Heartbreaks

Dear E.p.,

Because I remembered not to long ago, I was on that path, too. I just want to tell you:

There's no way to get around it but to face it. That is, deal with it by submerging yourself waist-deep in its murky waters, where I do pray you will find the grace to move amidst the discomfort, to get up while crying when you fall further in ditches unseen, to push through even when your bruises and scratches seem to pile one on top of another.

It will get ugly, miserable, painful.

It will never be fair.

It will not make sense.

And it will feel like the pain  won't end and whatever hope you see is but a tiny glimmer far, far away in the horizon.

I know, I know it may seem fiction at this point, but the good news is, the ugliness, the misery, the pain-- they do end. That little ray of hope peeping out? It is real, as real as the hopelessness you feel today. And you just don't know but by facing the murky water, by wallowing in the ugliness, by moving, you're inching your way there slowly.

What I've learned from this network of sisterhood I found myself connected to when I was swimming in that uncomfortable ocean: that it is possible to handle things with grace. That amidst the discomfort and the impulse to just give in to the easy, it is possible to cling on to that tiny shred of dignity and emerge with your self intact; that it's no piece of cake, but it's always worth it when you choose yourself over the boy. He's just passing through, Ep, but meanwhile, you will always have you.

I love you, Ep, and if I can keep you from all this discomfort, I will, but it's your journey -- and no journey is ever wasted, whether it's the first class kind or the most heartbreaking hitch of your life.

You will get through this, I promise. Just remember that along with letting things get ugly are conscious decisions you have to make for yourself, in the name of self-love. That, too, is real, you know.


Love,
Me

Breaking Up -- Yevgeny Yevtushenko

I fell out of love: that’s our story’s dull ending,
as flat as life is, as dull as the grave.
Excuse me—I’ll break off the string of this love song
and smash the guitar. We have nothing to save.
The puppy is puzzled. Our furry small monster
can’t decide why we complicate simple things so—
he whines at your door and I let him enter,
when he scratches at my door, you always go.
Dog, sentimental dog, you’ll surely go crazy,
running from one to the other like this—
too young to conceive of an ancient idea:
it’s ended, done with, over, kaput. Finis.
Get sentimental and we end up by playing
the old melodrama, “Salvation of Love.”
“Forgiveness,” we whisper, and hope for an echo;
but nothing returns from the silence above.
Better save love at the very beginning,
avoiding all passionate “nevers,” “forevers;”
we ought to have heard what the train wheels were shouting,
“Do not make promises!” Promises are levers.
We should have made note of the broken branches,
we should have looked up at the smoky sky,
warning the witless pretensions of lovers—
the greater the hope is, the greater the lie.
True kindness in love means staying quite sober,
weighing each link of the chain you must bear.
Don’t promise her heaven—suggest half an acre;
not “unto death,” but at least to next year.
And don’t keep declaring, “I love you, I love you.”
That little phrase leads a durable life—
when remembered again in some loveless hereafter,
it can sting like a hornet or stab like a knife.
So—our little dog in all his confusion
turns and returns from door to door.
I won’t say “forgive me” because I have left you;
I ask pardon for one thing: I loved you before.

--

A little bit too mercury-retrogradish, I know, but it's too beautiful not to re-post.

The Inevitable Heartbreak

She'll only break your heart, it's a fact. And even though I warn you, even though I guarantee you that the girl will only hurt you terribly, you'll still pursue her. Ain't love grand?

- Ms. Nora Dinsmoor, Great Expectations

Finding your footing

I'd have liked to mask what this entry is going to be about, but I'll just go right ahead and say it- ending a relationship, specifically a long-term one, changes one's life in a really big way. In college, I had all these ideas about how life should look like when I'm in my late 20s: a wedding at 28, a kid at 29 or 30, and a teaching job at a university. A teaching job, of course, because I have to have time to take care of my husband, like cook him real meals for when he comes home after a stressful day at work, and I need mornings or afternoons free because I would like to be hands-on with our kid.

Ten years later, I have none of these- not a dog I need to buy doggie food for, no nightly Lifestyle Network-inspired dinners, no one's calling me “prof.” or "mom," and especially not a semblance of a relationship that's headed for the altar. You break up with someone that you shared a life with for a long time and you lose not just a person, but an entire orientation you have set for yourself.

Most days I'm fine with where I'm at, even grateful that I could claim, “I'm not unhappily married.” However, you still have those other days when the lack of the security you once had eats you up – they could just be 4 days in a month, but, like PMS, those days can be hell.

As a society, here in the Philippines, I think there's pressure to be married off by the time you're 30. And the pressure is not just external. Like Ala Paredes once tackled here, no matter how bohemian one's upbringing may be, how high her level of education, or how long and astig (kick-ass) list of accomplishments, a Filipina has most likely internalized this pressure of marrying in her 20s, so consciously or unconsciously, “to be married before 30” is right up there in her list of must-dos. And that moment when she realizes she'll most likely fail to live up to this deadline will be like swallowing a giant, ill-tasting pill. Some jump the gun & forget about their non-negotiables, bahala na si Lord kung sinong mapangasawa; some decide to stay put, keri lang sigurong mag-intay. For those in the latter category, there's that fear- paano kung ma-old maid?

Because fear has a tendency to overpower logic, a pact with yourself is essential. Recently, my friends and I have jokingly made a promise of keeping each other from settling before we're 35 and staging an intervention if we feel like the other person is jumping the gun at marriage out of cowardice. Though we do contend that at 35, it's probably fine to get a sperm donor.

Of course, there's also that void- the vanished person carries with him routines now erased, objects no longer to be seen, friends you'll have to spend time with less and less, etc. But the thing that's most torturous is having the plans you've built together disappear. One of the most wonderful things about coupledom, after all, is indulging in mutual dreaming. Which brings me to the following points:

1. That lesson you learn in the Missing Piece Meets the Big O (Shel Silverstein) is true. Take heed. Your partner complements, not completes. So, if you find yourself rolling on your own again, know that you're already whole.
   
   
2. Zero can be a great state. Zero is where possibilities lie.

There'd be slips, like drunk texting, pity shopping, trips on a whim, getting wasted, awakening zombie exes, wailing in public, etc., etc.-- but you've been through/ are going through a lot of madness, don't you think it's but fair to just laugh at  yourself and then forgive? And, really, just try to do these things:

1. Surround yourself with real friends who will put up with sorry texts, retrogressive thoughts, and moments of unexplainable sadness.
   
   
2. Take a break from feeling fine and dandy. If you're feeling weak, dammit, be weak. Everyone has those hours, those days.
   
   
3. Reach out to books, songs, poetry, etc. Derive not just comfort, but also companionship from other worlds.
   
   
4. Go someplace unfamiliar, not just to experience things on your own, but also to escape in a space where you are without history.
   
   
5. Reclaim what were once shared spaces. If too difficult, do so with people you trust.
   
   
6. Breathe through the fog, the smog, the dense air.
   
   
7. Be really okay being alone (easier said than done, I realize).
   
   
8. Believe (again, easier said than done).

When in a state of Ally McBeal-level neurosis, I remind myself, “the Universe can dream a bigger dream than I could ever dream for myself.” And I remember Ally and think about Larry Paul-- who knew he'll come by? Alternately, I also look at my unmarried aunts and see contentment and lives that are equally rich and fulfilled.