Variation of loves and restructuring
The writing goes to those who have lost a significant someone, who has ever fallen deeply in love where their entirety was aligned with the person they craved.
The writing goes to those who lost their souls while trying to resuscitate someone else.
“Really important meetings are planned by the souls long before the bodies see each other. ― Paulo Coelho
Every story needs a name. The heroine of my story is Wahi.
Love Number 1:
the pink fume that assures, everything will work with a heavy dose of optimism
Wahi: A girl from a small town where her surroundings were simple, green, and innocent. She grew up with a humble background, where her parents used to provide decent enough living. She and her 2 brothers grew up with love and care and a sense of belonging to a family who valued quality over quantity.
She first felt her heart flutter when her friend of 3 years smiled and said “you are the most wonderful woman in the world”. It was a pure, innocent type of love, where the boy smiled and her insides caved in. All night she would dream of them settling down, have a life with maybe 2 children, and a small home with a garden upfront. She even calculated how much time she will require to make him, hers, and how they will build.
The relation or however they categorized it, ended when her friends mentioned that they saw him with a certain someone. Coming from a conservative, protected family all she could ever think of was WHY?
What she could do more to hold him back or where the cracks were and how to superglue the relation.
The boy was silent and very slowly let her down, so her broken heart would not shatter.
When confronted he replied:
“ You are the one, I love, You are the ONE I pick. But I need to explore. I need to see how the world works and see the variety. I love you, you are special. My type of wine but, I need to know others to value you more.
It has been 20 years since the last time she saw him, many nights have passed with the thought of his honest answer lingering beside the lamp on her bedside table. She kept him locked inside a small chamber in her fragile hurt.
He was her first love. Love Number: 1
Wrapped in a protective cover of perfection and theory wise perfect. After all this time, she still smiles at the only line she remembers from him: “You are the most wonderful woman in the world.”
a year passes, a dim, cloudy balcony, the greens of the plants have withered.
the fern that wrapped around the window fence has decided to collapse and fall
a phone rings
and then once more
it rings for a few days and she finally picks up
its the analog type of phone, where there is no number shown, where you cannot say if its a blank call or someone actually is there and yes you have to dial the number manually.
“ Hello!”
“Hi! are you Wahi?”
she jolts at the voice, a sense of irritation, followed by grief.
He used to sound like that. Well maybe not exactly, but deep inside she still expects that it should be him.
“ Hello!”
“Hi! are you Wahi?”
“ I want to talk with you, about a friend of mine who really likes you. May I have a few minutes?”
“ WE got your number from blah blah…and more blah blah…..”
a few months later he asks her out, and that friend dilutes into thin air
enters the charmer!
Love Number 2:
the amber breeze that burns through the aisles, the earth decides to somehow make it work and is colored with all shades of purple aka : pain
This is the type of love where the girl decides to commit half-heartedly just to get over the vacant feeling. Somewhere she finds solace by investing yet another degree harder to somehow make it work! She needs to feel loved.
She thinks that this may be the one, But he decides to proceed with caution.
Now my story needs another name.
Aiden.
Let's call him Aiden.
A typical charmer, a wild warm summer breeze, the type that can make a girl feel red hot with a whip of his words.
A wild card, a smooth operator, smoother than Sade’s lyrics.
She decides to take things slow.
She decides to stay in control, rather than commitment, she wants to understand how to react, how to be in charge, how not to fall.
He says stories of how he survived a brutal beating, how his friend got shot, how his teachers are impressed to that extent that they will let him take his exams even after he came an hour later to the exam hall.
He lays stories of how his ex left everything and is still waiting for him to make her, his. how his ex cut her wrists because he left her. how her family begged him to reconcile. the adrenaline rush followed by teenage endorphins. the drama!
“the plots where he is the victim, he is the hero
he mentions how terrible his people are, how much he craves a little it of love a hell lot of attention
how much he needs to be saved”
On their first date, he picks her wallet and goes through her belongings. This is extremely irritating but somehow him being offensive stirs another chord. He asks her to pay the bill.
This toxic love thrives on toxicity, where her feelings work as an inhibition to alkalize the relationship. She starts to get addicted. Addicted to save, fix, and keep it normal.
There is always something broken, needs fixing, needs to be collected and sorted. This turns into her second nature. Gradually she finds her tangled in a net where she loses herself, yet again. But this time she signs the papers and puts a name to the relation.
Now she is a mother, not one but of two children. She has her big house and a garden that is adorable but still feels barren. They go on expensive holidays, he buys a Benz, he promises her forever, and ever after. She finds her purpose and commits with a thousand percent and more each day.
Somethings feel misplaced. Desperate for a fix she starts being in denial.
Her children know that mom cries in the closet every time they have an argument. They are accustomed to the muffled cries in the middle of the night. And it seems normal.
He makes it normal, even jokingly says “Go, cry come back and make me ….”
“Tears are words that need to be written.” ― Paulo Coelho
pages turn, months turn into years, years into a decade
she still cries her hear out in the closet. one hour, sometimes 2 and then washes the traces away, wearing a very red-colored lipstick and a pat of concealer.
To the world, he is perfection, happy, comfortable, and caring. No one can pinpoint where it goes all wrong. She stands in every day possible to absorb whatever is wrong and seals it inside her.
When a narcissist marries an empath, all hell breaks loose. The narcissist uses and misuses the empath as a punching bag and he breaks her from inside.
One strand at a time, one string of confidence followed by another. Fixing becomes an obsession, trying turns into a sport.
jump?
if you say I will jump higher, longer, harder
fall deeper?
why not?
face first and then jump again. She says…..
“A fall from the third floor hurts as much as a fall from the hundredth. If I have to fall, may it be from a high place.” ― Paulo Coelho
become a doormat?
just ask. what type do you want?
woven? acid washed? organic? vegan?
low carb? religious? conservative?
I will however you want me to.
I will move mountains to make things right and keep it intact.
Note needed to be inserted here:
I am not blaming Aiden. He was a broken case, to begin with, like all narcs he was messed. Fluff, ego boost, a sense of always being right, a false predicament of him being the biggest catch on planet earth, a heightened sense of being correct and an absolute, pathetic, sad case of never being “sorry”.
Wahi carried similar loads too. In a bubble of being correct, fixing, mirroring, trying to force it to work. She needed to work on herself, more. She needed fixing and to come out of her tiny room of righteousness and see life as is.
They had a discussion that the vase was cracked and broken. The outer film was holding the pieces inside but the shards of crystals were showing, it was becoming evident with each day.
He cheated with her.
The session went for exactly 9 months 18 days.
He was honest enough to tell though. He was direct and truthful, again. Just like the first love, he clearly mentioned:
“ I do not have any feelings remaining for you, I need a break, I need to explored and the new girl is all I can think of. She is stunning, beautiful, and wild.”
a few days later he said
“ I am over her, lets kiss and make out. I think I can take you back.” “ Let’s get back to playing house.”
Somehow they made it work.
The bindings, the social pressure, the uncomfortable feeling for an uncomfortable, unpredicted life kept her in the marriage. The bond broke, there was nothing in common left rather than the mundane routines and children in between.
“Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realize that nothing really belongs to them.” ― Paulo Coelho
He cheats again. The second time!
This time he takes away the honesty, though
Finally, the catch, fall, sex, makeup, and repeat stops
Finally, the trying halts, the crying in the closet turns into a month-long session in front of a grieving audience
Finally, she stops
Finally, she closes her eyes.
Finally, awakes
Finally, she is pushed enough, compelled to let go and handle her own stupid life as her own and make sense of what is!
“Anyone who loves in the expectation of being loved in return is wasting their time.” ― Paulo Coelho
Love Number 3:
The Forest green blood that runs through the veins stemming from Sacramento shade of deep within the arteries turning the moss green into an excellent Jade!
Self-love
The damage was profound. She felt suicidal, lost, broken, trampled, tested to the edge. The burn was incredibly deep.
Her scars traveled from the back of the neck reaching to the top of her waist. The burn marks shaped and marked her paths later. Faded, yet the faint lines reminded of what was.
yes she smiles
she learns to let go
breath
she learns to accept and let go
she learns to say the word: “FUCK” for the first time in her life
she learns to: “LIVE”
finally, she learns to prioritize
No regrets, no why again, why me, why now, why me again.
No pathetic, trauma bond excuses.
“Now that she had nothing to lose, she was free.”― Paulo Coelho
“Life always waits for some crisis to occur before revealing itself at its most brilliant.”― Paulo Coelho
yes, she still cries at night, maybe on the subway to work, besides the Pier 3 on Brooklyn bridge, maybe inside a crowded hallway and her eyes turn red, muffling her cries in the puffy, padded jacket or amidst the pom-pom scarf as she dips her face in.
yes, she misses bit and pieces, what was, what can never be.
She misses humming their favorite songs playing on the radio or how he used to bring her yellow roses and look to see her expression. How he came back home with a giant seven-eleven coke Slurpee and watch her eyes lit up! How he loved his tea steeped by her, the chat room back and forth on the family Facebook groups until friends will call out and begged to stop.
but this love works
after many, many, many years she has finally found the peace
she found herself
she is no more apologetic, no longer trying to fix, rather learned to build, to invest, to discard and opt-out and reboot if required
when asked how are you? she learned to smile.
She learns to fall for someone again!
She learns to keep her heart open for the unknown and let the universe work wonders :
Generally speaking, these meetings occur when we reach a limit, when we need to die and be reborn emotionally. These meetings are waiting for us, but more often than not, we avoid them happening. If we are desperate, though, if we have nothing to lose, or if we are full of enthusiasm for life, then the unknown reveals itself, and our universe changes direction.”
― Paulo Coelho
Love Number 4,5,6 and…
“You will never be able to escape from your heart. So it’s better to listen to what it has to say.”― Paulo Coelho
Love Number: 4= a Kpop idol made her feel alive, free, and feel loved, and made her appreciate her own qualities.
Love Yourself.
Love Number: 5= a CNN host! lol yes! The hot Neurosergent on the screen with his beaming smile.
Invest Yourself.
Love Number: 6= friends. The late-night chats, the crazy 11:45 pm stroll in the midst of Coney Island for no apparent reason.
Honor Yourself.
Love Number: 7 = the intense high and then sobering down.
Permit Yourself.
Not everything requires a commitment or conclusion.
Not every occurrence requires a predetermined, predestined, theory-laden track.
Not every relationship needs a name to work.
Life does not need to be a fairy tale of happily ever after.
Sometimes all you need is to be brutally broken to feel alive.
“One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”- Paulo Coelho
