Love, Lust, Bust? Revised

I don't know why, but for some reason, love and relationships have been on my mind alot in the past couple of months. Maybe it is because I have felt the tug of love for longer than I should or maybe because I have not thought about dating seriously in more than six months. I am liking being single and right now, my life is too mired for me to want anything more than to just be able to direct my time as I see fit. And somehow, having someone close to me that I have to be concerned about - someone whose ego or wants need to sometimes take precedence - is not something I in any way hunger or long for at the moment.

I know it may sound like I have somehow shut down or shut myself off from love at the moment (or perhaps, for the long haul) but I can see the benefits of being in love. Maybe I would have someone to offer me a shoulder unconditionally at this time; maybe, at a time when my world lies in chaos and I am finding it hard to reach out to friends, I might have someone who implicitly understands me and can anticipate my needs without me having to say them. But that seems more and more like some type of fantasy - something you read about in Mills and Boon or whatever other sordid romance tale one purchases these days. Relationships - at least, what I have seen of them - don't seem to match up to the great romances we consume and leave us hungering for more.

None of this means I can't think about what I want. I think that life is all about helping to hone my desires and wants. It is about helping me to choose the person I want to evolve into - that person that I can see myself becoming - while at the same time, allowing me to make mistakes and (I pray feverently) learn from them. Once upon a time, I stated that I wanted someone romantic, someone who communicated, someone who chased me, and someone who held me in a place of importance. I asked for all these things and I realize now - not that I was mistaken - but my conception of things changes.

I want romance, but more importantly, I want someone who recognizes the importance of romance. Yes, it may be more practical to buy something I need or save money from small purchases for something larger and more lasting, but that guy who realizes that a bunch of flowers - unexpected, fleeting, momentary - may seem nothing more than frivolity or a bunch of frippery but can mean so much. It is a gesture - a way of saying that thoughts lie with him when you're not there. That making you smile, seeing a light in your eyes, means as much as being practical. After all, there is nothing practical about love and romance. We imbue it with so many magical, mystical qualities, and yet somehow think we can manage to keep our heads while losing our hearts. So give me romantic dinners, give me flowers and candy and tokens of love, and I will know that you give me more than your love. You give me your everything.

I want communication. I want someone who talks to me about their dreams, about their future, about their life, about the minutiae of life as well as the big things that can sometimes eclipse everything we are. But more than that, I want someone who is willing to share with me. I want someone who tells me things deeper than their surface; I want someone who can share their pains and fears and joys and pleasures with me. And in sharing that, learns how to show me these things without saying a word. I don't claim to be psychic nor do I have any intentions to learn how to trepann the depths of my lover's soul. But I want to feel included somehow instead of feeling like despite everything I know and share with them, I somehow am outside of their life. Not a part of their world, more an observer than anything else.

I want to be chased. And I don't just mean the guy who puts all his effort into getting me to agree to a date, to agree to a night together, or whatever. I don't just mean the person who will give you every attention and compliment and make an effort to secure your love and affection and once it is had, forgets how to play at the chase. I want someone who remembers that even when there is no one else that I could imagine loving, my affections should still be sought after and caught. I feel there is no room for complacency. To me, love is not a hunt, but a game of cat and mouse. Or perhaps, a better way to think of things is that life is the hare, then love is the tortoise. We can always rush to get to our goals in life, but with love, we should learn that the finish line is not what is important. Nor should the finish line ever really be in sight. For me, that man who understands this will also be the man who can not only win my love, but keep it.

Lastly, I am not someone that interested in self-aggrandizement. I am not looking to make myself more important than I am. But when I am in love, I treat that person as though there is no one more important than themselves to me. Sometimes, I honestly do hold that person above myself. I think that we all have our feelings of self-preservation, but sometimes, for me, being in love is about being selfless and putting someone else I value first. And I want the same from someone I love and I give my love to. Running a close second is no longer good enough nor is being high on the list of priorities. Someone who always feels a sense of self-preservation when in love is, arguably to me, not in love. They are in lust, or have convinced themselves they feel more than they do.

I know I have not painted the rosiest picture of what love is to me. Or perhaps, I seem to be holding out for something I can never find. But as I have said to friends and family, I have seen people that I consider to be in love. Couples that I would model my wants and needs on. Their relationships are not perfect but I am not looking for perfection or an ideal. I am just looking for someone who is willing to give me what I need in a relationship to feel secure, to feel wanted, to feel comfortable, to feel loved. And I am hoping that in providing me all that I am searching for, I can provide the same to them, whatever it may be.

Modern Dilemmas

So the question buzzing through my mind at this moment, very early on a Sunday morning, is how do you know when a social interaction is a date? These days, dating seems to be something only people who meet online do and meeting someone in real life is fraught with many many frustrations. First off, if you met them in 'real life', then more than likely they somehow circle in your friend group. Which makes them a sort of friend from the get-go. So if (or when) you hang out with said person one-on-one, is it a date? Or just two people meeting up for a night out. If you clear your schedule to spend time with them, is it a date? Or does it mean that you just like their company and want to get to know him/her better?

I wonder because as far as I know, I am not dating. No one has expressed an interest in me, no one has made it a point to say they fancy me. And yet I find myself out, having a good night, and wondering if it qualifies as a date. I seriously get stumped by this question. So much so, I am wondering if I should invite my good girlfriend along next time to get her honest opinion. Though adding a third party means that it inevitably becomes not a date.

I know that in recent weeks I have found myself out with someone that I would like to be more than just a friend with. I walked away from spending time with this person, thinking what a great night I had had. And spent so much time thinking about it, especially thinking about him, I wondered if there might not be something more. And I realized, slowly, that I wanted more, I wanted to be more than friends if it was possible. And I found myself wondering: how to move from friendship to something more wihtout causing a big disruption in the flow of things?

And I think it does happen: I think sometimes someone you see everyday as just a good person, a person you get on well with, can become more than that. No magical moment needed, no bonk on the head; just sometimes our perspective changes. Maybe you accidentally brush hands, maybe you find yourself leaning in too close just to catch what he or she is saying, or maybe, just maybe, you suddenly discover something that makes them shine in a whole new light. Or maybe you just realize that the person you feel has your friendship is also the sort of person you want to date. Which does not sound like a bad place to be. Unless.....

You face the dilemma of figuring out what constitutes a date. Is making sure that you meet up with a particular person a date? Does telling your friends about your plans for the evening and pointedly not inviting them along make it a date? Does planning to hang out - just you two - make it a date? It seems that so many things in life have the opportunity to be a date and we either don't recognize it or we don't make the most of it, instead hiding behind friendship. I know the way out of this dilemma is just to be honest about our approach. Hell, research even suggests that guys respond to women who are upfront about their feelings. But being the creatures we are, who wants to deal with rejection, embarrassment, humiliation? So why not hide behind the guise of friendship, knowing that nothing ventured is nothing lost.

Learning How to Walk

Can I just ask - one question: why is it, that if London is a 'walking city', Londoners seem not to have an idea of how to actually go about the business of walking? I am sure most Londoners know how to get from point A to point B, using just their feet. But everytime I actually walk anywhere in the city, I am constantly frustrated by the stupidity of pedestrians. For your reading consumption, just a taste of what I find most annoying -

1) People who stop without warning to window shop, in the middle of a sidewalk. Shove off to the side, perhaps maybe even enter the store, or rubberneck it - look and walk. But suddenly pulling up short right in front of me to stop and gawk at a store window guarantees two things: I will run into the back of you and I will probably curse the woman who gave birth to you. Harsh, but stupidity should not be bred....

2) Walking slowly - or worse, standing - four abreast, taking up the whole of the sidewalk. Again, as the name suggests, you walk on it. So that gaggle of teenage girls who have decided that the four, five, etc. of them need to stroll arm in arm, side by side, down the sidewalk, makes me see red when I am behind them. Think of this as the road. There is a fast lane and a slow lane. You want to stroll, pull into the left lane, turtle, and let the bunnies whiz by you. Because if the turtles want to walk side by side, I will make it a game of red rover and barrel right on through. Politeness be damned.....

3) Children who are not on a leash or somehow under control. Ditto for families with strollers full of packages and kids running around in their general orbit. Your child is smaller and lighter than me, and likely to be in my blind spot (i.e. I do not walk, with my head constantly focused on my feet). So, if you choose to let then run amuck, they just might get trampled. And I refuse to feel sorry about your lack of control. More so if I happen to be on a mission, with heavy baggage in my arms. I know where I am going and how to get there; so should you.

I know, I know. I seem like a tractor just waiting to plow through the British public. I am actually much politer on the high street than I seem. But as I said, I often know where I am going, and how to get there. So impediments, like stupid gawking pedestrians or families out for a Sunday stroll on a Friday night down Oxford Circus means that I will be upset. And I will barrel through, shouting sorry in my wake, but not giving a damn, and cursing them all off as 'foreigners'. Even more so that me, who still calls the pavement a 'sidewalk'

The Wackness (Imported Blog)

j3k v. to be in the know, the now, the hot, the new, the who, the buzz, etc.

Ever know someone who can j3k-it like nobody's business? You know: that guy or girl who knows the latest song and the best movies. I am not just talking mainstream - I am talking everything. The person who turns you on to things outside of your normal sphere of operation; the one you consult whenever you need to know the name of that song you heard at the club or the bar or on some really cool, yet strange t.v. show....

Well, that is what my labmate is like. He makes bowling look cool. I mean this guy, to quote another labmate, has a "zen moment before he throws the ball." Yeah, he is that cool. His nickname is actually j3k and it just may be the greatest self-styled nickname ever. He chose it for himself and it has stuck; It is cool, short, and so very, very descriptive. Unlike those nicknames where others get to choose and they choose to call you "sparky" (remind you of a dog much?) or "mars" (oh, yeah, lots of potential 'out of this world' comments). Who could ever laugh at j3k? You know if you heard it in a bar, you would be subtly intrigued and overly impressed.

And now the nickname becomes my own zen like way of refering to others with the same capabilities. So, whether you are just j3king on a Saturday night at the latest lounge scene or feel that your way to j3k is to know the band before they were big, I wanna salute you. And while I am saluting, how about making me a little cooler for recognizing the social god or goddess you are.

When Life Throws You Lemons...(Imported Blog)

gay adj. the status of almost every boy I know.

Well, not every boy I know is gay, but sometimes it sure feels like it. The chances of me hooking up with any of my guy friends are almost zero to none, since radical lifestyle switches would be involved. And a night out with the boys for me may involve a bar and boobs, but the boobs are mine and the theme night at the bar is "Showtunes Night". There is nothing better than drinking froo-froo (pink lemonades or long island iced teas) drinks, and seeing guys sing along to the likes of "All that Jazz" and "Seasons of Love".

And yes, I should be starving for male attention, but see, closeted gay guys were the original metrosexuals, long before that term existed; so I always get to go out with the best looking boys. And gay guys love me - I don't know what it is - but I am like honey to a homo. Within ten minutes, I can get any man who is gay to say that he loves me (if only it worked as well on straight men). Maybe it is my easy charm, or, as one friend likes to say (and yes, he is gay), my huge knockers, but I can leave any room with four new guy friends who can all teach me the finer points of seducing and satisfying any man.

What do I get out of this? The easy friendship of guys, the ability to be myself, the comfort of talking about porn and sex and male nudity in an open, honest, frank kind of manner. And it is made me a better girlfriend for it. Apparently, straight boys think it's hot when a girl likes to watch porn or talks about sex. It evens out the playing field a bit, from my understanding of things. Even more so, they figure if you know gay guys, you must know some gay girls, and well, that is just a short leap to every male fantasy....

So while I may not have the luxury of having my best friend become my husband or significant other in any way, I do have the benefit of my best friend having his own guide to getting it on (and sharing some fun tips so we can compare notes).

State of Flux

This is not what I want, but more and more I am coming to the conclusion that this is what I need. So how to go about making what I am thinking about, what I may have finally sorted out, a reality?

The Other Woman

I know I am intimidating. I know that I come across as brash, unpretentious, often uncouth, and sometimes uncivil. I am the kind of person who has learned to be tactful, but still manages to be truthful. I dress provocatively, because I love who I am and all the things my body can do. I am unapologetic about my past and any actions in them, and I am open about things; my policy is that you need only ask, and I will tell. And I know that all this scares some people but I find this to be so at odds with who I am. For all that I am, I feel the real me lies somewhere between jester and joker; more fool than femme fatale. Which is why it amuses and saddens me that I am so often in the same situation....

I seem to inevitably make better friends with most guys than with most girls. Perhaps it is because I have a bit more in common with the average guy than your average girl. Take me to the cinema and I am in line for the latest action blockbuster; I unabashedly say that porn is exactly why the internet was invented and can list you off at least ten sites to find your jollies at; and I love - genuinely love - sport - no watching American Football just because the quarterback is cute. But just because I like being friends with guys, does not mean I want to be their girlfriends. I can count the guys on one hand that I have ever wanted more than a casual flirtation with but somehow, for most girls, this is not enough reassurance.

And so the inevitable happens. The friends that I love to spend time with, the ones I get on best with, get girlfriends, fall in love, and we fall apart. Well, not so much fall, as drift. I tend to do the drifting, so this is not all about a guyfriend or his girlfriend, mainly because I know how hard it is to be in a relationship, especially at the start. And I know how hard it is to have so many competing things in your life. I try not to be one more competing thing in an overwhelmed schedule; I think every relationship deserves that chance. Guys are not the only ones who disappear though; I have seen most of my girlfriends fall off the planet of the earth in terms of making time for me when a new relationship is on the horizon but in the end, they come back. Sadly, most of the guyfriends don't. And I chalk it up to being labeled 'the other woman'.

Case in point: I went on a number of dates with someone years ago. He was a great guy, but we never clicked. He had issues, and his issues weren't so compatible with my issues. In fact, we never even kissed despite going on more than three dates, one which included meeting his mother (read: ISSUES). Yet, for all intents and purposes, we got along great and we both had crazy schedules that just meshed well. When the rest of the world was asleep, we were awake and normally out having breakfast at a seedy diner and talking about life, love and the general pursuit of that elusive bubble called happiness.

Things were good. Until he met and started dating someone he liked. I was there at the beginning, when she was one among many; I was there to talk him through it, to help him decide, and even thought she was the one he should choose. I even made sure to always include her in any plans we had, and harped on getting the chance to meet her. And I did, once, at a halloween party I threw. Yes, that one. And you would think, that would make someone even less threatened by me. Inappropriate behaviour? Check. No interest in the straight boys? Check. Pissed out of her mind? Check. Not exactly an attractive picture

But instead, she grew even more anxious about our time together. And then came the fateful day when I was no longer 'Marisa' but 'her'. Ever known anyone whose name you just can't bring yourself to say? Exactly. We all know what it means when your very existence can be summed up by a pronoun. That person loathes the very ground you stand upon. And I backed off. I stopped trying to initiate time out together and suddenly got very busy most of the time. Yes, my guyfriend still tried. He made time for me, and worked with my schedule. And then came the even more fateful night when hanging out at his place, playing games on the Xbox, and eating chicken wings and fries, she called to say goodnight. And as I went to ask him a question, I got shushed. Uh huh. He was not telling her that I was hanging out at his place. In fact, I am pretty sure he was not telling her that he even still knew me. Not surprisingly, we never hung out again.

But it still makes me sad, this far down the line, that I don't have this person in my life. Who knows; we might have ended up hating each other by now, but I liked talking to him. I liked learning all about him and all the things he knew that I did not. His experiences had been so vastly different from mine; and I liked arguing about the most esoteric of topics; sometimes, I liked just sitting quietly with him, saying nothing, and listening to him strum his guitar. But all those things I liked in him as a friend were lost the minute some girl decided that because I had tits and no dick, I was a force to be reckoned with and controlled.

And I know it will happen again. It happens without fail at least once a year. No wonder I have to replenish my stock of guys friends so often. And while it may be fun to get out there and find someone new to click with, it also means that those people who have come to know me best are suddenly lost to me. And I am stuck trying to find someone to replace something that took months, even years to build. And I am always glad for the friends I have now, the ones who are single or even better, have girlfriends who see me as the non-threat I am. Think about it: I knew him before they did and still did not want to get down and dirty with him. The way I think of it is that if I wanted him, I could have had him. And I did not do anything about it. So relegate me to the drawer of nonthreatening items, and a possible best friend. Because who knows your boy better than the girl he can act like an ass around?

Bar-Fly (Imported Blog)

bar-fly n. or adj. when you just have a way with anyone who works in a bar; whether it is the bouncer, the dj, or - most importantly - the bartender.

First off, let's be clear: I do not intentionally go to bars expecting to be a bar-fly; nor am I the type of girl you would expect to be a bar-fly. Yet for all intents and purposes, my friends know me to be one of the best bar-flys around. My talents are lengendary and my methods border on sheer chutzpah and madness, but somehow I always leave any bar I have ever gone to knowing at least one of the guys working there.

Let's use last wednesday as an instance of my bar-flyness. I decided to head to a laid back bar that I had been to before and enjoyed, invited some friends along, and made it a last hurrah for the holiday season since I was flying out the next day. I was the first at the bar; made myself comfy in the back room, went to the bar to get a drink, and realized that I had met the bartender the last time I was there. Hmmm, now the story gets a little convoluted unless I go back to the first time I was ever at the bar, so....

The first time I was at bar K (a psuedoname for the place), I had called before going over to inquire about the specials that night. The bartender, M, answered and after answering my queries, was intrigued to know my name and asked me to introduce myself if I showed up that night. I showed up, I met him, he gave me free shots and hooked me up with other drinks, and I had a good time. Nor did this require me getting into any type of compromising situations. Now, we can move back to last wednesday.....

Well, went up to the bar, ordered a brew, then asked the bartender if he was M, right? He looked a little puzzled until I said "I am not sure if you remember me, but we met the last time I was here. I had called on the phone first....(voice trailing off)". Oh, yeah, he remembered. From that moment on, my night was spent being called "sweetheart", "honey", and "babes" everytime I went to order a drink, and I had quite a lot of fun. After that, I also got to know the dj as well since I was experiencing a dancing vibe and wanted some OutKast really, really bad. (just jonesing for some Andre 3000)!

By the end of the night, M was actually sad to see me go (which is kinda cute) and I know I will be a regular at that bar. Hmm, other bar-fly incidents have involved: me meeting a manager at two a.m. who then proceeded to sing his alma mater's fight song to me because our colleges were huge football rivals; me getting to know an Irish bouncer (with the hottest accent) while my friend was busy hooking it up with some random guy; and having a dj announce to a crowded bar that yes, he was single, and no, he was not gay though some people had recently asked (pointed stare in my direction - good thing we could both laugh about it later).

Some tips if you want to be bar-fly too:
- start off right by tipping well and often (it makes you more memorable)
- go frequently to the bar (or dj or whatever); i.e. go order your friend's drinks as well or ask the dj what he normally spins and if he plans to play a few songs you wanna hear
- start a conversation (it really isn't hard: ask the bartender if he gets hit on alot and move from there; tell the dj you love what he is playing but could he throw in a little [insert fav band here])
- do something memorable - whether it involves making a bar-flyesque fool of yourself or not
- most importantly, just be yourself and be glad you are getting to know one more person in the world (ok, so getting to know that one person may have benefits, but hey, that is not why you decided to be a bar-fly kinda girl or guy

Lost In Translation

Before going anywhere with this, let me reiterate one more time: I am not American. I have never been, and the way things are going, never will be. But that does not stop the accent from dominating my everyday speech, considering I have lived there for over a third of my life and had to adopt their phrases and syntax in order to not be ridiculed.

And now I live in England, and once again, I find myself being ridiculed for my choice of words. Even more tellingly, a life time spent hoping from one English speaking country to another (with a dash of Little Havana, i.e. Miami) thrown in and my accent tends to wander as much as my own life has meandered. I would not exactly call it a talent, since there are so many other, better talents I can lay claim to, but I do have the ability to switch accents mid-sentence and most of the time, without even thinking about it.

And when I say I am being ridiculed, I do mean in a good humoured sort of way. My friends seem to be entranced by the fact that it is confusing to listen to me. I can start out with a fine, ol’ American sounding accent and suddenly dip into a posh version of English only to perhaps pronounce one word out of the whole lot with a Canadian/Scottish/Irish/Southern sounding sort of voice. Trust me, I am really not trying. It just happens and seems to confuse the best of friends most of the time.

This is why I think my friends are glad that I drink; and I do drink often. Because not only am I a riot and a half when sober; when drunk, any inhibitions (i.e. the very few that I actually have) seem to fly out the door, along with the accent. I am suddenly, for all intents and purposes, one very pissed Brit with a smattering of catchphrases that are either very Yankee doodle dandy or else Briticisms that went out with the last century (I have said ‘smashing’ without a hint of sarcasm while drunk).

Social Insects (Imported Blog)

flutterbutter n. a social creature that has the attention span of a gnat; constantly seen flitting from group to group, person to person, or topic to topic.

Speaking of nickames given to us by friends or ourselves, this one comes from a good friend of mine who decided that this would be the perfect word to describe me. As she likes to say, "fly, fly, fly away, flutterbutter" (and yes, she actually does say that; and yes, it actually sounds kinda sing-songy; and yes, it is funny, amusing, but sometimes kind of weird).

I am not saying that I never pay attention; I am just saying that you put me in a social situation (say a party or school), and I suddenly can't focus long enough to have a one track mind. At my old university, getting to class became a thirty minute ordeal by my junior year. A mixture of social gregariousness and a smallish college meant that a five minute trek from one end of campus to the other (told you it was smallish) became longer, especially if timed right (i.e. when everyone else was getting out of - or going to - class).

What could take so long, you say? Well, I never can just say hello when I see someone I know. Normally, my greetings involve hugs and a little information gathering ("hey, how's it been?"), and that can propel you into conversations ranging from a minute minute (think about it) to - well, a missed class. And part of the habits of the flutterbutter is the inability to constrain those types of social inclinations.

But of course, things are different at my new school. While I may be a grad student, and potentially older and wiser, I still do the flutterbutter thing. I seem to be one of the few people who can make friends outside of their division, and I still manage to come in and tell wild tales (yes, alcohol is often involved, but that is just social lubricant for a flutterbutter: always good, but not required!). People say that if you barely listen on a noisy day, you can hear my laughter echoing through the halls.

How to tell if you are a flutterbutter too:- does it seem like you know alot of people, but none of them really well?
- do you have a hard time remembering the last complete conversation you had?
- are large groups a challenge because it means more opportunites to be distracted?
- do you have a winsome way with service providers (bartenders, cab drivers, waiters, whatever)?
- do you play hostess at many parties, even ones that are not you own?

If you answered yes to two or more of these questions, you too may be a flutterbutter. I would suggest starting a support group, but - oh, bright shiny object

Confessions Part III

This is a continuation of the random stream of mind that I started last night (well, technically this morning very very early). I think my mind is just keeping time with the pain I am feeling - a sort of dull, aching throb really. Makes me ponder....

I find that I am made of secrets. I have accumulated so many things that I can not or will not share with others. There are secrets I do not share because of how they make me feel, there are secrets I do not share because I think few people will truly understand, and there are those secrets that are not secrets as such, I just need someone to more pointedly ask me before I tell all. Or even a little. And I can't remember when or why I became this repository of my life. I used to marvel at how much more open I had become, having moved here and needing to make friends again. I was letting people in to my life and telling them things that I would never have shared before. But I find that my circle has closed - perhaps in the way it is meant to be - and there are only a few people I can say truly know me well. And I love them for knowing me, even if I don't know them. But there are so many times I have been talking to others, willing them to ask the right question, wanting to confess, wanting to have a serious conversation where I get to lay all (or at least most ) of my cards out on the table, and I can't get there. I seem to draw back my hand and throw in my hand right when I reach the opportunity. Maybe I am afraid that my secrets are secrets for good reason. That what I keep hidden should be kept hidden to not alter the balance and design somehow.

I find myself with more stories. I always do things, I always have wild adventures, and I have always had stories (everyone knows the Halloween incident) but I find I am all stories now. I can't speak without talking about incidents, fleeting moments in my life, instead of the things that matter - how I feel, how I felt - and I find that everyone thinks they know me, that I am everyone's intimate acquittance, until it gets pointed out to them that they know me naught. That in fact, I am still this unknown enigma and to know me, to understand me, is to ask me to go beyond the stories, to pierce the veil, and start to infer what is meant, instead of listening to what is said.

My persona is my mask. This brash, young thing with a wild streak and a flirtatious side? Nothing more than pretend. People make of me what they will - they think I truly am the person I claim to be. And perhaps a part of me is. But there is another part that does not want what I seem to want. There is a side of me that keeps me in check, that pulls me back, that makes me flirt and then holds back the ultimate prize. Because in the end, I am searching for something I can not find in any place that I am looking. I am searching for something I had and lost, but wondering if I am still holding on to without realizing. I don't do guilt or regret but I do know that there is a brink I am standing close to an edge and this part of me prevents me from tottering over and making the most of the part I play

With Each New Day...

This is a strange sort of note. I am not even sure what I want to write about but my mind is thinking over so many things, and my body aches. Well, at least my leg does and so prevents me from falling asleep right now. Perhaps if I get all these random thoughts out of my head, I can find some rest. Or perhaps saying something aloud - saying it outright - will only possibly lead to further thoughts that hinder my chance of a peaceful night's rest. But I shall purge my mind, enter my confessional, and come of this what may...

I think, generally, that I am a happy person and yet I seem to sometimes have these moods that come from nowhere. I don't know where and why they arise, but they are so unpredictable and I always feel as though I am adrift and separate whenever they do. It is hard to understand how hard it sometimes is to just be friendly to people I can natter away a mile a minute with normally when these moods descend and often times, I find myself out and about, unable to really be the social, gregarious creature I am known for and I feel as though I am pushing away those who do not understand. People who may take things to heart or feel like it is something personal, something specific, when this feeling is more pervasive than that and all encompassing.

I sometimes sit back and look at my life and wonder where I am heading. This is not where I thought I would be and most of the time, this person is not the person I thought I would have become. I know that nothing can be predicted and nothing is certain, but there are so many things I do not feel reflect the person I have always been. I am comfortable with myself most days, but at the same time, I find that I am not sure what to make of myself yet. Am I happy with the person I have become or are there things I would change? Should I just accept the things I do and say as being a part of myself, the person I am and possibly will remain, or should I actively seek to change? To either fall back into the person I was, the person I pretended to be, or the person I always thought I wanted to be, whether any of these people in the end are a true reflection of myself and my life, and whether I can ever feel completely comfortable within my own skin.

I keep realizing that there is nothing linear in this life. Attraction, loss, friendship - everything that is important, that is far reaching is never linear. I sometimes long for a little bit of relief, really; I sometimes sit back and think if only I could predict that every single day, things will get a little bit better and I will move a little closer to feeling free. To feeling as though everything I need to has been left behind...but, no, that would be simple. And I guess in this life, things are not meant to be simple. Instead, I sometimes wonder. I sometimes think that I am so far away from what I truly want and other times, I feel as though what I long for is attainable. But then I feel it slipping, I feel myself doing things, acting ways that are unfathomable. I feel time slip forward and fly past, I feel memories rush in to tame the present and know I am inadvertently flowing fast into the future. Perhaps this is what it is because this is how it should be. Though I hate to think that; I hate to think that sometimes years from now, I will still feel as though nothing in my life is linear. That years from now, I could feel and think the same, for even a moment, and to wonder. Because the wondering, the thoughts, the longing, that is what comes unbidden and brings everything back to a place I no longer care to dwell

Health 'Care'?

If you've been following the status updates, then you know I have spent a very long and frustrating day dealing with the English Health Care system (or NHS for those in the know).....Here is a synopsis of why: I have noticed that my bed has a coil that pokes through sometimes and have been meaning to deal with it, but I have been a busy monkeh. So, last night, I hit the coil in just the wrong way to make it poke through and gouge a path right under my left knee. It hurt but did not realize how bad it was until I saw the blood soaked sheets.

Got up, dealt with the cut and put a bandage on only to see it was still bleeding five hours later. Which meant going to see a doctor which meant walk in centre since my doctor is always busy. Went to the walk in centre, waited an hour and a half to see a nurse who tried to use steri-strips and finally figured that it would not work to close the wound. So then she said I needed to get stitches. Which meant trying to figure out where. Called NHS Direct, got sent to the nearest A&E, and then spent four hours waiting to be seen only to be told that it was too long since I had gotten the wound, could not get stitches, and now would take twice as long to heal :-(

Here is my rant: I am one of those lucky people who gets sick in a dramatic way. No half assed sniffles for me. If I get sick, I get really sick. Which means I have had my share of ER (or A&E) visits over the years. I have ended up there for breathing difficulties at least twice, holidays are a favourite time of mine for ending up with ear infection (which actually took a month to clear after I ruptured it by flying and required the last line antibiotics - see, sick in a BIG way!) and blood clots. I have ended up in the ER for my mom when I could hardly walk and now, today's little episode.

And perhaps reassuringly, health care is the same all over the world, whether it is public or private funding. I always seem to spend hours on end waiting for something to happen, and that something always takes less than ten minutes. So useful.... I especially love the fact that the tun changes as you hop from one health care worker to another. Is it any wonder that I have yet to take a 'normal' blood pressure reading? I am always in a state of stress when I am seeing doctors because of the waiting and the conflicting information and what not.

I really just need to vent because I feel like I have wasted my entire day running around, trying to sort this whole situation out, and not really getting anywhere. And now, I am sitting here, in a little pain, dreading limping to the kitchen or bathroom, and sleeping on my couch for obvious reasons....I am so not a happy bunneh and just wanted to share with those I love..

Have I Got News For You...

Seems appropriate to title this one with something quintessentially British. I have been debating when and how to spread the word, and I figured this was my best venue. So here goes (taking deep breath):

As some of you might know, I am not a native Briton (i know, I hide it so well! LOL) and that means that living and working here means I am on some type of visa/scheme. My current visa allows me to work for a year, stay in the UK for two and I am currently approaching the end of my year of working. I have always planned on switching my visa over to another category to be able to continue to work, live, and play in the UK and had everything firmly laid out.

Alas, the best laid plans. The Home Office has changed the rules which means people in my particular visa category can no longer switch into the other visa category, as I had originally planned to do. In order to begin the process of getting the other visa, I would have to leave the country and apply from my home country (home being somewhere I have not lived in over 25 years). And the timing on this is anywhere from two months to six months. Or possibly never at all, if I am not approved for the visa.

So, as of September 9th, I can no longer work in the UK. I can stay, I just can't earn anymore money. And London (hell, living) is expensive. So, understandable I have been a bit upset, anxious, and confused over the last couple of weeks, trying to figure all the new rules out, trying to figure out the implications for myself, my life, my job, and my future. And oh yeah, getting emotional about once again having to upheave my life after only finally feeling like I was starting to settle into something good (well, as good as it could be for now).....

I have some options. Some are wholly unfeasible (like getting married) and some are feasible, but uncertain. I will keep you informed, but right now I have to move forward as though the worst case scenario will occur and that is that I would leave England in early September, not knowing when and if I can return. Which means making sure I spend loads of times making new memories with the great friends I have, mementos to take with me.

Absolute Corruption

What is power? Is power something we give others and can it be taken away? Is the ability to control how you think about and feel about something power? Do memories have power or do they lack power, except through our acknowledgment of them?

I know about power games. I know that there are those who are meant to wield power, meant to be the ones who dominate and order others around, but at the same time, I also understand that those who are subservient - those who are dominated - are the ones who are truly powerful. They are the ones who can make things stop, they are the ones who hold the key to letting someone else live out a fantasy, a desire, and thus, hold the power.

So what happens if dominance is thrust upon you? What if someone made you play a role - unwillingly, unwantedly - and took the power inherent in such a role away? What does it mean to be dominated against one's will? What does it mean - if it's just a joke, just a game; can someone foist their intentions on to you as much as they can force a role?

I wish I knew the answers to this. I wish I could figure it out. And I can't. I can understand - I can take perspective, I can see when something was meant in jest. But I can not divorce my memories from my feelings. I can not make my mind think differently, because to think is to remember anger, hurt, lack of respect, loss of trust, and an overall sense of wrong - being wrong, being wronged.

A Friend so True, A Heart so Blue

I should begin every ramble by espousing the fact that I have been thinking; and that, yes, I probably do think too much. But I can’t help it. This is how I approach situations and this is how I come to understand myself and my world. And I do try to do both. I am constantly just saying I want to understand and I guess that is what we all want in the end: a little bit of understanding. And it seems one of the places we turn to most for it is from friendship. We’re not all lucky enough to have a significant other or partner, some of us don’t have family to speak of or at least, not family we trust, but we all have friends. Every one of us shares in the excitement that is a friendship and so we turn to these people when we need to understand and to be understood.

People always try to distinguish true friends from friends from acquaintances, but in the end, I am finding that those labels are just things that we apply to pretend there is a difference and that we know how to define them. I don’t think a difference exists. And I have heard friendship built up as something noble and worthy, something like a faithful dog sticking by its master. That’s what true friendship is, people exclaim; but even a faithful dog will bite the hand that feeds it, sometimes for no reason at all. I am not saying there is not something special about a true friend, but by trying to get a ‘true’ friend to fit into a singularly defined space is trying to fit the square peg into the triangular hole – you might manage it, but only after knocking the sides down a bit and while you’re struggling with the task at hand, you’ve neglected the triangles that are laying about, waiting to be discovered. What I mean is this: we have all these characteristics that make for a good friend. I have heard people tell me that a good friend to them is someone who can just accept them the way they are, no questions asked. But acceptance does not mean not questioning. And it does not mean blind faith. I can accept you for who you are, the life you lead, but asking you questions about yourself and your choices does not make me less accepting. It means I am curious and interested in understanding. And accepting someone does not always mean that they will accept you in return – your idiosyncrasies, your needs and wants. I have known people who wanted me to accept them as they were, but challenged me constantly about not being more like them. And in the end, their friendship did not matter. To always be explaining yourself to someone, especially to a friend, perhaps shows a lack of a bond, a common thread, a link. But in the end, I think it just shows a lack of giving as good as you want to get.

I have heard it said that friends – true friends – will stick by you through it all. But I don’t think that is always true. I think friends, like any other people in our life, have the right to walk away from us and our relationship when things are working, when the challenge is too great, or when they just need a breather. I don’t think friendship dies in the moment that you decide to step back from a friendship. Sometimes, it is the thing that strengthens it. Who else but a true friend could value you enough to leave it be instead of pushing it aside or worse, constantly harassing you about the situation? I have walked away from friendships, often not knowing if it was the right course, not knowing if we could ever be friends again and I have agonized. There are still times I agonize about choices in the past that I choose to make, but nonetheless it was often a decision I had to take to find my way forward without constantly looking back. And even now, there are friendships that have faltered and died in the moment but I still consider them friends. I would still be able to pour over why and how the person was necessary in my life, without feeling bitter or vengeful about it, even if I can still feel sad. They are no less or no more of a friend that the person who finds their way back to you when you step aside, even if it lasts no longer than the blink of an eye.

I think my friends will do many things for me throughout my life. Some will disagree; some will agree; some will challenge and some will side with me; some will understand me and some will constantly try to undermine me. Some of the closest may let me down, and they will all hurt me given half a chance and all my heart. But in the end, they are all friends, good or bad. They are all people I have given that label to. They are the ones I turn to when I want understanding and they are the ones I turn to, to try to understand myself better. They are the ones who make me think, make me ponder – whether they are aware of it or not. And they are the ones who will always count. Because in this life, friendship is the only thing that is freely given and something we have all power over.

Confessions of a 5' 8" Dwarf

I am realizing that I have a problem. I feel short. I know I am not - everything tells me I am not. I am taller than most of my female friends. I am taller than the average for women, by a good two inches at least. I even know that I technically 'qualify' to shop in the Tall section of most stores, because I am over five six (the normal definition of where tall starts for women) but I feel short. I have a complex about it.

It may have come about from my years growing up. My half sister was model material - tall, lanky, gorgeous. My dad always stood (and still stands) head and shoulders above the crowd, tall and intimidating. Even though my mom is a nice petite 5' 4" (if even that much), she is petite - slender, slim, slimmer than I am, and thus, appears to be about my height. Same with my brothers - while standing only an inch or so taller than I do, they are more slender and so have the illusion of height. I feel like the squat little troll of the family. The dwarf if you will....

And this has led to some creative solutions. I have always - always, loved heels. I think heels are gorgeous - and for me practical; from the moment I could start buying my own shoes, I was buying everything that stood three inches or more off the ground. Even my sandals had to have a platform base of no less than three inches (my best friend has horror stories of the rainbow clod hopper sandals, which I still to this day remember fondly!!). And I was happy. I could finally sashay with the best of them, and I could finally stand tall. But then the inevitable - I was forced to be more sensible. A physical mar, and then dislocating my knee meant that I had to step gingerly. I still tried to walk tall, sticking to platforms instead of heels, but it was not the same. I was walking on two barges of footwear instead of strutting what my mamma gave me on two thin dangerous lines.....

You can only imagine the relief when eight years ago, physical imperfections were fixed and after learning to walk again, I found myself standing tall once more. Sure, I had lost about a inch in height but it was barely noticeable (and remains so to this day, unless I get really tired). And I started to buy - everything pretty, in a size nine, that was three inches or more. I discovered favourites that I still hold dear (Nine West is my poison of choice). I learnt how to differentiate between shoes that were practical, walkable, made me stand tall when standing versus those that were meant to be seen, appreciated, but not really used except to walk from the front door to the cab to the club.

Is it any surprise that I own six pairs of flats in total? That every other shoe is some gorgeous creation, that allows me to totter around, but makes me happy to do so? That one of the first things in London I discovered was to never enter Covent Garden shod in shoes spindly and high, least you be scraping yourself off the cobblestones before the night out has even begun? The idea of dating someone tall crosses my mind - no need to pander to ego and wear more flats or - god forbid - sensible heels (you know, those little one inch heels suitable for running around during work hours). Instead, I crave for someone over six foot tall, someone whose eyes I can look into and shoulders I can lean on....as I adjust the ankle strap on my Bertie beauties!!!!

Finding the Truth

I have been wondering recently - which is worse? To tell a lie by omission or commission? I guess one actively involves lying and the other just involves not speaking up; nothing active about it - you just 'forget' to mention one fact or the other. One involves a decision to not be forthright and the other involves a decision to deceive. And you may think that being actively engaged in untruth is worse, but I am not so sure. Even being passive has its consequences.

I am sure people will agree with me. It is not fun to be lied to, even less so when the truth finally comes to light (and doesn't it always?). And even if you get away with something, even if the lie you told ages ago never gets discovered and no one else is the wiser for it, you know. Unless you are so good at the deception game, you start to convince yourself that the lies you have told are really the truth. It is amazing how we can placate ourselves and others with falsehoods. Like little rubies and pearls that drop from our lips; we let them fall, thinking them treasures. but really, it is nothing more that viperous toads and snakes - poisoned words from a poisoned heart. No one likes being lied to, yet it seems the ones we lie to are the ones we are most likely to hurt, the ones we love the most, and the ones we should be most honest with.

So sometimes, we paint a half complete picture. Instead of marring the canvas with falsehoods and lies, we choose to only let someone have a glimpse of things. We decide what is relevant, what should be known, and we say it all. Ahhh, to hide behind the trappings of honesty and shield ourselves from scrutiny with half-remembered truth. To me, it is telling a joke without the punchline: somehow incomplete and pointless, full of misdirection. It is not less dishonest than telling someone what they want to hear or you want them to know, expect now one can hide behind a sly smile. How hard and black the heart must be that always shields itself behind half-truths, that never knows to let anyone see them completely. That knows itself like no one else knows it.

Perhaps 'honesty is the best policy' and 'the truth will set you free' and the many other platitudes we express to indicate that we do not condone lying, in any form. But life is not a string of platitudes; life is a series of lies. We lie to our friends, our family, our lovers, and ourselves; and in return, they trade in lies too. They tell us what we long to hear, want to hear, need to hear. They fill the silence with their lies, screaming to be heard. And what little honesty we share, gets wrapped in lies of gossamer gold - deceiving all in its appearance.

Letter to Someone Lost

To the person whom I do not recognize anymore:

I am watching you from an inseparable distance and watching you change and shift in so many ways. Sometimes I think that I am imagining these changes; that in a moment, my eyes will flutter and you will be standing before me, the same person I always knew. But the moment passes and the deception dies.

I grow sick in my heart seeing the person you're becoming. Everything you said you stood for, everything you seemed to believe is gone. I miss that person; I wish I could say I miss you, but perhaps all these changes is you becoming the person you were meant to be.

It seemed that when I knew you, you were so solid: unchanging, never-ending, strong. But this person I am confronted by now bears no resemblance; there is nothing to grasp and you fade away, slipping through my fingers like wisps of smoke or rivulets of sand and then you are gone.

I wish I could tell you that I will remain here, unbroken by time and distance, the same person you knew as well. But I am changing too. I am no longer just watching you become what you are; I am doing what I must to withstand the tempest that is your life, that link that still stretches between us - feint, weak, tenuous, but still there. And as we grow, we shape and mold ourselves into the people we best believe will make us happy.

I hope that what you reach for does not elude you: the happiness you seek, the happiness you think you can find and could never find in me. I hope that all the sacrifices you make and all the things you let drop from you are worth it all in the end. I hope that when you are done with this, you still recognize yourself; that you can look yourself in the eyes and see traces of the person you once were, the person worth more than a disdainful thought and a few passing lines of derision laced with sorrow.

I will never see you again for the person you were, only the person you've become. I wish I could hang on to some semblance of the past and take it with me into the future, but you can not hang on to what no longer exists, what may never have been in the first place. I push myself further away from all that I held dear in you and hope that distance will give me perspective, knowing that separation brings me peace.

I will keen for many things: I will lament for what you were. But I will never mourn the person you've become. You have your reasons, I have mine. And though I may not recognize you, beneath the glimmer, glitter, gilt, and grime, you are more transparent than you think possible. You are as plain to me as you have always been. And all that I do not recognize in you is now everything I saw before and lacked acknowledgment of. You are nothing more than you have always been....

Half-Hearted

Can you ever love two people at the same time? Is the human heart capable of holding on to such a strong emotion for more than one person or do we fool ourselves into believing that we can love someone else, even if there is still another inside our heart. This is something I have struggled with for months - a question that weighs on my mind even now. What lengths will we go to to convince ourselves that missed opportunities and failed chances are in our past and how many will we hurt?

In my experience. I find it hard to hold and express the love I feel for just one person, so how could I hang on to two? I know I struggle to let things go, and while I may seem a success at replacing cherished ones easily, I do not. I feel as though my heart is riddled with caverns. Places where love lived and died and now stands an empty testament to broken promises and dreams. Or perhaps I should compare them more to banked fires - they may seem not to burn anymore, to be nothing but cold dead ashes but somehow are sparked to life with the slightest of fancies.

And what of the feeling - to be one among many? To wonder if you hold a place in someone's heart or if you merely fill a need for them? Some gap that becomes less obvious with you there, but a void none the less. Do you slip into the void - slowly, inexorably, until you become subsumed with in it? And when you do, is that when you become discarded? replaceable? tossable?

Just Friends?

The hardest part of moving here to England has been making friends. I know that I am not the only one to have uprooted their life recently and jump to a new city or country, but it seems so much harder these days for me to meet and make friends with people that I can consider individuals I trust and want to be around. It has been the hardest thing and it is the thing that is slowly making me question whether I made the right choice: should I have left everything - EVERYTHING - I know behind on some half thought out whim? On an idea of showing someone that my intents were serious, that I can keep a promise, even if that promise means nothing now?

Since I have come here, I feel as though I have walked in at the end of the conversation. I feel as though everyone had their circle of friends, the ones they call on when they need help or just need to talk, the ones who can meet them at the pub on a moment's notice for beer, bravado, and bitter honest advice. But I am not sure I have found that yet. I have no housemates, choosing to live on my own based on personality and circumstance, so no shared space to create a shared bond. I have few family here, even less that are within my age range so that I can comfortably co-opt their friends. I adore my co-workers and consider some of them dear friends, but sometimes, a connection based on shared nine to five roles seems superficial at best, and down right glossy at other times. Like a fortunate accident.

And so I thought I had discovered friends here. Friends with a mutual pursuit but a group that I could find fellow like minded souls within. I thought I was making headway into fitting into, into feeling a part of things, and now I am no longer sure. So many breaks have occurred. So many individuals have either willfully or wrongly misunderstood what I have said. And when I have tried to explain, then where the truth lies emerges. They don't want my explanations, they don't care about my feelings. And i wonder: did I really make the right choice? Why leave all that I was comfortable with because I felt like I was stifling when I know nothing here and I feel like I am dying? Just a bit more everyday.....just a little bit, but I am slowly getting crushed under this.

What does it mean - to be just friends? I have used that phrase in so many situations - to shield myself from scrutiny when I am unsure where my feelings lie about someone else, to conceal all the things that occur that means we are not friends - that we are more and sometimes less. I have heard people use that phrase as a way of placating me, into some false sense of security. I have heard people say those words and turn around and deceive me. And explain it away by saying we are just friends. Does friendship mean so little these days to most and so much to me, that I could come to regret what I thought would be my last flight, that I could start to wish to run anywhere but here, all because I seem to lack the one thing I need.

In the end, I am not sure why I placing so much of my happiness and importance in life on this: on being friends, on having friends. But perhaps, it's because I need someone to turn to right now and that is not anyone for me. I need to talk about so many things in my head and heart and there is not anyone to listen. And I am so afraid that I have completely erred and I have no idea where to go. As I said, I am being crushed by the weight of this. I am being crushed, feeling so all alone and I am being crushed by the lack of understanding. I am lost because I no longer know whom to trust with what I feel and think, and even if I trust them, how much can I truly say? How do I know that like everything else, their friendship is not fleeting. For the first time, I wish I were home. For the first time, I don't consider this my home. And I hope this too passes. I want to be happy here and yet, I am not sure I can be. And I start to wonder yet again: if not here, then is there anywhere for me to find my happiness?

Least Expected

I think most of my friends are aware that I have been going through a rough time in the past couple of weeks. I have been unsure of things, unsure of myself, questioning everything, racked with sadness, fear, blame, guilt, and just general malaise. I have been finding solace where I can, but finding myself unable to make the effort sometimes and wishing, wishing that I could just be done with feeling the way I have.

And along the way, I talked through everything I felt and thought. My friends have listened to my crazy ramblings and my hysterical sobbing, my friends have offered me solace, comfort, perspective, and hope. And my friends have always offered me the thing I needed most: their friendship. And somewhere through all this, for some indefinible reason, I made it through. Sometime on Monday, as people wished me happy birthday, as I contemplated dragging myself out but not feeling the desire or inclination, I made it through. Whether it was talking to Jenn about what I have gained from being in a relationship with James, or pestering Simon about the drink he owes me, chatting with Nik and Verity about plans for Friday night, or playing scrabble in rapid action pace with James, somehow I just decided I was done feeling sad and upset.

I had had my cry; I needed to be over it. And like that, I was. It is hard to explain. Maybe it was everything my friends were providing at the time, and maybe it was none of that. Maybe I had just had the time I needed to feel, heal, process, and move on. But I was done with feeling the way I have. And I have not looked back since. I miss things about being in a relationship with James, I miss him sometimes. His friendship, his jokes, his very very bad puns, and the stories I have heard a thousand times =) but I figure that at some point, we can be friends, so I hopefully won't have to miss that forever.

Instead, I am looking ahead. I have come through this with some incredible friends at my side. I have had meaningful conversations late into the night with most of them, and I have been able to smile through the tears because of them. I have had friends who have walked beside me just to be outside, come over to eat or drink just to cheer me up, and stayed through the night in order to let me have someone to hold on to. And all of these things mean so much to me. And they are small things, things they give willingly, but the things that made the most impact - the biggest difference.

And I have had the opportunity to finally put ghosts in my past to rest. I have finally been able to embrace what I need for myself, embrace things that caused me pain and seen the good in it. Even this - this end - is good. Out of it, I might have a friend I can turn to, who knows things others don't. Out of this, I know I am no longer willing to sublimate what I consider important in a relationship, hoping it will get better and pulling away when it does not. Out of this, I actually know I have the ability to give my heart wholeheartedly, to not be afraid of falling in love, of being in love - and of falling out of love, if that is how it must be.

A thought for my birthday was "what does not kill you only makes you stronger" and that seems to go hand in hand with an oft said comment from someone I know: "birthdays are good for your health; those who have the most live the longest". What I least expected two days ago was to be smiling, to be looking forward with pleasure, and looking back with nostalgia, but I am. I am content and happy. I have plans over the coming weeks that I look forward to, I have friends I can count on, who can count on me in return, and one thing remains unchanged: I have no regrets in my life - about things done, said, or held only in my head.

One Year Older, Perhaps a Bit Wiser

I seem to always reflect on things around my birthday. I know perhaps it makes more sense to do so as the old year is on its way out and the new year is being ushered in; to evaluate and make resolutions based on things I want for myself and things I would rather not have repeated. But for me, I would rather mark the passing of another year of my life by turning inwards now; I turned twenty-eight at this time a year ago and now I am turning twenty-nine. And what a difference a year makes.

Last year, as I became that much older, I was not sure where I was going. It had taken me seven months, but I finally felt like I was back to my old self. I had gotten over my first serious relationship, the love of my life, and my friends all said the same thing: "it was good to see me happy again". But because of how I had been feeling for months, I knew my life needed a change. Whether it was going to be sticking with my doctoral programme, moving to another state for a job or moving home, or even moving country, I was not sure. I was weighing things over and just trying to figure it all out as I celebrated making it to the milestone.

When I did finally figure things out, I was scared. I had weighed all my options and kept coming to the same conclusion: I needed to be in another country. I wanted to move to England, I wanted to give things a try - far enough away from everything I had become accustomed to. I wanted to see if I could be 'adult' - whatever that meant to me at the time - and make it on my own. So, I got the permission to live and travel to England, I sold everything I could, and stored everything I did not want to get rid off. And I bid my friends and family goodbye, even my dog Cam, and moved across the ocean to settle somewhere new.

And it was strange. I felt like I had moved here to prove something to myself, but also to prove something to my ex. That the plans I had made with him, the things that I considered important, would still stay with me. That even if he never believed that I could do this, I knew that I could and I had. So, I landed in England not sure if I would find a job or a place to live or so many other things, but hopefully that I could make it through.

And I had the support of family that I knew, but had never gotten the chance to know well. It was strange, suddenly being far away from all the family I had grown up with and knew well over the last twenty-eight years and then suddenly finding family again, and getting to know them for the first time. I am glad for it. I would never have spent so much time with my nephew had I not moved here nor would I have gotten to know my cousins as well as I did. And spending time with them meant I realized that I wanted what they had: a strong marriage, mutual respect and love, and wonderful children. A good life. Maybe not perfect, as I think nothing ever really is, but perfect for them.

And after getting to know my family well, spending time with them and their friends, I started to branch out on my own. I wanted to meet people that were a bit more similar to me and not related by blood. And so I made friends at work. My co-workers started out as people I could go and grab a drink with after work in the student union (happens when you work on a university campus) or get lunch away from my desk with to people I confided in and trusted. And as I got to know them, they introduced me to their friends. And so on and so on. And I felt like I belonged in London...I felt like I was making a home here.

Feeling more at home here made me realize I needed a home of my own. So, with that in mind and some money in hand from the job, I finally got my own place. Somewhere I could call home, somewhere I wanted to come back to at the end of the day. And somewhere that Cam would be happy. Because I knew that she would be in my life again soon enough, though it felt like it would be too long for me, no matter how short the time. And once I had my home, I started to really feel like a Londoner. So I made friends, I joined groups, and I found S1L (Single in London). And out of that, I have made so many friends - too many to count.

And throughout the last four months, I have fallen in like, I have fallen in lust, and I have fallen in love. I have found all three in one person, and I have lost. I have gained friends from different walks of life, with different outlooks and pursuits and passions but sharing the one common element that matters most: integrity. Depth of feeling. And I have rediscovered friends I thought I had lost - friends who came to me when I needed them and have not let me go since.

And as I look back over my year, that is what stands out to me. All the friends who have made it the year it was. Those who I have known for decades and those who I have known for months. The ones who encouraged me to pursue my life, no matter where it led, and the ones who hold my hand or my head when my life is not as happy as it could be. The ones I can call on at any time of day or night, and the ones who offer me advice or simply observations about where I have been and where I am going. It is my friends who make me what I am, not the things I have been through. Because the milestones in my life would be meaningless without people to share them with, people to help me understand them, and people to create new milestones with. So perhaps as I celebrate this year - being older, wiser, more sure of myself yet never knowing my path - I will celebrate with friends. Without them, I could not be where or who I am. And without them, I would not have reason to celebrate.

Rediscovered

I want to thank everyone who has been there for me whenever I have needed them. I want to thank the friends who have known me for years and will sacrifice what they can to make sure that I am okay. I appreciate the new friends who manage to care about me and be there for me, not knowing me for that long or that well, but knowing that our friendship is something special and taking the time to make sure that as their friend, I am doing okay

Read Me

In the past few weeks, I have started to feel like my life is an open book - more specifically, an open FaceBook. And it is not something that sits well with me. I have never been one to share my thoughts and feelings openly, yet like everyone in the world, there is something about staring into a computer screen that makes things seem a bit less real and yet that much more intiimate. And I share - my status on any given day is a reflection of what I am thinking or feeling, even when I am not ready to share it with those closest to me. I have found myself changing and rearranging things as events happen in my life and more than anything, FaceBook could be the most accurate reflection of my inner landscape. There are so many things that people can't guess at, yet they lie somewhere on here, waiting to be discovered.

But as I said at the start - I am feeling too open at that moment when all I want to be is closed. There are so many things happening in my life that can't even be guessed at because I can only share them with a select few, only share them face to face, and even then, I have learned there are things and thoughts I should hold inside - so I do. But part of feeling so exposed, so vulnerable is I find myself pulling back. I know that I have made some wonderful friends through FaceBook - through various sources, but I find myself feeling a little lost.

I am accepting invites because I feel obligated, not because I have any desire to go out. And when I get there, I feel like I am letting others down - by being one place and not another. Or being out with just one person when I should be out with ten thousand. Or feeling like I have not spent enough time with the people who matter, even if they seem to be permanently at my side. Because I am finding myself constantly surrounded by others, and yet realizing that I know no one. That no one knows me. Even those who should. And even those I want to know, I feel further and further away from - wondering what I need to do to get closer to them, realizing that I may never.

And so I am withdrawing. This is my manifesto to my friends on FaceBook (and you know who you are). I don't have it in me to feel the way I do and to keep my calendar busy. So I am stepping back, stepping aside, hiding away from the world. Whatever you want to call it. I am shutting the book and retiring into my thoughts. I need to feel more grounded than I do at the moment and I need my friends to understand. I know the real ones will - the ones that I will see throughout this time of solitude in more casual, comfortable settings. The ones who will continue to be there for me and the ones who I can depend on. The ones I am happy to know better, to be around, the ones who let me be.

I know not everyone will understand this. I know there will be those who see this as a sign of things to come. That somehow there are changes coming and they will enquire, they will search, they will try to rustle the pages to find the truth. But the only truth that lies there is that I am tired and I am stressed. That my life is good but that I am a solitary creature and I need my time to reflect and let go, as much as fish need water to breathe and birds need wings to fly. Friends like these will show themselves in the coming weeks, I fear, and somehow will fall to the wayside, if they have not already. Friends - true friends - will understand, will not pressure, will not somehow think that this is a judgement on them or their importance, and will welcome me back when I am centred and I have found the calm I am searching for right now

Sustenance

I have been wondering recently what it takes to sustain a good relationship. After all, it's obvious that love is not always enough. We see that everyday - in the news, reading our morning or evening free papers, in shows and in real life - we know couples fall madly in love with each other and yet, they still can't make it through the myriad pitfalls that can strike a relationship. I know that there are people I have loved - people that perhaps I still love in my own way - and yet, we never made it through. Perhaps when the relationship changed, the love I felt changed as well but I honestly don't think it faded.

So what then? Is it trust? I have always believed so but yet, I have been proven wrong. I have chosen to stay in relationships where I felt like my trust had been betrayed. I handed someone my heart, I made myself vulnerable, and in their own way, they trampled on the fire that I felt. Amazing how cold a heart becomes once someone douses the flames - when someone's actions make you question everything else they say and do. So it must be trust. Without it, how could you function as part of a couple? How could you let your partner out of your sight or even out of mobile range? But yet, there are couples who survive the worst of betrayals: infidelity. There are couples who can take the experience and rebuild their trust. Perhaps it is not perfect, perhaps someone will always feel cheated and wronged and always have a niggling doubt; and yet, relationships endure.

So if not love and if not trust, then what sustains a relationship? What is the secret that those enduring couples have that everyone else seems to be searching for. Is it the patience to accept that someone will inevitably hurt you when you date them? That to be in a relationship is to want to place someone's feelings and happiness above your own, knowing all the while that it will fail. Because we are all selfish creatures and we all look out for number one; we all look out and protect ourselves. Perhaps there are moments we can overcome that, but in the end, being hurt by what is done and what is not done just makes you even more protective of yourself. Makes you an even more selfish individual and perhaps makes you more likely to strike out and hurt the ones you love.

If not love or trust or patience, is it the willingness to compromise? To know that sometimes the love grows cold, that you have reached the end of you patience and your trust is some foggy memory of times past, is it the willingness to sit down and talk and figure out a way forward? Words seem a poor excuse for passion and understanding and caring, but perhaps in the end, the most successful couples are the ones who can compromise. The ones who let some of their wants and needs go just to fit into the mold of "the successful couple". Maybe being a successful couple is not about being 'right' for each other, but about how badly you want what you have and the lengths you are willing to go for it. Maybe being in a successful relationship is all about simply molding yourself to the ideals in your mind and following that model. Maybe the only way to be happy as a couple is to concede...

Looking Back

How to read this one:
1) see the poem 'The Road Less Traveled' by Robert Frost and read; this is the starting page of sorts
2) continue on and read the insight into me, taken from my last year in undergrad at university.......

“Don’t put off till tomorrow what can be enjoyed today.”
Josh Billings

Ever since I was younger, I have walked the road less traveled. I have never had to try hard academically and I have always managed to do well. You may be thinking how lucky I have been but I have also never been just one of the crowd. When you are younger, you want to fit in and when you can’t, it changes the very world you live in. I have always been the smart girl, which only holds currency among your elders. To my peers, I have always been the fat one. A label that means I have always been the kid who has been picked on, the kid who goes home crying and the kid who learns not to stand out – to blend in to the background as much as possible and not be noticed.

No surprise that my first semester here (university) was spent with an unvarying routine – class, home, study. I rarely spoke up in class. I did not want to know people and I did not want people to know I was different. I wanted to walk along that road that everyone goes down. I wanted to follow. But life happens, no matter how much you try to avoid it. I went through so many trials during my second semester at UM that I was ready to give up but summer brings a form of redemption. I did not have to face the tribulations of college and by fall, I was ready for whatever would come.

My second year at UM, also my junior year, found me at a crossroads somewhere in my own personal woods. I was not sure whether I wanted to continue the path I had been on or if I wanted to start on a new path. I resolved to step onto an alternative route, a path I had never taken in my life. But new paths mean uncertainties and fears. Yet I decided to stand out and so I joined COISO (council of international students and organizations). It was not that radical a step, at least in my mind. I could be with people I understood, people who were not that different from myself and maybe, I could just be one of the crowd. Besides, I argued, I could always turn back if the path seemed too weary and wondrous. I could quit and sink into the backdrop again.

However, taking that first stride works its magic upon you. It makes you a little more yourself. Maybe it was the people that I met along the way or the experience of just being in an environment with others who choose to stand out and be different, people who refuse to wander off into nothingness, but I changed and I kept moving onwards. My list of activities grew and I started to nurture my inner self that I had always denied. I nursed my caring side and became a peer counselor, I joined Student Government to be heard and I received every honor and distinction that came my way as recognition of what I had personally achieved in such a short time. Every activity included a diverse set of people, a different way of being, but every single one highlighted and built upon differing aspects of myself. Despite this, one concept has always come into play in every moment of my day and that is my willingness to face any obstacle and surmount it. I refuse to be beaten down by challenges and cower into a type of insignificance since I have started walking my path.

And now I seem to have the spotlight on myself. Every where I venture, people know me by name, face or reputation. I admit it has not always been the best renown and the road has not always been as straight or as easy as I imagined it to be once I started along it but it has always been good. I have not regretted any of the things I have done. I have not always walked this path alone but I have always walked it for myself. And I hope to always walk along this cluttered path because it has made me who I am and can only guide me even further in who I am to become. Yes, I may still veil myself in obscurity, never being a president or chair of any of my involvements, but at least I know I am still being true to myself.

In the end, I have not been the first one down this road. There have been leaders before me and there will be leaders after me but the most important thing has been accepting that path. By stepping on to the road less traveled, I made a step towards accepting who I am “and that has made all the difference.”