The "here" and "now"

 

Isn’t it strange that I loved everything about you? Even the things that I would consider an OCD seemed charming when you did or said them. Remember once I asked you about your dark side, you sighed and said that you don’t know. Was the question cheesy? I kept thinking about your dark side, your defects, the things that I will find irritating, frustrating, the habits that will drive me crazy and push me to the shores of boredom, silence and regret. I could not find anything of these, or I loved you with all your idiosyncrasies.

Love is strange, isn’t it? I feel betrayed, why am I surrendering to such feelings. I have always cherished my loneliness, I used to say that I enjoy my own company. Never waited for anyone to do anything, a trip, a movie, anything…but now, why am I waiting for a moment that may never come. Waiting for a cinematic finale of these popular romantic movies. The scenario that I create and recreate on daily basis, that one day both of us will realize that life doesn’t make any sense without being together, we will confess that we can’t waste more time and that the rest will never be enough to talk, sing and kiss. Then I wont need to dream or day dream about you and your smiles, I wont need to visualize you wherever I am, and I will stop imagining dialogues that could have happened. But I was never like this, irrational? Yes. A day dreamer? Yes. Emotional? Yes. But I was never that lost.

(You have to always be in the “here” and “now”) one of the shrinks’ many clichés, I want to scream saying its easier said than done. What is my “here” and “now” if you are not with me? I’m ignoring my “here” and thinking of yours, and cant stand my “now”, hoping to meet you soon. Sometimes I feel that all this love will kill me, may be it is starting to kill me, gradually. Or one day I will turn numb, I will lose the blessing of love, the ability to feel that pain or to remember the happiness we shared months ago. What does “here” mean? I am there, wherever you are, with my thoughts, shifting my attention from my surroundings, for a few seconds or for some minutes, I am with you, in your “here”. Now! ha, now only means the unbearable period that I have to waste till we meet, or simply the time where I can think of our memories. Before being totally consumed by your love, or rather by my love, I hope that I would be able to meet you and be courageous enough to tell you all what I want. Hopefully I wont scream or stutter, when I tell you that I loved you from the very beginning, at first I denied this love, then after our few first meetings I denied that I love you, I thought that we were just two nice decent funny people who enjoyed each other’s company, but later I realized that I loved you. It was too late for me to run away, although I am a world class quitter, but apparently, I have been living all my life, facing all these disappointments, postponing such intimate connection just to lose myself in loving you. I won’t allow you to interrupt, or to say anything that may stop me, or make me feel like a loser, or tempt me to apologize for what I feel and say. I will continue telling you, that my feelings are too precious to be aborted, and that when I told you that this was not the end of the story, I was not murmuring a cheap cliché, but I was stating a fact. Such precious feelings must live and thrive till our last breaths. I will tell you that I hate your approach, such self-restraint, disciplined, wise character, all this talking about the responsibilities of loving someone, all these equations that you had in your head, the calculations of when, how much and who. I never understood your point of view, why did you surrender that easy to not loving me while I easily surrendered to loving you?

When I restore my life back, rebuild my days and burry your memories for a while, when all of this happens, I will befriend myself again, I will forgive me for such sin, I will be kinder and more understanding. May be the only way to reach such calm state is to deny love, its existence, its relevance or importance. Then I will return back to my comfort zone, my mundane life where all my emotions are controlled, and my feelings are tamed. I will live as most of us, or almost all of us, living to pay bills, watch news and waste time. Years later I realize that I did not fight for the only thing worth fighting for or even living for.

May be if I heard your version of the story, I will feel better, I will be able to stop lingering about why? How come? And all these redundant questions. But please don’t use logic, rationality and all your scientific terms, it is not a legal dispute, it’s a love story. Try to be more emotional, or at least try to explain your ideas using my language. Anyway, I am not sure that this will make any difference, listening to your story or repeating my version of the story for the millionth time, I need a miracle. I can’t even admit that it is a hopeless case, I still need a divine intervention. Is this how heart-broken people think or speak?

Gobran Once said....

 

I once read that the one who loves is happier than the one who is loved, and that love is a great force of giving, and givers are always in a state of bliss. I love you, but I am not happy. Yes a great force of giving, I agree, I am giving myself away, I am losing myself to jealousy, fear and anxiety. I have been questioning myself day and night if I am confused between love and attachment or a sick urge of belonging or any other mental disorder. I have been trying to pacify myself for so long, and the result is more stress, and an unbearable sense of longing. I am paving my way for a classic case of schizophrenia, every night I weave a happy scene of us together, I pick a moment from the past, say all what I wasn’t able to say, all what I wasn’t given the chance to say, I put the words on your lips, I imagine you smiling, we drink coffee and something sweet, always there is something sweet, sometimes we sing and laugh, sometimes we watch a movie, and sometimes we visit places. All these were simple plans that we did not do.

Gobran once said that we never miss the ones we love as they are always with us. O, Gobran, I don’t agree at all, with all my respect, the one I love is always with me, but missing the real encounters is something else. Maybe I did not reach that celestial state that Gobran meant yet. Maybe I still miss your hugs, your kisses and the sweet feeling of your hair. Does this make me a lustful person, or will this remove me from the list of platonic lovers? It is not only about hugs, touches or kisses, it is simply about everything, the mood swings, the depression, the migraine, all the ups and downs of our daily lives. Yes, I want to know what happened in your day even if its boring, I want to hear your cursing someone on the phone, I want to witness you being irrational, provocative or selfish. I want a big slice of the real thing.

The cold messages loaded with silly emojis are becoming dreadful, they seem to be your way, your efficient way of keeping a friendly buffer. Am I supposed to thank you, to be grateful for taming my feelings, for your wise and civilized operation of turning a lover to a friend? It wont work, it has never worked, and I am really losing myself throughout the process. Till now I smile whenever I remember you, I still hear cheerful music whenever I think of you, am I on the verge of psychosis? do not worry it not an obsession, its pure and profound love, a feeling that I have never experienced and was not ready for its consequences.  Dear Gobran, yes, the ones we love are always with us, but we miss them, we miss them in an unbearable way.

 

That couple!

 I went to that art exhibition that we were planning to go together. I don’t know why I did not wait, we still had 10 days before they  change it, 10 excuses to send you messages, 10 excuses to know your plans, or at least the plans that I am allowed to know about now. May be I wanted to get used to doing things without you, to enjoy my life alone, restaurants, exhibitions, monuments  and movie theatres, just like before. The paintings were amazing, I wanted to call you and shout, ”Wow, the artist is incredibly talented”, but I trained myself not to call you at that time of the day, I stopped sending whatsapp messages during this slot, I don’t know why but I have an unjustified paranoia that you will be sitting with someone, sipping your coffee while it is still hot, smiling, or even laughing, moving your long fingers in these theatrical moves as you speak, it was our time, I mean the time we used to meet when we used to meet.

I starred at most of the paintings, and caught myself murmuring of what I wanted to tell you, “ the composition here is perfect, ….this posture reminds me of our ancient Egyptian statues,…..  this is really beautiful … what do you think”. Can you imagine, I really asked you about your thoughts and your favorite one. I was alone in the hall, I thought of sending you photos, may be you would get angry and ask why didn’t I wait for you as we planned. But if you didn’t say that I would have got angry. A couple entered the gallery while I was lost in my thoughts. I sat on that lonely wide bench infront of one of the large masterpieces, I distracted myself by the colors, textures and compositions, so that I don’t follow that couple, they were moving slowly, whispering to each other, their smiles were beautiful and their eyes were shinning in a way I had experienced a short while ago.

I sat in my car, did not move, and did not know how to control the unneeded cascading thoughts. So will this be my new habit? Envying  couples, scanning their moves and comparing them to what we would have done. A year ago, I would have mocked their romantic moves, I would have said that they could go to a coffee shop and leave art exhibitions to those who are really interested in art. Strange! May be life is punishing me, or simply love is punishing me.

Time

 

Time, what is time? Time is an illusion or even a delusion. One’s life should be calculated by moments rather than by years. Only the moments worth remembering and cherishing. Why would I consider the years wasted in sleeping, driving and donkey work? What’s precious about meals eaten alone or with other but happening in an absentmindedly manner, nights eaten by boredom and mornings consumed in mundane conversations. Only the precious moments count, these magical collection of seconds that make life meaningful or even worth living. I had my share of these beautiful moments thanks to you. Pure happiness that felt surreal but tasted like heaven. Shooting stars, heart beats, sudden tears, all of these tender surprises are difficult to describe or explain to others, but each of us know the plethora of feelings that flood us when they happen. You took me there, even unintentionally, you took me there a few times, a few brief times, but we were there and that is what really matters. I have lived. I can’t deny that you gave me the precious gift of life, you carved those profound emotions deeply in my being. Your love became part of me, part of my existence and nothing can change this. Nothing or no one can take these moments away, they happened and we were United together in an ocean of love. Stolen moments, indeed, they were stolen from your logic, my fear and all “our” others. 

I can simply state that I’m a few moments old. I tasted love, a few tiny sips, but who could ever bear more. I’m grateful for these moments and I will learn how to relive them again and again. I won’t accuse you of anything, my love we were United once, and once we unit we are always unit, may be in another life, another dimension or another time. But again, what is time?

A Farewell

 

I have been writing a lot about you, may be today I can write to you, a letter. My first letter, and hopefully it will be the last letter. A farewell. “I love you”, this is how I want to start my letter, I love you. Nothing more can be said, love is the start and the end, love is the whole story. You said love means responsibility, you said love implies consequences and you said a lot of other things that I don’t want to remember. I remember how everything started, some call it love from the first sight, but no, it wasn’t love, I have to admit, I was amazed, dazzled and overwhelmed, all at once. From the very beginning I understood that nothing can ever happen between us, your charm, elegance and grace contradicted with my clumsiness, but, and there is always a “but”, as soon as we started talking, it was impossible to stop. How talkative are you my lovely Sherhrazade! I was happy, we had a nice talk, you were really lovely on that day. I am sure that you enjoyed our conversation on that day too. Then we met, I was afraid, I faked an important appointment to leave, I told you later that I have always had that feeling, that I have to leave before people feel that I became boring or unwanted. I remember that you told me that I was silly.

Do you still remember? You were waiting for me to call and I was waiting for you to do the same. I remember how lovely you sounded when you said, “I did not want you to leave”. On our third meeting, I decided that I will be myself and I will show you the real me. “I love you”, that what I was sure about on that day. The feeling was enough, the feeling was surreal, the feeling was overwhelming. I did not know what to do or say, I did not want the hours to pass but they did. I had to leave, but on that day our love was born, it seems like ages ago. No words can describe the happiness I felt, it was rather a sense of joy, remember the dozens of silly massages I used to send you every night, “I love you….”

“I miss you….”

“I am so happy….”

“I love you…”

You told me latter that some people live and die without experiencing such a profound feeling, you are right, it was profound indeed, and it uprooted me. I can’t count the enjoyable lunches we had together, the long conversations, the details, the minute details and the confessions. This is turning into a very boring letter, I m losing my courage and confidence in front this blank piece of paper, just as I do in front of you. I really wished to tell you everything when we last met. I wanted to scream and say that this is torture, I would have hugged you, kissed you before leaving. This should have been the end, the proper end. But months ago, when I was asking for a last hug, when I was begging for a last kiss, you said NO, two letters only, just two letters, deprived me from a proper closure.

“I love you” and I love everything about you, even your eccentric opinions I considered them mere idiocies. Isn’t it strange to love places, times and people that I only knew about from you? Isnt it strange to wish to continue my life loving you. How many times did I want to tell you that we both wasted a lot of time before meeting each other, and that we can’t afford wasting more, but I did not. I thought that there will be enough time to say everything. I tried not to be hasty as usual, and wanted to enjoy your love at a slow pace, but apparently it wasn’t meant to be. I told a friend about you, he didn’t believe me, he did not expect these feelings, words and dreams to be mine. “Middle Age crisis” he said. But no, it is love, and I am not going to define it to you, we had this discussion before. My friend said time will cure me, I wanted to tell him that time is the enemy, may be time befriended you and helped you to forget me, to abort our love, and to enjoy my company as a friend. Time what a traitor, time isn’t helping me at all.

If you are still reading this letter, I want to ask for one last thing. Please remember me, remember me as I was, with all my defects, with all my genuine uncontrolled feelings, with all my unfulfilled dreams, and with all the songs that we did not sing together. I want you to think of how beautiful our last kiss would have been, how tender our last hug would have been, and how noble our last tears would have been. I want you to understand that although “some people live and die without experiencing such feelings”, those who experience love the way I did are neither alive nor dead. I am somewhere between my previous life and the life that we could have had together. I am whirling between the heaven of love and the hell of longing. Don’t forget me, don’t label me as someone whom you met, whom you could have loved, don’t label me. Plant me in your memory, don’t let time sweep me away, keep our memories, smile whenever you remember one of our silly jokes, miss me, even if you know that it was impossible for us to be together. Forget your logic, forget your discipline but please don’t forget me. I love you.

When shall I see you again?

You never ask this question, and it hurts, everything now hurts. When we talk you mention people, places and things that I will never meet, go or share with you. We talk, but it’s all nonsense chatter and when I want to say the important things, my tongue is tied by fear. Yes, Im frightened, I am terrified, that one day you will say that we must not meet again. You said it before, it took me a lot of courage to gig deep, burry my dignity, put the remains of myself together, and ask you to be “friends”, maybe I repeated “just friends” or I whispered, “at least friends”.

A few months ago, I thought that this was the best solution, at least we meet, at least we talk, at least we are together for a while. Yet it turned out to be utter torture, I still gaze at your beautiful eyes, I get lost in your dark hair, my eyes follow the movements of your elegant fingers as you talk. I nod, I don’t answer, all my answers will provoke you, or will put an end to this fragile one-sided friendship. I’m not a friend, I’m a lover, I have a failed short-lived love story, and it hurts, it really hurts to oppress my feelings with such cruelty. Why should I betray myself, to get a pat every now and then for being a nice friend?

I am writing again, confessing and complaining. I took a break from exposing my vulnerability, from crying loudly and presenting my emotions to each and every one. But this break did not help me at all, I still feel uprooted, unbalanced and absent. Yes, it is that feeling of absence that hurts the most. I have always been happy with whom I am, or that what I thought. But now, I am checking everything in me, trying to understand what was wrong in me,…I know that it is not about wrong or right, but only lovers have this kind of confidence, friends don’t. Sadness is a luxury that I cant afford, our love, our short-lived love does not and will not have many supporters, may be will not have any supporters, not even you.

The paper in front of me seems sympathetic, eager to listen and even curious to know more of our story, my story, how I wish that it was that easy to talk to you. I cant remember when did we last meet. You are busy, may be too busy these days. I don’t dare to ask, I only ask general questions, just like any stranger. A close friend sent me a message a few days ago, he said that I can grieve for as long as I can, but I should never start hating myself. Easier said than done my friend! It is not hatred what I feel, it is a kind of a feeling that I have never experienced before, maybe I don’t know how to describe it. Talking could have helped, but how, who would listen, and till when? Till when can I carry my love and cry, who would listen? In fact, I don’t want anyone to listen but you. I want to tell you that I loved you, as they say, from the first sight. Do you think I planned to fall in love with you? No, I didn’t, love struck me and I was not aware of the consequences, but now, I am staring at my mobile, waiting for any message from you, anything that will tell me that I came across your mind even for a few seconds, may be you remembered me and smiled, may be you wondered what would I be doing now. “When shall I see you again?” This is the message that I really want to see.

 

 

Can I meet me?

 

I must drop all the masks, all of them at once, let me face the scares, the rot and the ancient dead soul that I have been hiding by layers and layers of masks. I have to admit some were good, some were amazing and a few were mediocre, but they all worked. So, who am I without all these masks? Can I meet me, without the chaise lounge of my therapists, and without filtering my words and oppressing my rage? Just like everyone I have been rushing tomorrow, pushing today and ignoring the lessons of yesterday. Floating along life like aimless dirt particles, till I meet my end, but as the end is not here yet, why don’t I take a pause or even stop. Stop, just to understand what is happening, who am I? what do I need? And who are all these characters fighting in my mind. Can I be fully awake for a few minutes? They say we are our real selves only in our dreams, ok, I dream a lot, I love my dreams, but it is time to wake up now and face the real situation, face the reality for change. Let me start by my reality before blaming the others and whining about their actions and reactions. Who am I?

The beginning is blurry, just as beginnings are usually are. However, there was always that sense of fear, something bad will happen, a catastrophe will occur, and I would be responsible in a way or another. Silence and obedience seemed safe ways of dealing with each and every situation. Time passed, fortunately or unfortunately time passes, but there was also a sense of loss, a sense of loneliness and again that unjustified sense of guilt. The pace of life was boring, all what I can remember was waiting, waiting for everything, waiting for the end of school day, waiting for the end of school year, and waiting for something to happen, anything that can change the dead rhythm of my days. Everyone these days is bragging about the comfort zone, but they never mention the dead zone that I was living in. I had my dreams that were piled on top of each other, to be fulfilled later, but believe me old dreams worn out, and they leave you with a bitter taste and annoying feeling of despair. Since when did I put on masks? I can’t remember at all, but they worked, I was too young to remember, but may be this was a divine gift. A divine gift to every human being, I am not gifted by any chance, I am just an ordinary man trying to understand.

All my relationships were and are still strange, they lack something, maybe they lack honesty, or transparency or something I don’t even know. Are they superficial? I swear I have always tried not to surrender to superficiality, but as they say it takes two to tango, and I know that I am not a good dancer. For a big portion of my life I was known as “an easy-going person”, really? Was that really me? “Easy going” did I really want to go easily? What am I trying to do now, I am sure that I had phases of tranquility, serenity and happiness. Of course, my life has not always been that chaotic or pathetic. May be even during these phases I put on masks of contentment. 

It is very difficult to face my true self, especially if I don’t confront, but here I am, trying and eager to meet me. It is not a confession that I am writing, but a kind of attempt to understand what is wrong. One of my several therapists believed that I allowed the inner child, my mischievous inner child to control me, my reactions and my whole life. As if I was compensating him for the years of boredom. Anyway, although this hypothesis makes a lot of sense, but may be there are other factors. Maybe I chose selfishness over selflessness, but for god’s sake, who would choose selflessness, Gandhi or Mother Teressa? 

These days I am sleeping a lot, not sleeping but rather collapsing, losing myself to dreams, some are vivid and cheerful others are vague, but still, dreams come to an end. I wake up, think of all the things that I have to do, but I do nothing. I Try most of the day not to lose my temper, not to say what I really want to say, and when I stutter and finally say a few words of what I feel should be said, I regret this and keep being apologetic, I mean I quickly put another mask.

See! I am trying to distract myself again. Avoiding asking the crucial questions, and resorting to nonsense rambling. May be this was a start, a genuine attempt to reduce my anger, to train myself to speak up, and most importantly to forgive others. Others! Isn’t it too early to include others now? I should focus on myself, clear the rubble, silence the scary screams and then see what is wrong with others. “You should love yourself more” I heard this phrase from several therapists along three decades at least, I should follow this advice, and I should be wise enough to understand that “Self-love” is different than “selfishness”. May be all what I needed was a bit of genuine love, love that balances one’s personality and puts everything in its right scale and context. It seems that I will not reach the faraway shores of peace until I love myself unconditionally before loving others. I don’t know how may masks did I scratch today, and I am not sure which mask I will put on tomorrow, but I will keep trying to remove them all.