sipping on jasmine tea we’re already talking about your boyfriend’s relationship with his father, the time my dad was so depressed he couldn’t get out of bad, or when your mother had a nervous breakdown and was never the same again. joy and reassurance run deep in my veins as i know i have found a sister. paris, 2021. we’re lucky to be alive. if only i had known before that love is not linear. that you don’t get one big love and that’s it, that the heart constantly aches and wanders. i follow through. i was always the one in control, this time was different. a plea to my tenderness: lost in delusion. naked is the heart now. he has been looking at me all night. he leans towards me. kisses my cheek goodnight. twice. i feel… through the warmth of his not-so-discreet desire, emptiness. detachment. he caresses my hair, he leaves. i care not. he’s not you. oh, come on. let me let it go.
anger is easier than hurt. i feel both. i need both. what am i becoming? i am growing. i am a woman and i do not want to fear my womanness anymore. i felt small around him. i feared his rejection. he rejected me. disrespected me as i disrespected myself. it was meant to stay in summer bliss but i was stubborn and he was too busy to notice. it’s not mine nor his fault. i fell in love. at least, i’ll have no regrets. still i am angry and i hurt. my fears faced. what did i need? to learn to be the one who jumps. the one who falls with no certainties and the one who is not wanted. yes, it’s a humiliating loss. but i also feel like a winner. the pleasure of loving myself as i have no other choice. the redeeming solitude.
when i am in love, i become stupid. like drugged, i’ll do anything to feel it again, and again, and again. i am addicted to feeling like an open wound, all poured to the outside. i want my heart to be stolen, its heaviness to part from my chest. but that, of course, is not possible. if not temporarily. too often i have mistaken my fear of feeling for a weakness. now i know that i am not ‘weak.’ this time, i let myself feel it all. the first week i couldn’t sit, i couldn’t stand, i couldn’t eat, i couldn’t drink. i could only let it run through my body, like boiling blood looking for a way out. i cried and cried. i had to resort to all the energy in my body to feel it fully: the rejection, the indifference, the brutal loss of idealization. grieving the death of love. i had never experienced this side of things before. i would now wish it upon others. for it teaches strength and resilience. it is a pain that liberates. the specific person you felt crazy about does not want to be with you. knowing that things cannot go the way you visioned. all that you romanticized vanishes, while feelings linger on a little longer. like vines attached to the heart’s ceiling.
certain days i feel rage, then it fades away, and i feel... at peace. on weekends i get distracted, and Mondays are for emotional hangovers. however, it’s been sometime now, and i feel freer than ever. connected. aligned. i have purged it all out. i continue to purge it out, everyday. as it comes. do i need to cry? i’ll cry. do i need to make love to myself? i’ll make love to myself. do i need to take a two hours walk with my phone on airplane mode? i will do just that. do i need to call a friend and lean on their kindness? i will. i think years of suppressed emotions may all have taken advantage of a time of such glorious vulnerability to come up. i welcome them, let them out of the structure. so they can breathe. it’s like Leonard Cohen once said: from the crack, the light gets in. and it’s true. it is so, so true. try to believe.
and out of this time of pain and reflection, of profound unplanned encounter with Heart, i told myself: it is time to change. this can never happen again. you will by any circumstance let anyone or any situation in your life leave you feeling worthless or unwanted ever again. i cannot control life. but i can control how i choose to move through it. though, of course, none of it is definite. and rejection, after all, is necessary: i won’t make it into a tale of morality. i am coming to realise that maybe, there are no losers when it comes to love. it’s a game and yes, some get more hurt than others. we’re all dancing in it, and each of us gets the sour and the sweet when time comes. surely, i will continue to learn about it as i will continue to be utterly surprised at life. and disappointed. chaotic nourishment. in love, probably, again and again. heartbroken again. but with new vision, every time. you live and you learn…
i am the only person responsible for creating my reality. i am the only person responsible for believing that i can. my friends and family support me because they see it in me, but i can never see it through them. i have to see it for myself, and that is the hardest part. now i see how important it is to center self-worth as the core element of this sad, poetic, human experience that is having your heart broken. not only i must believe in myself but i also must believe in my ability to express myself without fear. if i do not change, i cannot create change. it is a matter of intention. and this is not some new age bullsh*t i am trying to sell you. this is what many of us overlook when blinded to find sources of happiness and satisfaction outside of ourselves.
as human beings we are so good at giving even when we are burnt out. the receiving end is often the sterile one, especially for women. we have a hard time receiving the love they deserve because we have for so long lived in self-doubt. do i have permission to do this? is this too short? am i enough? can i say something? do i deserve being treated like i would like to be treated? do i deserve love? what on earth is love, is it my duty? or my liberation?
evolving is a responsibility. we are naturally scared of change and uncertainty. especially when change entails facing our fears, allowing ourselves to fail. with grace, i failed. now, surrendering to change is the most necessary experience. re-starting from myself. from my pussy, which i know contains secrets i will be honored to explore for the rest of my life. with my tits, the softest place closest to my heart, the cursed icon of my ‘femininity.’ heartbreak has given me clarity: to reclaim ownership. over body, boundaries, power. once again.
i will take them back for myself. without asking for permission, without serving their recipe of what i ought to be. i will own myself again, on the street, with the people i encounter, in my studio, in conversation, alone with my thoughts. able to look at myself from the newest angle of this experience. how refreshing! my hair smelling like flowers, walking the majesty of my entire being, head-up, in perfume and lilac pants, pretty heels and lipstick and shiny jewelry. i will not feel sorry. it won’t be for anyone but me. i owe it to the world. to my sisters, to my mother. and since the world doesn’t owe me sh*t, i’ll make sure to face it front-faced. i am a fighter and a lover. and i will never stop feeling. because that… that would mean betraying myself. and i don’t have time for that.