing me to other women to identify my significance is wrong. Because if I am “beautiful” compared to the girl on my left. What will i be compared to the one on my right? I, like every other person, am amazing because of the qualities I’ve gathered and the person I’ve earned to be recognised as. And commenting on someone’s physical appearance in a raw manner and made greater by adding that it is better than other girls, takes my individuality away and isolates me because you have not gotten to know the remaining people you could see as options.

I feel beautiful. I love my freckles. I love my average brown eyes. I love my subtle dimples by the arch of my smile. I love my body even in winter when it grows. But I don’t love it because these things are superior compared to other girls. I love them because they are accompanied with other features you have not taken the time to recognise.

But if you call me beautiful because i have “nicer ass than the other girls” it makes me worry that I have to be in competition with everyone else to keep you. I will from then on, fear showing you the things that make me inferior compared to said women, because I will no longer be beautiful to you.

The first time we talked, he said:

“I really like talking to you. I can’t really explain it. But you are somehow real. And mature. And smart. And fun. Unlike others.”

The last thing he said to me was:

‘But you girls are all the same. That’s what I realised. You want what you can’t have. That’s just too damn bad. And when someone finally is willing to give you that it suddenly becomes boring. Being like *name* or *name* would get me much further probably. You know what? Fuck it. I’m leaving an a year so who cares”

When I said I couldn’t return the feelings he had for me, he took what got me to smile every time. And the thing that made him want to see me smile, and used it against me to convince himself he could move on since the thing that made him stay was no longer there.

 

Something I wrote when I was 16.

Long Distance Lifestyles

Maps 

I have maps all around my room. It isn’t just the sense of adventure. But an emotional attachment to view everyone I love spread out on a paper canvas. I see my friends all over the picture. Spread out. Distant but together. I see my family to the west. And I’m far on the right. And then there are pictures. The ones with those near me. And those far away.

But the settings on the images change and translate the idea of time and place. A distant position. So the maps in my room remind me that there is a way to have them all in one place. Besides within my being, in a physical aspect. And no matter who’s map or whichever map: whether it is in someone’s room, or a brochure, it always holds the people I love. And it’s comforting to know that we all fit into one image.

Temporary 

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The thing is, being in a temporary setting makes you vulnerable and willing to detach yourself of the people surrounding you. But you can’t, because it no longer becomes just that: temporary. So you hold on to them with all of your being. You grow together no matter how much time you have together. Because it’s always more than you thought it would be. Because at the end of the day, everything is temporary, but some things are heartbreaking to view as such. So avoid worrying about your feelings when you have to say goodbye, and realise that there is a reason beyond all of that towards the reason you feel that pain: they are worth it. So love them even more, use the ideals of time and compact or condense those feelings into the managed time. Love with all of your being. And you will see beyond that time frame, and you will see the people, their impact, the place in your life, and not the year they were physically part of it.

When I knew he was the one

That’s when I knew he was the one

We had been silent for 2 hours after a discussion

when I mentioned: “well if you don’t know how to fix it and I can’t, we’re fucked”

to which he responded with: “what do we do now then?”

I smiled, holding in laughter and bursted.

He responded the same way

We both mentioned “this is so stupid”

to which he followed with “I love you”

It wasn’t the first time he had said it

but it meant more than I was used to.

 

-Original photograph