Red Banana Tree

"Mom, what do you think about red bananas? Would it grow here? Could it survive the winter?" I was phoning.

There was a sloped garden, requiring my attendance. I was planting, I couldn't tell where I was. Was it my grandma's siheyyuan in Changsha, China? Was it near the well where I used to peek into when I was only about 4? Was it my Berkeley house, the big flowering garden? Was it my house in the bay area, the one I bought recently via a short sale with a sloped, sunny garden, often vacant, with a deck overlooking the bay? Was it my house in the Peninsula, the very first one I purchased when I was barely 23? The one with a patio and a kitchen with plantation shutters overlooks the patio where I grew passion flower vine and a lemon tree? Was it my country stone house in France, the one overlooks the meadow with a river runs through it? Was it my urban flat in the southern China sea, where endless fruiting banana trees draped with red and yellow bananas with no one cared to pick the ripened fruit, and where plumeria flowers grew in wild abandon? Was it my house near the beach with a white picked fence, a persimmon tree, a peach tree, an orange tree, a plum tree, a bay leaf tree and a fig tree covering the entire front garden, painted green porch extending into the old Queen Ann Victorian house? Where was I?

How old was I?

There was a large mirror in front of the fireplace, it was a real fireplace, the deck overlooked a hill that guarded a city with lights. I had started to light a fire, and the smoke went straight to the wall above it, my Norwegian boyfriend, the thin, tall with glasses boyish looking surfer boy took me shopping, first Busvan for Bargains on Clement and then some home furnishing store in the city that I couldn't remember the name. He found the perfect mirror, and logged it home. He then mounted just so, it covered the entire space just above the fireplace, problem solved. No painting job needed. When I finally broke it off with him I met this dashing Danish man with an exotic name, like the Norwegian boy he was quite tall and handsome and had the incredibly blue eyes. He offered to fix the garage door, one which the Norwegian boyfriend never got around to fix. I made him dinner. He fixed my garage door. Dinner was haphazardly put on, I had a nice townhouse, two stories, and I was twenty five. I never paid much attention to ending a relationship, I sort of drifted, gliding from one person to another, offering no explanation or conclusion. The Swedish man was the only one I cared about. He was 16 years senior than me. He had that Peter Sarsgaard look, down to that crooked smile, I was smitten the moment I met him. He had the same nasal tone like Peter Sarsgaard when he spoke, he said that I was a Californian party girl that he was attracted to, I had pictured myself as this terribly serious career woman, but for him, I was just a girl, a pretty girl with a pretty face and nice rack and not much else upstairs. I tried for years to change his view of me to no avail, I tried to impress him, and I submitted to his every single request. It often went like this, "Hi, I'm in the city tonight, I can stop over on my way home." I waited for his BMW convertible to show up, often late at night. He came to see me, I went down on him until he was hard, he then fucked me and left me. It went on for years and I said nothing and asked of nothing in return. I thought he could one day realize I was the one, until I finally let him go in my head.

He was getting married just after I was getting married. They went to Greece, I went to Kenya and Seychelles.

One year I met this boy at a white water rafting trip. When I returned from my trip, I showered my dirt away and shaved every part of my body other than my head. He called and we went on a date that same weekend, according to his recollection, and I had some transvestite VHS porn laying around in my bedroom. We watched porn and fell asleep. He said. Much later on. A Jersey boy came to town to visit me, he was heart broken because I failed to show up at his New Year Eve party where he had arranged for his mother to meet me, I had other plans in Huntington, Long Island that year, with another man, I failed to inform him. He came back to me and asked for an explanation. I said that I was too scared of his intensity and I couldn't go through with it. He made me coffee and slept in my bed that evening, I was not sorry for my decision, but he was scared, for many years to follow. I broke hearts, I didn't even know it. That was what happened when you were young and life was full of potentials and possibilities.

There was always fog coming in late in the evening. Red bananas would not do well there, but passion vine did. It never fruited like it would do in the coastal cities. But I liked the look of red bananas.

Which garden was I trying to plant my red banana tree in my dream? I saw an invisible thread so I followed it along.

I was making an early teleconference call. My lover was in town from Cambridge, Mass. He was going down on me as I spoke about my tasks and to-dos. He made love to me as I worked. He was good at making me come. Tall men seemed to like my physique, and I had a pull on their psyche. When I cheated behind his back with this petite blond boy, a fresh out of college kid who was only 28 days younger but looked five years younger, I was determined to tell my lover. He was upset and I cried. We broke up over the phone. I thought I had a go with the little boy. He said he loved me. He said repeatedly that he loved me. How could he lie? How could he tell me that he loved me one moment and then demanded that we should break up? This time I cried not for having hurt someone but for having been hurt. I didn't deserve this. I couldn't possibly deserve that type of treatment.

I had started to learn everything about plants. Subtropical plants, in particular. I didn't know why but I needed the knowledge, the distraction. When I moved to that sunny home up on the hills, I spent a year planting everything that I could get my hands on. There was a large red banana tree, a wild flower garden, a large ancient Santa Rosa plum tree and endless roses. It never cease to amaze me that the deer jumped over the fence to sleep under the plum tree The deer had decided my backyard was their vacation home. I let them but they were huge. I was worried one day they would hurt my baby girl.

I moved and I moved every plant that I could manage to move with me. This time in a flat land with lots of pedestrian walkways. White picked fence all around, ten minute walk to the sandy beach. Giant bird of paradise moved with me. The red banana tree did not survive the move.

Where was I? I was looking all over for the end of the tunnel, I was still in a trance, I was still asleep, I wanted to know where I was. This was not my homes. I had homes all over the world. I had known so many people in my past, but none lasted. They all came and went.

When I was falling asleep, I was thinking about this man with beautiful creations. He liked me and wanted me and then somehow things changed. I wanted to be in his embrace and I wanted him to want me back but I did not want to be his again. I was thinking about this other man who hurt me over and over again and I realized I no longer wanted him. I drifted to sleep thinking about this tall Swedish boy who decided that I should be in his life regardless of what. We had never fought, never argued, never thought that we'd last that long. At the restaurant he told me that he and his wife fought, and he was feeling down. He had never told me anything about his domestic life, and I was surprised that he opened up to me. I comforted him and told him that things would be alright. He gave me that shy smile. He had blond hair and blue eyes, the kind of men I was always attracted to. He would have been perfect hadn't he been married, or for that matter, hadn't I been married. We would have a good life, he and I, and perhaps one day, ten years later, he'd tell his new lover he once loved a woman who was eight years older. But she left him. I had left him. Like I always did, I didn't tell him.

He was the only person who knew botany, he was the only person whom I could count on. I had been heart broken by so many, and I had never told him any of them, but he knew instinctively something happened, and he was the only lover who never asked and who made me laugh even when I was depressed.

I couldn't have loved him. I only loved those who did not love me back.

I heard a fain noise a little girl was making, "I can't wait to show my friends. I got this from Czech Republic." She was showing me a necklace. A beautiful dragon sword.

I had nothing left in this world. I must return to the reality with no red banana tree.

It was 6 AM, I had been awake for a good three hours, or was I asleep the whole time?

My last goodbye was with that Swedish boy, he did not do anything wrong. I just couldn't be with anyone any more. I had lost faith, hope, and desire to be who I was not. I could not possibly feel anything more. I was already dead. This version of me required further reconstruction. Sewing her back required skills and time. One piece at a time. At the end of the day, the world without a red banana tree would be a boring place indeed.

Recycled Relationships

Take notes, take scrupulous notes. That’s what plane rides are for. And sleep. In a flat bed, one is supposed to write and then sleep. But there is a note staring at her, and that’s when ride becomes a bit of contemplation, about life, feelings and everything in between.

He is bored, puzzled by her lack of response to his last note. When a picture arrives he jumps on a note writing mode. “This made me smile. Where are you headed? I miss you. I wish you were here with me.” These are the type notes that she used to receive often. They mean nothing. Nothing except that he is starting to miss her and he’s hoping that when he returns she is there for him to bang. Simple. There is no emotions involved even though “I miss you” is an emotion. Now the note stares at her back as she contemplates a response, or lack of.

This has happened so many times, each time the in-between stage gets longer. He disappears right after he declares love, each time longer. But she forgives him anyway. She forgives him because she always loves him. Loved him. Until now. She stops forgiving.

There are many types of relationships. She enjoys one that recycles. Recycled relationships are relationships that one establish with others over a span of time. Sometimes crossing decades. They are the same people, but older, and they are of different types of relationships. RR. She is still friends with most of her ex’es. She does not believe in finality. She moves on but these historical figures, figures that are once inside of her body, remain peripherally. The types of images fade, but the names remain. She assigns an alphabet to each of them, mostly are related to their first or last name initials, but sometimes it’s just an alphabetical letter, in sequential order. Like D. D should be either T or P, T is his first name initial, P is his last name initial, but she names him D, because she’s not dated that many alphabets yet. P or T would be jumping ahead. That's being presumptuous. There is also J, which, she decides to discount him from her population. Technically speaking, there are a F and a G, but they don’t qualify. They have not triggered her emotional attachment.

She wants to write back to B. The one who overpromises and underdelivers. “How do you run a company when you over promise and under deliver? How do your clients feel about it? Shouldn’t it the other way around? How do you decide to fit me into your rotations? Am I on your extended schedule now? You can remove me from the list. I have no desire to ever sleep with you, ever again.”

She wants to do that but it will make her sounds like she cares. She has stopped caring a few weeks back. When her last emotional email to him has been finally constructed, she has been relieved. It is a final goodbye. She has done it three times to herself over the course of two years. She wants to leave him each time. She writes to him that it’s over, and he ignores it, silence. Then one day she writes again, in an nonchalant way, and she did not expect him to respond, but he does, quickly, as if he is sensing that she's forgiven him, or until he starts to miss her, until she's in his rotation schedule,, and then he comes back into her life, acts as if no time has passed, and he has never received the note from her about her leaving him. He acts as if he still is seeing her. So many times he has hurt her intentionally or unintentionally. So many times she has gone back to him, each time she has thought he will change. But he never does.

He’s a sociopath.  He’s a machine, he simulates emotions. Just like his handle, and the company he runs. It’s funny how it all just starts to make sense for her now. He’s not a human being. That’s why he is able to function the way he does. He has no emotional range. He has an on and off switch. He is either on or off. He has no empathy, he has no idea how much his action hurts her. It's not just that he disappears, it's that his action completely contradicts his prior actions. When she pleads, asks to be seen after he cancels on her, without even telling her that he's about to cancel, after he says that he'd call but does not, and after she calls and does not reach him, over and over again. It is as if he's two people, one loves her, one does not even know her acknowledge her existence. No amount of Zoloft can cure her. Her cure is the final exit from his orbit. She has to break free of him to be her again.

Understanding him makes her feel more in control of her destination. She can make a change, a different path and thought process are slowly taking shape. Rather than visualizing him as this person who has hurt her, she pities him. He who cannot really understand human emotions and does not understand how his careless, compassion-less, self-interested lifestyle affects others. She has no use for him in her life, except for as an ordinary friend. She has demoted him this time for good. She used to think he and she have a go at normalcy, true love, but instead what she used to feel is nothing but a one-sided illusion. He has finally destroyed her faith in him. In their relationship. 

C is a lesser severe version of B. C likes her, but he is willing to let her go because he knows his limit. He can't be emotionally involved and sexually involved at the same time. He connects with her, and when he connects with someone emotionally, he has to shut off his physical side. C likes her too much to lose her. C shares his life with her. C likes to tell her about his comings and goings. C cannot figure out how to balance the two, so he chooses to be just a friend. She is comfortable with that arrangement. He likes her like he likes a cat. She wants to be held by C and be scratched by C. She wants to straddle C and tell  him to hug her, and kiss her forehead and tell her everything is going to be alright. C will not do that of course. But she fantasizes it anyway. C has a limited emotional range. He knows where his limit ends. She can respect that. At least he's honest and he keeps the communication channel open. He does not mislead, like B does.

When her son was very sick, she used to spend days and nights in the hospital, with him. The poor thing almost died. He was in PICU for years. She used to hold him and cuddle him and pray that one day he would be healthy. She used to have no time to cry, no time to dream, no time to sleep, no time to shower off the vomit from her hair, vomit from her sick baby boy. She used to be a completely different person. Her life has been a pure survival game. When he is finally better, she is awaken from a nightmare and she is trying to find herself again. In her path of recovering her old memories, she meets these men from her distant past, when her only worries is to find love. Like a twenty year old, she falls back into hands of men who are used to use women for their own sexual satisfaction. Just like the twenties, she finds no love, she finds sex. And men who discard women like used rag. 

There is a lesson to be learned from this. That is true love does exist, but it does not exist with someone like her. The timing is off. Way off. There is no hope no second chances. Certainly not with those who failed her once. Those recycled relationships do not represent anything new. It's just a memory of past failed attempts to love.  In that regard, she has finally smartened up. She is finally able to release the toxin and give her new life a chance. She will recycle relationships, but each time, relationship will evolve into different forms and meanings. Each time, a new type of relationship emerges. Each time, she takes back a bit of control of her own life. Until she can find herself again. 

From lover to sister

I deleted his phone numbers, in haste. Then I had to dig it out. It took a while. I had to go back to an email from April of this year. He had written beautifully before, lengthy emails, contained emotions and feelings and rich content. He wrote about his day, what he did and where he went. He told me a lot of things. Things I imagined he did not share with others.

Friends told me that he was a private person. They knew very little about him. He was quiet and offered no private life of his own. But I knew a lot. I knew that his father remarried. He had a young wife who bore him a daughter, half of his age. The half sister was not so smart but she was pretty. His mother was remarried and now living back at Rhode Island. She used to live in Florida after divorcing his father. But she decided to move back. His father was charming and had a lot of ladies. He finally was able to marry a young woman, I did not know how he achieved financial success to marry a woman half of his age, but I didn't ask. He had an older sister, who lived in Los Angeles and was in the movie industry. His sister was married and divorced, now living with a cat and was always going on dates and not able to find a man who wanted a fifty some year old wife. As a result she complained a lot to her mother, their mother, and then their mother called him to complain about his sister.

He liked to call himself an engineer, but he was more of an artist. He created things with his bare hand. He developed beautiful designs and he created beautiful drafts and then he cut the raw materials into small pieces waiting to be assembled. He started to go into work on Tuesdays so that he could advance faster on his project. He took meticulous photos and then sent them to me, and report to me about his progress.

At some point he stopped telling me about his girlfriend. A woman who was a nurse at the general hospital, a 37 year old blonde who was not easy to talk to but he kept her around for years, because she would always come back to him. He liked that. She was controllable, and he chose to be with her so that he could focus on his energy on one woman. He was not comfortable being with two women at the same time. I saw him when I was still involved with several other men, he never did ask and I never did share. I just assumed that this was going to be an acceptable arrangement, I didn't want exclusivity.  He seemed to be OK with that for a while, and then he stopped wanting that arrangement. I was becoming too intense for him though his action spoke volume. He enjoyed speaking to me, telling me about his day, sharing his life with me, and his stories. He admired me and respected me. He wanted me to be in his life in a way that he didn't expect others to be.

He took care of me. He understood my sense of humor. I understood his. He told me about the books he read, and he told me what he thought that I might like to read or watch on youtube. He reported to me about his whereabouts, even though I had never asked.

He knew that his decision hurt me, and for that I thought that he felt a sense of regret. But when you said something, you couldn't take it back.  I had moved on. But my decision of stop dating, leaving the dating circus, was so unexpected and he felt responsible.

I could tell from his words and the way he caressed and hugged me. He treated me like an injured animal, and he wanted to protect me from getting hurt by him, and to do that, he cuddled me.

I could do no wrong at this point, in his mind. I was his protectee, and he was going to be my protector.

He served a purpose. With him, I was finally able to get rid of B. I severed my emotional ties with B. B was cruel and manipulative, B never loved me but he claimed that he did. B never even acknowledged the receipt of his birthday present that I sent him, or any emails I sent to him.

B had broken me, but C healed me, then when he got scared of his own feelings, he felt that he had betrayed me and thus he was again becoming closer to me.

Such incongruity.

On my march towards wholesomeness, I missed sex. I missed sex like I missed my limb. It was devastating. I told C that he could no longer make any sexual jokes. It was cruel to taunt addict with coke when the addict had only been clean for two weeks. Addict had no reason to believe in herself, but her sheer will would see her through the dark tunnel.

I asked how C felt about fingering. C thought for a second, from naughty to wholesomeness, it was definitely a wholesomeness behavior. But C also knew that I never was able to orgasm via fingering. But supposed that was all I had in life... C thought for a moment, and offered it up to help me. "Only if you wear medical glove." I added. C had them at home. In his lab. He would finger me to orgasm, in his glove. He was not unhappy with this experiment. "What about safety glasses?" He asked. I said, yes. And a London Fog coat to boot. The description of fingering me to orgasm was becoming more and more visually kinky, as if the whole production was just a prelude for some raunchy sex orgy to take place in full force later on. Except there would not be any sex. I would only want C to finger me, until he was tired and ready to call it the day.

I knew C would do that. He would do that because C was still aroused by me, deep down, I knew that he wanted to fuck me, but that door had been closed.

I liked to see C again when I was back. I missed lying next to him on the couch, letting him to tell me things I did not know. I liked when C took his hand and grabbed hold of mine, I liked C because he was my harbor. I had gone from A to E and back, I just wanted C to hold me and tell me everything was going to be alright. I wanted to have someone to hold me and let me cry until I had no tears left, and I wanted someone to kiss me and love me back the way I loved him.

But there was never going to be a happy ending like that. In my world, I had to believe that someone like C was the best that I could do.  Someone like C would be able to hold me and caress me, and tell me that French Toast was excellent for dinner, just like how New York Times reported.

Just like that, I went from C's lover, to his sister, his daughter, and there was really where I'd remain. For the rest of my days.

But sometimes I wondered if I could love again. And when would that ever come? Did I deserve to be loved just so? I did not have an answer. I should not seek.

I could still find love. I thought. One day. Just not today.

Turning? Or Move Forward

I didn't believe in going back. There was no turning back. This time.

Yet something did rewind. Last night. Seeing him made me realize that I started something that I should not have, and when that trend continued, I became someone I should not have become.

On the eve of August 21, which was the same night when I remet up with A two years ago, I re-remet with him again. It was a visit that I needed because I needed to wrap something in my head. I needed to know if he was responsible for everything, for my mistakes, over and over and over again since then.

A, B, C . . .

A was the first, and the last, man I was ever physically involved with, before I entered the marital institution, and before I existed the institution. He was there for a reason, always at the fork of the road, he appeared to guide me or misguide me.

"Tell me, did you used to live just off Fillmore?" I was drinking my Corona, the dive bar did not have good wine, or wine, for that matter. It was not San Francisco, it was the south bay.

"I did, near California." He said. I remembered vaguely the visits I paid to him, the visits that always ended up with me having sex and then leaving before it was too late. I didn't want to stay in his place. I did not want to be just a number, so I made myself a non-number.

We connected over instant messaging and emails.  We became friends and we went out as a group. I met some of his friends. I liked them. They liked me. Some became very close friends of mine. He respected me and liked me, until, I was bored of the lack of progression. I moved on, he did not. He liked math. He majored in math. He was a smart guy who was savvy in the internet space. He hit it big, got very lucky. He was someone who enjoyed Taco Bell, and he was cute in his ways. I was not really sure how I felt about him, or not felt about him. I just stopped feeling and moved on.

I always liked him. It was instinctive. You either liked a guy and knew that he liked you, or you didn't necessarily liked a guy and knew that he liked you. It just depended on the circumstance. I needed to know if there was any chemistry, but I didn't think we'd have sex. I was not interested in that, I wanted to be wholesome and good. He was not going to change my plan.

He was still the same, but mellower. I was still the same, but chattier. When I no longer felt that I was desired by a man I became myself, or when I was feeling comfortable with a man. I always felt comfortable with E. E was my equal. When we went out, he called it "outing" and not "dating". Because we had long passed that time. When I was with A the first time, it felt like dating, then it felt like outing, and then when we remet, it felt like dating again, and this time, this time, felt like an outing. During an outing, A put his hand behind me, he caressed me like no time had ever passed. I was once his girl, and I suppose in his end, I would always be his girl.

A turned me on. Some men just did that without tryng. A and B and sometimes E. But A turned me on in a very quick second, unlike B or E. A just immediately turned me on. I liked that.

C and D required a bit more work. Maybe because they were both from Boston. Maybe because that was just how they worked. But C and D had a control over me whereas A, B and E did not. C and D got in my head in a way no other man wood.

B was a special case. The thought of B made my brain hurt. The thought of B made me want to cry. B broke me in a rather unique way. He created a fantasy, and he made it looked real, and then he disappeared the moment he felt anything. I had nothing, absolutely nothing to feel but just pure hate. For a while I hated B. Then I discarded him. Then I found that I liked him. We enjoyed somethings together and we liked each other, and then we just stopped. I had to stop being someone whom I was not, and the only way I had to become who I was, was to stop loving someone. When I loved someone I was no longer me. That was the problem.

For that reason, I believed why A, C and D liked me. I was a much funnier, sillier, and happier person when I did not love them. 

I often wondered if we could feel a certain way for someone all the time.

Or we just felt that we could move on eventually without having to understand why.

A would always be that person who ignited me. Who knew enough about me, who knew the version before, the version in between and the version after.

When A and I said goodbye, he kissed me, just like that we were kissing. He was aroused, I could tell, he was tall and I was short. I always felt strange standing next to tall men. But I also enjoyed it. I had a lot of experience with tall men. Tall men seem to like petite women. There was something to be said about opposites attract. 

But then I had to go, I had to go because I was going to be good and wholesome again. I would otherwise be having sex with A, and while I had stopped having sex with B, C, D,  and E, I must stop having sex, period.

I was driving home and I thought to myself, if he never turned his back on me the first time, I would have not met my now spouse; if he did not turn his back on me the second time, I would have not re-met B.

So really, everything really started with A, and by seeing A again, I was able to put the past behind me, and I would need to move on. This time, I have finally let B go.

Circle, complete?

"Why, why did you drive to see me?" He asked.

"Because I was already driving." She answered.

"That's not good enough of an answer." He insisted on the truth.

The truth was that this was August 20, the eve of August 21. Two years this time, they met, remet, to be exact. Sparks were flying. She was taken by him. Then something happened.

Something always happened.

He left her, she was left to lick her own wound.

She met someone else, he left her also.

Then again and again.

Sometimes she left them, to be fair.

But he was the one who started it all.

Now she was someone new and he was someone changed. Once uptight and intense, now relaxed and chill. She was, well, she was someone else when he met her. Now she was more of herself, the old self, not the frozen self. The frozen self thawed out, heart was broken and mended, and rebroken and remended. It was just that simple. At the end of the day, she was not alone and he was not alone. They were finally on equal ground.

He grabbed her, rubbed her back, like he always did, he lifted her, cracked her back, dropped her and then kissed her. Just like that, nothing was ever wrong, nothing was ever right. It always started from the beginning and end from where it supposed to start.

When he kissed her she knew why she had to run away from this, and why she had no way of seeing it clear from two years ago. He was really that close to being right for her. She was, really that close to being in danger of losing herself.

The alternative was no better. A man who claimed his love but never delivered. A man who treated her like some used rag. A man who was ultimately not that into her.

Unlike him. He was something different. She always knew. But the timing was always off. She thought.

There was never going to be another.

But he was nicer. Calmer, and he was right. He was always going to be that man who brought her back.

A caretaker

The way, the way he held me, the way, the way he looked at me, or not looked at me.

With that, I drifted to sleep.

I found him the way I found a rock in the creek. I was just skipping and something shiny caught my eye. I went up close and it was a marble looking rock. So I picked it up and put it in my pocket and walked away. I occasionally played with it, but most of the time, I left it alone.

He was that rock that caught my attention at that very moment, and then I forgot all about him. Until I was looking for a rock, something shiny and smooth and perfect for skipping on the water.

I laid next to him, my head on his tummy, flat, toned tummy. I complained about his belly being too hard and not soft, big, like a typical Midwesterner. He ate very little. He ate sunflower seeds and nachos, some cherry tomatoes or cookies if he got his hands on them. But mostly he just ate sunflower seeds, like a bird.

He was a very thin man, with lovely curly hair. He had big hazel eyes and prominent nose. He had a perfect profile view. I once enjoyed looking at his face. But now I just liked to cuddle up to him like a kid with her papa. I always told him that I had father issues. He was a fatherly figure. He called me "monkey". He called me "cutie pie" and "baby." I wrapped my arm around him when I was down and I would let him pet me like a dog or a cat. He always wanted a cat. He always treated me like his pet. He could not do emotions. I scared him. His feelings for me, scared him. He began to care. He began to look forward to my next visit, he began to feel obligated to write, to tell me everything, he did not want to lie, he told me that he couldn't be with me physically anymore, it was too intense for him, but he needed me in his life nonetheless, he wanted me to visit and he wanted to spend time with me. I just wanted to cry. I felt betrayed and not loved and abandoned, but he adored me still and he held me the same way he used to hold me, and I just rested my head, my face and my body against every part of his body, with clothes full on, with no exchange of kisses. He just held me, his hand folded into mine, as I rested, and he held me in that position and watched the TV with me like he always did.

Two could play this game. I was becoming distant also. I was becoming more natural when I was with him when sex was out of the picture. I couldn't have sex with him, it felt forbidden and unnatural, like having an incestuous relationship, even though that in and of itself, incest turned me on. I didn't want him to give me the pleasure because I was practicing sexual abstinence.  It worked for me, and it was my opportunity to become good, clean and wholesome.

Sometimes I felt like the wicked witch of the west on a new year resolution . . . "I want to be good, I want to be wholesome, and I want no more shenanigans. I could do this, I would do this. I was good as new. . ."

I felt like chanting and I felt like a fraud. I missed sex more than anything else in the world. I was a nymphomaniac. I  could have sex, all day and all night long, I wanted sex more than I wanted air. Yet in my life, I had no sex to speak of. No one I cared to be with, wanted me for sex.

I was left to my own device. I had nothing but a broken dream.

So in his embrace, I felt nothing. I didn't want to revisit our topic, I didn't want him to feel that I was forcing the topic. Instead, I just sat next to him, like we often did, there was no love making nor sexual innuendos.

He found my hand. He grabbed hold of my hand. He touched it. He let me clinging onto his like a child. My face was buried in his tummy, then his crotch. I did not feel any sexual arousal. I just cuddled like he was my father, a father I never had.  He moved his hand onto my thighs. I held his hand, it felt natural and non-sexual.

He examined my bruises. He was sad to see me hurt. He thought that he hurt me. I did not correct his belief.

I couldn't be hurt by him if I never felt that strongly by him.

My hurt remained with my ex. The person who often disappeared and the person who did not care about me.

The world was going to be complicated place. But I had deconstructed it for myself.

It was good and new, it was safe and sound.

I needed him to be there, to hold me and to watch over me.

I needed him like Annis Ninn needed her father, so that she could commit incest.

Except we tried that and we stopped. Now I was just someone he cared about, and he was my caretaker.

Sometimes, we could live without a lover, but we could not live without a caretaker.

At the end of the day, we just wanted to be taken care of.

Inertia or New Path

He had given me a book to read. He said that I’d like it; he said that it had three elements that made the book a pleasant read: short, funny, and with sexual component. I told him that I no longer cared for sex. I was not getting laid, and I refused to have sex with men these days. He was one of the men. The last one. I would never stay at his place again, I would never kiss him again, I would never ever let him see me naked, ever again. It was a new era, and he knew what it meant. If we were to make it as friends, we must be sexually not involved.

It was a rule that made by him, and it was a rule that worked for me.

I liked him. We were so different, but similar in some ways. We had a great potential once and when it faded I could never see him the same way. I missed the old feeling but I did not miss my interaction with him.

He cared somewhat about me. He knew enough about me to know that once my mind was made up, there was no turning back. I still acted as if we were dating. I curled up next to him to watch a movie, he caressed my hand and my leg as if he had a free pass to my body. I put my hand in his pocket as we walked. He called me baby as he used to. He thanked me when I picked up the tab. It was my turn. We talked about going to places, making future plans, even, and I wanted to know his life, as I shared with him mine.

At dinner, he said, “Why, why did you change?”

He was referring to my venturing out of my seemingly perfect life.

"Because I was hoping to find love."

I said. Then my voice changed, a little weak a little shaky. “I still hope one day I could find love. And to fall in love again.” I said.

I missed the feeling of being in love. Even a pretend one. But I had decided that my time was up. I could not love again. I had to remove the one self who was capable of loving and replacing the one who was hard pressed with emotions. I must learn to stop searching for things and emotions that I was not entitled to.

He and I had great potential. Then it ended.

I laid on the couch next to him. I put my face next to his crotch and my legs stretched on the other end of the couch. I felt noting. I felt absolutely nothing as I rested my head on his body. As I stretched and contoured my body, I asked for him to massage my back and neck. He did so as if that was expected of him, without any words he complied. Then when I laid quietly, he did not make any move. He was not aroused either; if he did, I would not know. I liked him the same way as I liked my father, but not the real father, but the fake, in everything-was-perfect-about-my-father kind of way. I could sit straddling him, like he was my lover, or like he was my father, I'd straddle him and tell him a story. I felt like a young girl in his presence and thus not sexual in any way. He was confused for a moment but then he was relaxed, he let me sitting on top of him, telling him a story and he admired me and listened, almost proud of me. He then touched me as if he missed me, or perhaps he padded me like a cat he never had. He folded my body against his, caressed me like I was his rag doll. I told him that I could no longer be with him, physically. I was done, and I did not want him to want me physically. I just needed his companionship, I needed him to hold me and I needed him to see me cry.

He would not know what to do if I did cry. I would not cry of course, but if there were anyone I could hold and cry, it would be him. I felt utterly safe with him, because he could not hurt me. I did not love him. I did not like him in a physical way, I needed him like I needed a father, a father I never had and he played well in that role. He would kiss my forehead, and he would hold my hand, and he took pleasure in knowing that I was safe and sound. I needed nothing from him, and that gave me the strength. He could nurture me into health. I would eventually be healed and stop loving someone who was cruel, not him, but the person before him.

We had great potential. He and I, then it ended.

Initially, I thought what we were going through was an inertia. But we no longer fucked. So this must have been a new path. A new path where he and I could have it a go, me as his daughter that he never had; he as my father, the one I never had. I had no relationship with my birth father, and he would never have a child. This was a symbiotic relationship. I needed him, to see me through this, to be wholesome and good again.

I noticed a bump on my left knee, it was a fresh bruise that had gotten worse over time. I was not sure how I got it. He touched it gently. and said, “Oh you poor baby, you are hurt. I always hurt you.” I did not stop him, I was not hurt by him, not in a way that was materially damaging. I was hurt long before he showed up. Even if he disappeared tomorrow, I would not be hurt. But I let him to think that way. I needed him to feel bad. Men often thought their cowardliness would hurt a woman, but women could hurt men too. It just would not be a direct hit. It would happen over time. It would happen, you just would not know when. 

There was a story somewhere. I just couldn’t tell you how it would end.

Full Circle

When I was preparing for my first half marathon, I was running in September in the Central Coast, one night, it was dark and the moon was shining, I was on a trail running and listening to some dance music, there was this song called "Rain", and it had lyrics like "Are we supposed to find the soul mate? Isn't life not complete until we find the soul mate", I couldn't remember the details but I did remember tears trailing down my cheek. I was trying to forget about A. A came into and exited out of my life in less than a month of time, and when I started to see my therapist I was in a disarray.

I had gotten so emotionally attached to A, even though we did not see each other and we lived in two different states, he and I talked nearly every day. It was just like how we used to be in the late nineties.

A was jealous and self interested person. He was controlling and did not like the fact that I was different and difficult to control. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I did know that I didn't want A to be a main source of my pleasure. A did not agree to that, and from that point on, he was finding things to be jealous about, including my alleged affair with another man, not true, and I had to spend a lot of time to put things into perspective, including finding concrete evidence.

A was satisfied with the findings but I lost my interest and I was feeling sorry for myself for having gotten involved with someone who was this intense and difficult to deal with.

Enter B.

I fell in love with B.

But I still spent six months trying to move A out of my life. Without much success.

He hovered. He continued to try to figure me out. And at some point, we stopped talking and then resumed talking. I found him to be taxing and nosy, and I found him to fear of running into me but secretively wished that he could.

I got to a point where I didn't want to talk to him anymore, but someone he always came back to me and asking about what I was up to or how I was handling my situations.

My situations got dissolved. There were no situation to speak of any more. I was once again a good woman with good virtue. I did not have any secrets any more. I still longed and lusted men but I couldn't possibly reengage my emotions with men.

A never thought of me as smart. He always had this impression of me being a seducer, a sexy being. It was difficult to convince him otherwise. I thought perhaps men categorized women into two types. The fuckable kind and the non-fuckable kind.

But telling A that I did not want to start anything with anyone, ever again, and rather live in this loverless, sexless life seemed to pose a new challenge for A.

He sent me messages day in and day out, and letting me know when he'd come to California. He fell into the same pattern of briefing me about his whereabouts and when he would be in town. I did not need nor cared to know. I read A's note and I wondered to myself, "How come you don't want to reply?" I would in the past suggested to meet up with A, but now I just did not want to bother.

There was nothing to be gained from seeing A. I never wanted to have sex with him. I never wanted to validate what I knew before, which was that I couldn't possibly have ever felt anything for him. He was a user, a mass manipulator, and insanely jealous.

But A was right about one thing. I thought that I had a real thing with B. A said "How could it be? You only saw him every six to eight weeks." A was right, but when you were in love, no negative things other siad about your lover  made you want to leave your lover, you just turned the other way. One ear in one ear out.

A was right.

B was the worst kind of all. He said all the right things but then he disappeared.

A was at least straight forward, and I was no longer feeling anything about A other than a complicated past.

A would be in town for a few days.

He sent me a note to tell me just that.

I would not reply.

I have finally learned to say no, and this full circle had been completed.

Just like relationship before and after this

I asked if he was willing to hang out.

He said, "Yes. How about Sunday at 8? Is that too late for you?"

I said, "Yes, it's too late. I need to get home at a decent hour."

He, "How about 7 then? 7 good for you?"

I replied, "Yes. it would be good. I just want to hang out. I'm tired. I want to chill."

He said, "Yes I'm good for that. I'm a very chill person."

"Where to meet up?"

He answered, "How about my place?"

I hit the reset button. I had no desire to be anything more, anymore.

I missed the beginning, when I hung onto every word he said, every email he wrote, every glance he stole. He and I had great potential. He was kind and loving. Our sex life was mundane, but passionate. I could melt by the way he looked at me. I was spoiled and adored. He checked in with me and he wanted me as much as, if not more than, I wanted him.

We exchanged lengthy emails. He took great pride in his emails to me.

We created memories no other boyfriends and I ever did, in such a short period.

Then something happened, and just like that, my heart was hurt, and I felt numb and the next time we spoke, I was cordial and distant.

When we reconnected, he was surprised, and went into the same habit of familiarity. I didn't know how to make of it, but I felt more complete when he was in my life, even though, he was no longer my lover, my boyfriend, or anything remotely like that. He was just a friend, who happened to be a man, and I was to be in his life, like another friend, who he once perhaps felt intensely about, and then it ended.

Just like every relationship before this, and just like every relationship after this.

Past vs. future

This morning I woke up from a rather strange dream. I remembered something that I had forgotten. I was about 21 at the time, I met this guy somewhere, maybe a night club or something. He owned a business on Lombard, and he lived in Bernal Heights, just off Casar Chavez, up on a hill. It used to be called Army Street. He was much older, and he was quite affluent. He used to bring me to his beautiful house and there he lived with his mother. He was never married but had a young daughter from another relationship.

He used to go down on me a lot, and I learned to squirt when I was with him.

I was young and easily bored. One day I stopped going there.

I had not remembered this episode until just in my dream. I thought afterwards, when would I stop remembering things?

I had lost over a decade worth of memory. It was never an intentional thing. It sort of just happened. But now as I started to hang out with people in the city again, these memories started to sneak up on me.

One day I was thinking perhaps I would start to remember the better part of my years, like when I was just turning 30, and how my life was about to start, for real this time, and how I was soon pregnant when I was 30, and had my first child when I was 31. She brought so much joy into my life.

I grew a beautiful garden, I was a great cook and I was a wonderful wife once. I ran a consulting practice and a business. I made good money but I was not satisfied until more morning came in.

It was during those years I learned that I could be everything that I ever wanted to be, and much more.

Then I ran into this so called midlife crisis and everything fell apart.

I had recently started to take a stock of my life. What I used to have, what I have today and what I want for tomorrow.

It was not that surprising that I now have a different perspective in life and different desires and wants.

It was just that I wish that I could be a little less vested in my past life and more vested in my current and future life.

There is no other way to get through this. I have to move forward. I must put my past behind me. I must get over my issues and pave a new path.

And on that note, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and work myself into a frenzy. I have to get used to this version of me, and begin to grow up.

A man who cooked

My girlfriend Irene told me that she liked C but C was self absorbed self important artist.

He did not cook, other than nachos. Or small pizzas.

But I told her that he often made me meals, elaborate meals with fancy vegetables and meats. Desert, sometimes.

C was a different person with me. With others he was often quiet, and subdued. With me he talked and talked. He obviously never seemed to have cooked for others. He gave me massages. Catered to my needs. He played Frank for me. He sang for me, and he danced with me.

Then one day it was to end.

C had a different side that he showed to me, and then he got scared. He was feeling too intense towards me. So I left him.

I didn't want to be involved with him any longer.

I told C that I was broken up about things, my last relationship ended poorly. B had taken my dream and twisted it into a total nightmare and I couldn't deal with it any longer.

C didn't believe attractive women could be heart broken. He was wrong. I was quite broken about it, I just did not want anyone to know.

C was always so comfortable with me. He talked a lot. He wanted me to himself.

I can't do that.

Even if C could cook and fed me each time.

I can't because I have to shut my past behind.

I must move on. I must learn to be me again.

I must get over B.

And I must stop feeling for C.

I could and would break his heart.

I should not do that.

A

It was the summer of 1999. I met A at a party. Strictly speaking, it was a pub crawl on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I was living at the time in Nob Hill with my much-too-old boyfriend named Michael. He was a tall man, and he had a very nice apartment that was a block away from my girlfriend Kim. She had a little dog that looked like a pig, and when I finished my work in Palo Alto, I'd drive to Nob Hill, circling around Polk Street for a long time before finding a spot to park. I drove an Audi A4 Quattro.

Michael had a bizarre business, and he was fatherly, and I disliked him within a month of dating. But I liked his apartment. I loved his hardwood floors and clean spotless bedroom. He was never really around, and I was too busy playing with my girlfriend and her pig like dog to pay any attention to his whereabouts. I was more involved in going out for dinner with friends, and enjoying the city scene. At that point I had finally stopped going to Sushi Groove, where my previous boyfriend took me often, because he lived in North Beach and was in that gang of college graduates from either Stanford or MIT, who frequented that joint.

I had by then briefly dated a Danish guy who was hot and tall, but incredibly boring.  His charm failed me. When all the girlfriends were chasing after that Danish guy with a very Scandinavian name, I was slowly planning my exit. He served a purpose, he was the opposite of my ex boyfriend, who was shorter, blond, romantic and laid back west coast breed. He was good looking, exotic, pragmatic and pleasant.

When Michael was not around, I was happier, and when he was around, I let him go down on me until I came and then I just fell asleep. He was older and less demanding, and I was young and arrogant.

A good friend was turning 33 that year. He was throwing himself a party. I went to Union Street to meet up with my girlfriends and this birthday boy. I was in a white shirt and blue jeans. I had a ponytail and minimum makeup. The second bar we went to on Union Street produced a very tall and handsome man, he was having a beer and chatting up with another friend of a friend, who went by the name of Will and was even taller than the beer drinking man. Will was 6'6" and went to Columbia just like the rest of these birthday bash people. I was finding myself surrounded by Ivy League types and wanted to escape. That was when Michael came into my life, who took me to Le Colonial and Georgiou. But by then he was boring me and I had to get back to my roots of young people.

A was immediately identified as this guy who was rich. He had sold his company by then and had millions of dollars. A venture capitalist, a man I dated on and off for years had gone to Stanford like A did, and as it turned out they were quite good friends. A had gone to MIT Sloan and took pride in his education background and that turned me off. That and the fact the girls next to me were whispering into each others ears about how much money A made in that deal.

As I was rapidly losing interest and planning my escape to the nearby shoe store and nail saloon, A approached me and asked for my email. At the time, AOL was in and I had an user name.

When the evening was over I realized that perhaps it was time to move out of Michael's place, because I knew something was about to happen with A.

A week later, I left this older, poor soul who thought he had a shot with me.  I promised that I would go and see the fireworks with him, but I just did not show up. It was the end of Michael and the start of A. I was quite inspired by A, my experience with A was erotic and casual. While he did the chase, I was quite taken by his intellect and playfulness. He sent emails of a girl who took a liking of him from that pub crawl and shared it with me, as a way to declare his interest in me.

We saw each other fairly consistently. A lived in lower Pacific Heights off Fillmore in a Victorian. He came from a well to do family and was a native Californian.

I began to hang out with his friends. He began to message me frequently, but our dates were less than impressive. He was more into staying in than going out, while he had a lot of money, he was so concerned about spending it that his favorite meal remained to be Taco Hell.

When I started to travel again for work, A was fading into the background. By the time my very last serious relationship in my 20s occurred in the fall of the same year, I had stopped seeing A.

When I moved into my next boyfriend's house, one evening I received an instant message from A, he had asked me how I was doing, why I had stopped seeing him and whether I'd be interested in spending evenings with him at his place, given that by then I had worked in downtown San Francisco.

I remembered staring at the screen and started to cry. I had felt something once for A, but by then, the moments were gone and it was as if he had not realized that I was gone. Was he that forgetful?

A year later I ran into A again, he had gotten married to this blond woman, and he was going on a honeymoon that was not unlike my last trip. We spoke briefly and that was the last time I had heard of him.

When A found me on Linkedin two and half years ago, I was surprised that he remembered me at all. He sent emails and photos of me, from twelve years ago. He had apparently filed my stuff away, including every email exchange. Then he sent me emails of his various of attempt of trying to locate me. I had once used an hotmail account which I had disabled. He said his email to that account, was bounced in 2005. He had attempted to reach out to me on several occasions, and he did not know how to find me. My Facebook had a security setting that no one could find me. Even though we had the same friends.

A told me that he had divorced several years ago, he had found out that a woman that he was involved with, briefly, had a daughter, and he had become a father several years ago after learning about it, he was living on his own and was just out of a relationship. Soon a trip was arranged and A came to see me. I was terrified about not remembering what he looked like. But then I realized the moment I stepped off the BART he was no different than when we first met twelve some years ago. He said that I did not change much either.

We met up for a nice meal and then A took me to his hotel. We did not say much and then we all caught up.  We kept in touch after that visit, and we talked often. A was often in Boston, where he had invested in several companies through his contacts at the graduate school program, he majored in math and was quite familiar with derivatives. I was always fond of men who majored in math or science and when he told me about what he was doing in Boston and I started to remember about my ex boyfriend who also went to Cambridge, MA and how he often talked about the same area. A told me that he had a choice between Harvard and Stanford, and that he chose Stanford after going to a prep school back in New Hampshire.

My memories were quite spotty at the time, so as A brought back memories of our collective past, I started to remember things, including my twenties which I had long forgotten. We communicated often and A made another trip down to see me. We had a nice time together. Then something intense and stupid happened.

I texted A and said "fuck off" and we then spend two months attempting to repair that short lived affair. A then met a woman who sort of reminded him of me, and then they had a child.

From time to time, A would write. He'd find on facebook and he'd message me, just like he once did on AOL.

I was not exactly sure how to respond to his messages. I seemed to get him worked up easily. Lately it was about a silly comment I made about our sex being awful. A was offended I think, slightly. I honestly thought that it was awful because I had not had any experience with sex for years after dropping off the dating pool, and I was not really comfortable stripping down. It was awkward to say the least. But A thought it was great. A wanted to get to to bottom of it, he wanted to tell me that I was not living a complete life because I feared intimacy.

I wanted to tell A that I had no problem with intimacy, it was the men I was with who feared intimacy and they did not want to be with me in the end. But A would not believe me. He still thought that I walked out on him. Which I guess technically I did, the first time I went to another man, the second time, I told him to fuck off and then went to another man.

But part of me thought perhaps A should take partial responsibility for it. He did not follow through. He pursued me, both times, heavily, and then became less interested in me when I was displaying affection back. He cared about me but did not think realistically our relationship would have ever worked out. He wanted emotional connection, the closeness that would warrant access to me, but then he was terribly controlling and argumentative. He would not see me now because if he saw me he couldn't resist having sex with me, as if my opinion would not have counted. He would not see me because he said that he would not be able to control the chemistry and it was too risky. But I would not have felt the same way so I didn't know what he was talking about. As he was expecting his baby he texted me and wanted me to meet him in the peninsula, where he was visiting and staying, and it was right around my birthday. I said no. I was not interested in being his booty caller.  He was a pain in the ass.

Our common friends would say that A was a smart, intelligent, kind, and fun person to around. They loved him. They always told me how much they enjoyed being with him, but A was an asshole when he was around me, he always wanted to pick a fight, he always wanted to lecture me, he enjoyed seeing me becoming defensive. So I no longer played his game.

I ignored his testy messages. I ignored him all together. He still sent messages on FB. He checked in to see if I was alright. He knew that I was pretty down recently, and he was feeling protective of me, but I just wanted to be left alone. I didn't need A anymore, or for that matter, B, C, D and E.

Though I'd be lying if I said I remembered nothing about A. I would always remember August 2011, when A called and I was walking on Embarcadero, it was an exceptionally warm, sunny day. The Farmer's Market was busy as usual. A told me that he just finished rowing, and he just showered, and he was about to go and pick up his daughter. He was asking me how I was, and he told me that he was excited to see me soon. I didn't know what I was feeling, and how my life would be turned upside down for two good years. I only knew I for once, felt something rare, raw and invigorating.

It was a lovely beginning. But in the end everything fell flat.

Saying No

I realized that I do not require companionship. I require inspiration, tension, affection, and connection.

Once that realization was made, I was relieved.

I needed to get rid of physical connection with men. Men cannot seem to see me as a sexual being if they respected and liked me. Men like C.

I was craving for that physical intimacy but I could not have that if I wanted to have a meaningful relationship with men who I respect and like.

It's a curse. They couldn't have both with me.

They felt too intense. They couldn't have both.

I coudn't either, really. I couldn't have both.

That's why I could be with men on occasion but if I started to treat it as a relationship, then all of the alarms would go off.

A wrote to me again. He couldn't seem to get over me.

I didn't want to talk to him. He's old news.

C talked to me. He wanted to hang out, on Sunday evening.

I told him no, because that's too late and I need to be home at a reasonable hour.

So he said how about earlier?

Earlier was better. He wants to see me at his place.

That's fine. But there was absolutely no way that I'd ever ever ever have sex with him, ever again.

I was finally happy with the way it was. I was done with my emotions. I was done with being physically intimate with men.

I couldn't because my heart was a fragile thing.

I couldn't be subject myself to any of that drama anyway.

I must assert strength.

It was whatever it was. I would always be successful, career wise. I would be respected, admired. But I could not be loved.

It's a curse. And therefore, I was going to be OK after all.

I would take control of my life.

I had learned to say no.

On being mundane

Perhaps this is the ending I needed to move onto the next stage of my life.

Mundane, passionless, painless, uneventful and full of people, who are ordinary. Not extraordinary, but ordinary. Not young, not old, full of stories, need to find love, need to find meaning in their ordinary lives, trying to make ends meet.

That's what I'm running. People from all walks of lives. People who did not understand homes in foreign countries, business class flights to Europe, a world that had been opened up so absurd, that going to dinner at Flour + Water is a big deal.

It is not a big deal. It's just an ordinary night out.

I have homes, personal trainer, fancy vacations, fancy cars, a trunk full of stories.

I am not ordinary.

I have not been.

Women who struggle to make ends meet, or try to find love in all the wrong places.

That's my world now.

Does it make me feel better?

No, not really.

My world had ended with me closing it forever. No more intrigue, no more admiration, no more love.

How would I feel if this all ends one day?

I can finally answer that question.

It's mundane, and uneventful and terribly heart breaking in its own ways.

I have perfectly good men who had once pursued me but I was not interested in them.

I have everything that I could ask for and more.

Perhaps one day I could look back and realize this period was the start of another era. Or perhaps I needed a break before I could get back into it.

But I know, truthfully, the era had ended. I couldn't afford to going back.

I had given up for good.

Every day is going to be the same. Job is satisfying. Work is demanding. Friends are nice. Struggling, trying to make ends meet or not struggling but does not have the world's luxury like I do. But I just go through  the motions. One day at a time. One day I should be alright.

One day maybe I would be brave enough to trust someone, to love someone, to feel something that is in the gut of my guts, the magic may be reborn, but all I have left is a distant memory.

What's the worst can happen

Busy day at work again. Was just running a million mile an hour and feeling completely overwhelmed. Tomorrow the same if not busier. Meeting form 8 till 6. Then need to meet a girlfriend for a gallery reception in the Mission. I have to schedule everyone in. Lunch appointment, dinner or drinks. A friend texted me and said, "So formal." I have to. I'm otherwise losing track.

I was standing in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, after a nice but short work out in the gym. I all of sudden felt asking myself, "What would be the worst that could happen for you about B?"

My initial response was, "He's in a serious relationship. He's gotten married. He's having another baby."

Then I found myself thinking, "That's OK. It's OK if he was in a relationship, he's gotten married finally, or he's having another child with a woman."

If that was the worst that could happen for me about B, and if I was OK with all that, then really, what is there for me to worry about?

I felt like writing to B and tell him that it would be OK that he did that. A told me that he was expecting a child with a woman who was my age, and my nationality, and my height even. I was not phased. I was happy that he was able to find someone, granted, she was not nearly as hot as me, and she looked a bit bumpkin like. I knew lots of white people can't tell Asians apart. They think we all look alike. I sort of wanted to tell them in the world of attractive vs. non attractive Asian woman, I'm sort of hot. As in pretty, and not every Asian women, in fact, most Asian women are not considered as pretty as me, if they were in Asia. But that's not important.

I always knew that I was attractive. Asian girlfriends would call me gorgeous even. But most white men couldn't tell a hot vs. non hot Asian woman apart. They sort of think Asian women were cute as a race or not.

I would not feel so bad if B was to get married. Have another child, met some woman and fell in love. Men after dating me tend to do that with the next woman. It was given. I would like to tell B to not worry, that he was with another woman so soon after me. But I worried what if he was still alone, still dating, and still thinking that he and I had a thing. What if he still cared for me.

That would be the worst thing could happen to me about B. It would mean that I would still feel something, some sort of pull towards him. I would rather him to have fallen for someone else and thus found me a past that he would like to erase or forget. I would prefer that because then I could start to become his friend again. When he stops feeling anything for me, I could then reenter his life as a platonic friend. We could even have playdates for our children. We could stand around and chat about nothing as our children ran around the playground and playing police and bad guys. It would be lovely. To be friend with B again. To feel that he no longer felt anything for me, to feel that he no longer wanted me.

I wish that he could just tell me that he was with someone now, and that he did not want to feel guilty for having been with me. I wish that he could stop this non-communication non sense and think by him not addressing it, we were never broken apart.

I never really cared about anything about anyone, I simply wanted a closure. From B. For him to release me. To let me go. To not have in my memory the last thing I ever heard from him, was how much he wanted to be with me.

That's fucked up. That's truly fucked up.

I wish that I could know that he's now married. Expecting another kid. Seriously involved with someone else.

I wish that he could just let me go. By giving me the final goodbye I so deserve.

Renewed

I knew exactly what happened. With my prior relationships. I took them too seriously and operated them as if they were real ones. I was with men who were too old too stubborn too set in their ways. I should have been with much younger men, men who did not see me as a threat, who did not treat me with disrespect, who were more accomplished and more grown up. Men who were able to get married and otherwise fine in their different aspects of their lives.

I was beginning to wonder what I went wrong. What went wrong was that I started to treat these fringe relationships as if I was entering real relationships. I gave in and I also was not compatible with them. 

I cared too much, I was too interested in their lives, I was too vested in their business and I was a little too demanding of their time. It should have been more casual, more sexual, and less emotional.

I should never stayed at their places, I should never had any email communication with them, I should never indulged their fantasies. But at the same time, I should never gotten involved with men who were controlling and who were not good with relationships.

A perfect side relationship is like this:

With a married, successful, intellectual, younger man.

Do not plan on any dates.

Email sparely. Email or text only if you plan to meet up.

Has synchronicity.  Can be friends even when sexual conduct ends.

Has mutual respect and boundaries are set before the relationship starts.

Make mutual effort to see each other on a semi regular basis.

Has the same type of career path - executives. In the same tech industry. Has a sense of himself. Likes you as if you are his equal. Raised by good families, preferably a professor's son. In a happy marriage. Loves his wife. Respects her and do not ever want to leave her.

Create opportunities with you to have a good time. But do not treat it seriously. Well traveled and successful financially.

Tall. Has to be tall. Tall men are great because they are naturally confident.

Young. Has to be younger than you. Younger men are great because they last forever in bed and they are self confident.

Do not ever have any expectations.

Treat the relationship as if this is the last time you'd meet and ask yourself, what if he leaves? The answer should always be this: It's OK, your life will not be impacted.

Don't ever force yourself. If your gut tells you it's not alright, the person is either not in it or if the person is sort of in it but not sure about it, it's time to move on.

Follow your inner voice. Does it tell you to stop? If you hear it. Stop it. Does it tell you not to stop? If you hear it, continue.

Find someone who likes you more than you like him. You must never forget to do that. He should remember your jokes, your stories. You should not have to feel that you should remember his. He's not nearly as important to you.

I wish that I could write this to B: Dear B, I wish that we could just have good sex and nothing else. I wish that we could meet on occasion, have great sex, and never feel obligated to write to each other in between our absence. I wish you could know what I feel today, which is I really do not want to have more than great sex. I wish that you know that I know what I didn't know before:that is, I wish we never did all those email exchanges in between our visits. I wish that we kept it casual, fun and not serious and taxing. I truly wish that we never got so intense and so emotional. I wish that you had never told me that you loved me, and wanted me to be with you. I wish that when you said goodbye you could just say, "See you around." or make a lunch date and we just have food and not fucking. I wish that we could be friends. But since you'd never be my friend and only wanted me when you wanted me, it's too bad that we could no longer have fun any more. I would never know what you wanted or how you felt, but I knew that I should have left before I felt anything. P.S. It was more fun when you and I were more casual, at the beginning. I would still fuck you, down the road, maybe, but I can't be emotionally involved with you, it was a complete waste of my time. Sex was fun though. I miss that more than I miss you.

I wish that I could write this to C: Dear C, I'm sorry that I used you to get over B. I was never really into you, I should not have talked myself into thinking that maybe one day I could grow to like you. Sex was marginally OK. I used to lie on my back and think about B when you fucked me. You were never really that interesting or funny. I only put up with you so that I could have sex with you. Even though I was bored out of my mind half of the time. Your only redeeming value is that you know how to cook limited dishes. They were good and they were fine but I really would rather be eating out because I'm a true foodie. You were so set in your own ways I would go crazy if you were really in my life. One day I might consider being a friend to you, but not being in contact makes me feel that I was so relieved and so happy that you were out of my life. Would I still come and visit you? I don't know. Right now I just need distance and right now I really just would rather never to see you again. You kind of bored me. I am so not into boring men. Enjoy your meaningless life and your insecurities.

Have I learned anything at all? Yes I did. I learned that I like men who like me and who do not expect things out of me. I like men who were easy going and do not create false expectations.

I also learned that I do not want my life to be complicated and full of problematic men. They sort of sucked the living lights out of me.

I am going to focus on friendship, work, family, and activities going forward.

I'm going to be renewed.

I'm going to be fine.

Bored, exhausted, devastated

Devastated.

Sick.

Exhausted.

Bored.

Nothing to look forward to.

Every day is like another day.

This is the end of my journey.

Every day from now until the end will be nothing but mundane day to day.

Only thoughts I had was when I first felt something, it was August 2011.

Two years ago.

A came into my life.

Has not left. Though I've not seen him since the last meeting we had in early September 2011.

A still im's me on FB.

A never left. Found me after I've been dodging him for twelve years.

A is the same age as B. Went to the same graduate school program. A is 6'4". Blue blood.

A found a woman who was from my city. A came here to visit often. I hope never to run into A.

A still has the same attachment as my real ex does.

I don't know why but tall men like me more than I like them.

A said that the sex was great.

I said, what, I thought it was awful. I couldn't remember a thing. I am certain I won't remember much about B or C in two years of time, or D or E.

A tried to lecture me just like my ex who's 6'3" did.

I kind of want to punch A.

A wanted to see me and then he got weird on me, so I bailed, by telling him to fuck off. He said that I disappeared on him. Just like fourteen years ago.

Why did A try to turn it around on me?

B really did not give a shit.

B was the real asshole.

By transference I think of C as an asshole. Both 5'10".

Short men in my world are always assholes. Tall men tend to want to protect me. Think that I should be theirs. I don't know why.

A and my real ex from the east coast. Both tall. Both think I was fantastic and beautiful but also like to lecture me. I tend to talk to them whenever I'm down.

Then my friend N. Who's tall and from New England. But I will never have sex with N. I will never have sex with anyone, again. Period.

A tried to pin it on me. He was the one who left me. I think. Wait, no, I was the one who left him.

A was always so demanding. Talked to me every day on google chat. Just like he used to do on AOL chat. Tried to bully me. Got upset with me. I told him to fuck off. Then he came back.

I think I'll email C and tell him officially to fuck off. But then it would be like me wanting to talk to C. I have no interest in C. To ever ever engage him. I was bored of him.

I think some men just need to be told off. But then I have no energy to do such things. He was not worth my energy.

I was wondering if I went to B because I was upset with A and then went to C because I was upset with B. I think I am the common denominator. I am the problem. I should never stir up stuff. I need to get rid of the old me.

I am going to be good from now on. No more sexual discussions, no more seduction. No more treating men like they were my conquests.

I should stop.

Great. Now I'm losing weight and becoming skinny and more attractive.

And I'm alone. No men. No sex. No nothing.

Just work, then family.

Just fabulous.

But it has to be done. I have to learn to be alone and lover-less. I have to take a hard reset and create yet another version of me. This version of me is pure, innocent, smart, sassy and sexually non-promiscuous. This version of me is no longer on the hunt. This version of me requires no maintenance. This version of me will not love another but herself. This version of me is boring but it's the only way to survive the rest of my life. I have stopped longing. I have no rights, no energy to long for another. I must preserve myself and tend my own garden.

This is really a new beginning. This is the end.

And a beginning. 

2nd Day - How's your heart?

Up. Work meetings. Sunday morning.

Dressed. Out of the door. Picked up a friend. Then drove to Stern Grove.

Met up with some friends.

All day dancing, singing and drinking and having fun in the front lawn. Primal spot.

Pink Martini.

With friends and family and I was having fun.

Sun tanned. Happy. Danced until my feet hurt.

Drove to Richmond to see a girlfriend and her daughter after.

Met her through C.

On the way over, phone rang. It was 650 area code. I did not recognize it. So I answered.

It was C. C called from work. I had not talked to him since Friday. Told him that I deleted his phone numbers and did not recognize it, thus I answered by saying my name and did not recognize who this call was from.

C seemed shocked. He said, "You deleted my numbers?"

I had also deleted B's number. I no longer carry anyone's number in my phone.

It was the only way to erase them out of my memories. They no longer existed. They could not exist. They have ceased to exist because I cannot allow them to break my heart or hurt my feelings or treat me like that I'm someone they had control over with.

I informed C that I was with my son. Because I did not want to tell him too much or for him to say anything that would incriminate me in front of my son.

C told me that he had been at work since Sat afternoon, and that he may be able to sleep in his own bed tonight. I told him that I was taking my son to see our mutual friend in Richmond.

He said to say hi to her.

I said that I will.

He seemed to want to end the call after telling me what he was up to.

He wanted to get off the call because there was no indication that I was still interested in seeing him tonight. I had not expected him to call at all. I expected that he'd disappear and I'd disappear and we would have no problems.

He was still stuck in that mode of sharing his life with me. Telling me about his life and his day. I realized that perhaps he had developed emotions for me, and that it was all along too intense for him. He couldn't possibly respect, like and adore me and then have physical needs for me. I cannot possibly be both, it threw his balance off.

I can't be both to him, I don't want to be neither to him. I want him to stop bugging me and stop calling me but instead I said, "I can't talk right now. If you want to call me some other time, tomorrow or something, go ahead."

But I know not to pick up his calls. Even though his numbers have been erased, I do not want him to call. But I didn't want to sound like a jerk.

I also need to retrieve things from C. I also need to retrieve things from B. But B can wait. B is long gone. C is still fresh.

I was angry with C. I was sad with B.

I don't want to be with C. He was never really my type. I manufactured emotions for C but at the end of the day I couldn't tolerate anything from him.

I also don't want to be with anyone, any more. I just want to be with me and my friends.  I don't know how C feels but I honestly do not care.

If he expects me to email or call, he's sadly mistaken. I may run into him from time to time because his friends are now mine, but I will not be making any more connection with him or engage him or trying to talk to him.

What I really want to tell him is to fuck off. Get out of my life. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. If you can't handle your own intensity towards me, it's your freaking problem. I can't stop being me. I am no longer someone's doormat, someone's punching bag, or someone's problem to resolve.

If you think that I'm Asian, and therefore subservient, kind and generous and can put up with bullshit, think again.

You have not met this person yet. You can't handle this version of me.

I don't want you, any one of you.

I'm done. and I'm going to be good, clean, and wholesome again.

At what expense? Yes sexually I have to shut me off, put that sexually adventurous, perverse, kinky side of me in a box. Sealed off, and shipped away.

I must learn to live with all my regrets, longing, and sorrow, I must learn to deal with this unsatisfied desires, until the end of the day.

Because I need to be good, and wholesome. Until my heart stops bleeding. And then I want to swallow the forgetting pills, And leave this era permanently, behind.

Reflection

Too soon to reflect. But sometimes an ending is desperately needed. We all need to move on.

I had not realized that this replacement, C would mean anything to me, and in the process of trying to get him to replace B, I had developed genuine feelings for him. Except that I couldn't tolerate him. He could not make any mistakes, have any different thoughts, and really he could not have met my needs in the long term. His weakness was always magnified, his mishap was intolerable, and his views, his thoughts and his way of living, bored me, disgusted me and frankly burdened me.

C was a replacement, and I had to psych myself to be with him. I thought that I could, and I tried to put on a persona so that I could be in it, physically and emotionally I tried.

In the end I couldn't. I had been so relieved when he wanted to stay in touch with me, wanted to be friends with me, and wanted to hang out with me.

Because I felt that in a way I had the upper hand, I hated losing. I hated being the one who was left out. But I also knew that was the best way to exit, to leave while he was still wrapped up in this, I left, and the way I left was simple, I had planned to go out with him at a time and date, and then I just disappeared. I planned the exit and disappeared.

I planned no response, I deleted his phone numbers, and I erased everything about him. It was really that easy. It was like he never existed. He would not be hearing from me. He would not be receiving any more communication from me, he would perhaps wonder what happened to me, but he would not be hearing from me.

At the root of all this, he felt insecure, I felt it. I felt his fear, he said that he was scared, it was getting too intense, and he had to go into retreat mode. I thought that was interesting, how could he call it intense? I felt nothing. I was simply here and there, and I was not making any demands. If he felt that my existence in his life made him feel something, anything at all, it would be crime? How come I did not feel any intensity at all? Was my state of being scared him so? How could I be the person who received no intensity at all? He had talked to me, emailed me and engaged me, and even demanded my presence, and then said it was too intense for him. It was strange in so many levels. I had realized that perhaps I had taken this for granted, and I had not seen that my strength, my state of being scared him, made him feel things he should not feel, and he had to go to a place where his feeling was not stirred up and he was safe in his own shell.

I couldn't understand why it could be intense. The only intensity that I ever felt was my feeling for my ex. I had never felt anything for anyone else. It was all just simulated motions. I couldn't comprehend these feelings these men claimed that they felt. He wanted me in his life, but he couldn't possibly stop feeling the intensity. He tried to do something about it, without any regard of my own feelings. I wanted friendship but only if the intention was pure. These conflicting signals made me feel rather - enraged.

I did not need him telling me that he was feeling intense, and that my presence of being in his life threw the balance off. He wanted me but he can't have me and he can't let me go. The guy needed to figure that shit out. I had no intention to be serious, and I could not feel the intensity. It felt mundane, a little boring and even a bit uneventful.

He wanted to know every details of my life, and he was careful not to mention my spouse in his construct. It was my children and me. He wanted to believe that I was only for him. But I was not. I told him about my ex, my relationship with him, and I told him about everyone I was involved with in the past, and that also scared him. He wanted me, he admired me, and he was conflicted about his feelings for me. He wanted me in his life but not so much to stir up the intensity.

To that I said, good, I'm out. I'm out and I don't want to be part of that.

I had only loved one person who did not love me back in the end. I had only lived in one fantasy life and the rest was just side notes.

I had only needed one thing and no one but he provided that.

He was gone. Long gone.

No one needed to replace him in the end. No one could.

I had therefore decided that upon reflection, he must go too. He had to go.

I erased his phone numbers.

I deleted his photos. emails and address.

He no longer existed.

He was gone. I was no longer part of his life.

I would offer no explanation.

I felt, strangely relieved.

In the end, he meant nothing to me. I couldn't wait to find a reason to rid of him.

In the end, my sorrow remained with my relationship with my ex.

In the very end, I had concluded that this was exactly what I had meant to do, to rid of the last person in my life so that I could start afresh.

I must move onto the next stage of my life. I shall remain loverless and I shall find meaning in life outside of my sexual intrigue.

It would be hard, but it must happen.

I must learn to be me again. This me required no affirmation from anyone. This me needed to grow up. Once for all. 

End of an era

So it ended.

Just like that. Everything ended.

I don't know why but part of me felt hollow and part of me felt that this was the reset I needed.

Past, wiped out. Experiences, gained. Reality, checked.

I had constantly been seeking for that elusive thing called love. I wanted love so bad, I wanted to be loved so bad that I sometimes mistake infatuation with love, I wanted sex so that it could be interpreted as love. But love had disappeared.

Love was never there to begin with. I manufactured these emotions so that I could escape the mundane and sort of feel something.

Anything.

And when that ended, it seemed the world had no meaning and the world had no purpose. It was as if I had no where to turn and no one to speak with.

I brought it all onto myself.

I closed the curtains and curled in bed. I didn't want to wake up because I had no reason to get up.

I am a very sexual being but I have no one  I care to sleep with.

To that end, I have failed miserably.

But I brought it onto myself. I did not and should not and could not love. I couldn't because I was never in a position to love. And if I can't have love then I should not be sleeping with anyone who is not deserving of my attention. I'm done whoring around.

I was selfish and coward, and I was generous and brave.

I gave so much so early on, that it burned out.

Then I just went into retreat. I couldn't have everything so I would give up everything.

He said, "Can we still hang out on Sunday?" I have no answer to that question. Because my answer would have been, "No. and I'll never see you ever again. Please do not try to contact me."

He was the last one I had to excavate out of, escape from.

I did not have an answer for him. I couldn't afford an answer. I felt like screaming. I felt like the world was turned upside down. I used him to get over someone. I got over that person, but I couldn't possible be with anyone else without always thinking back to my ex.

A disturbing, turbulent, unconventional, fuck buddy turned lover turned someone I fell in love with.

I didn't and could not and will not love another.

I couldn't be this walking zombie and expect things would get better. It would not. I was hollow inside.

I tried to put on a brave face. But my heart was not in it. I was simply bouncing from one person to another to try to find something. Anything. I found nothing.

Wasted time. Wasted energy. Wasted everything.

Experiences that meant nothing. Faces no longer mean anything. People no longer mattered. Just one person from another, sex, meaningless sex. Empty hollow inside. Emotions manufactured and self realization was just an excuse to try to justify my actions. I have been a phony. I had a facade to maintain. But I was a shallow, hollow, damaged person inside.

Those were the gist of two years, only because I had tried this thing that is called love.I was regressing into my early 20s. Where I repeated the same patterns over different men. I caught a break in my mid twenties and everything was put to an end. I found myself doing that again. Professionally successful; personal life a mess, looking for love from those who were unable to give love, feeling unworthy, bored, and utterly unable to change my pattern.

Occasional inspirations found from one or two glimpses into someone's soul and we connected on occaion.

But the rest of it just felt forced. Everything. People. Events. Images.

I had written something to the last person I wanted to say goodbye to. It had been a good run. He was good for a purpose. I was not in the right space. I met him when I was trying to stop loving someone else. I met him when I was forcing myself to forget.

But here is the thing. We must move on. We must gather ourselves and get over what is needed to get over. And move on. We can't use others as crutches. We have to learn to face our own demons and resolve our own issues.

My determination is simple. I want to move on. I will move on. I will close this chapter for good. No more flings, affairs and other unnecessary headaches or heartaches. I have to move on.

I want this to be the end. An end to remember. And I shall live a clean, functional, real life from now on. This is the end.

I have to be me. I will shut down the sexual part of me, so that I could find the other wholesome side of me. This is the price I must pay. And I am ready to face the music.

The final goodbye

I had ordered you a birthday present, it's now en route to your office. I felt that you had purchased me gifts in the past, and had been rather generous with me, I wanted in some way to be even. I had gotten gift certificates to Harbin retreat for your Christmas, and I realized that you would never want to go away with me, so I felt that I owed you something.  I did not like to owe anyone anything. 

In my nearly two years of interaction with you, I had hoped for a few basic things: a weekend brunch, going out with you and meeting some of your friends, and finally, perhaps a day date, and an out of town trip. None of which was realized. I never thought that I'd hang on for so long, in hoping that day would come. I had wished for it so much so, that sometimes I turned those thoughts into vivid dreams and had thought they did already happen. For instance, I had in my head that we shared a cup of morning coffee on a Sunday, in your neighborhood cafe. That never happened. When did I become delusional? How could I be the person I had become? I've stuck around for two years for you, yet my most basic wish had not been realized, I had never gone to breakfast with you, never had coffee with you, never met any of your friends, never went out during broad day light, never had an overnight trip, never went away, NEVER EVER. And I finalized realized none of which was ever going to happen with me and you. 

I realized just recently that perhaps my fantasies were simply just fantasies and your intent was never more than just a quick lay. It's not easy for me to come to that conclusion, I had refused to feel that way because I thought that I was special. I couldn't imagine me being just one of your conquests, despite my cynical attitude and logical sense, I thought, that you had cared about me in some ways and in some capacity I meant something. I was not just some random bimbo, I had a professional life, I was worldly, smart, kind, generous, and I was pretty. I had never met a guy who had told me that he loved me, and wanted to be with me always, asking me to leave my family, and then simply disappeared, over and over again. NEVER, EVER.

When I had my second nervous breakdown back in early March, I went to see my therapist and she said that perhaps you did care in your own ways, and I started shaking and told her to stop. The only way to expunge you from my head was to believe that you never cared, and I meant nothing. I told her that. I stopped seeing her in part she was angry that I went back to you. I told her that you had an invisible pull and I couldn't escape even if I wanted to. 

I knew that you were terribly good at blocking any emotions. I was very attracted to that. Part of me felt that perhaps you did care, and part of me simply felt that I was being an idiot for believing that I meant something to you. I was at odds with the two parts of me, but I knew rationally you never did care. 

I had been seeing this guy. He's got a girlfriend whom he'd been involved with for a few years, on and off. He did not talk to her during the week, and he did not email her either. They'd make these quick arrangement so that he could see her and bang her on occasion. I asked why he was not more involved with her, like doing things and developing a real relationship by introducing her to his friends,etc., he said that he didn't want her to bug him too much, and it was taxing and difficult when dealing with her because "she starts to expect things out of me if I showed any sign of affection or allowed her into my life more. It gives her ideas that I wanted more when I did not." He didn't really want a relationship with her. Not a real one anyway. On the contrary, I had already met his friends on several occasions. He'd told them about me, ever since the beginning, including my circumstances.They had welcomed me into their worlds. They liked me despite of my circumstances. He was proud of me. He talked to me fairly regularly, on the phone or via emails. He and I argued about things, we did things on weekends or during week days, he controlled how often we saw each other, but it was not weeks or months. It was more or less once a week. In the much shorter period of our interaction, I told him about my past, and I showed him places I liked to visit, and music I liked to listen. We went to events and places. I had taken him to restaurants I used to eat at in Richmond, he was curious about my past, my life as a child, and he was open about sharing me his. He never bailed on any date, or events I set up, which you did frequently. 

When I saw his best friend at an event recently, he asked me if I had gone to sleep at 12, because he just assumed that I was sleeping over. I did not. I went to my own place. I knew then that he knew I was his friend's girl. I was talking to his female friend, who already welcomed me into her world, befriended me and asked me to join her at a music venue this week, and she said, "you know him in some ways more than I do." I asked him if he had told them about me, and he said, yes, everything. They knew of my circumstance, yet they still welcomed me into their world. They liked me. They talked to me, and they introduced me to his other friends, they genuinely accepted me. That was lovely. It was lovely because I meant something to him, important enough that I was being introduced to his friends, and that he wanted me around his friends. It never happened to us. You and I. You never wanted me to be seen in the broad day light. You were ashamed of me, You did not think I was worthy of your real life, your friendship and your circle of friends. You had no regard, no respect for me. Yet I waited, and put up with you, hoping that one day you'd see me for who I was really, and change your mind. I was tired of waiting. Finally I had enough. 

I realized that his treatment of me and his girlfriend was quite different. I felt that he and I could go on for a while, because he made me accessible to his friends and that meant that I was not just some chick he banged on occasion. 

I started to draw similarities between this woman's situation with him and my relationship with you. I began to realize that perhaps the reason I had never spent any substantial time with you, met your friends, or gone away with you for a day or a weekend, was because you simply did not like me that much. You liked me in your bedroom, alone, and you got tired after the sex was over, you never talked to me about your work, your life, or your travel. You never took my calls. You never asked me about my life. You didn't care for me to enter your real life, because you didn't really want me to be part of it.

Realizing that made it easier for me to move on from this relationship I had with you, which was secretive and marginalized. The devastating thing of it all, was how you lied to me. The lines you fed me, how much you loved me, how you wished that I could go away and be with you, how beautiful I was, how perfect we were for each other, every single line you fed me, you fed to others, it was the way for you to retain me, to keep me where you wanted, and it meant absolutely nothing, yet, having left the dating world 14 years ago, I had forgotten how treacherous the dating world was, and how deceitful men could be, you, could be.  I couldn't believe how much I believed it. You had never ever wanted me more than an occasional lay. 

That was really why I could never get hold you, speak to you, or have coffee with you. You never could see me as a friend. You could careless if I existed or not, I was a convenience to you. Why and how could you be so cruel? Why did you lie so much so often? Why did you treat me like a used rag? And more importantly, why did I put up with all of your bullshit?!

I know that you must have that person in your life, the person whom you are proud to show off to your world, the person whom you could talk to on the phone with and email with, the person whom you drank morning coffee with. It was never going to be me, and you never wanted me to find out. Just like this other man I started to see occasionally, while he did not mind me finding out about his other girlfriend, he had no intention for her to find me out, because she would "flip out". He said. I imagined you told your true girlfriend about me, and you guys would laugh, and she'd say to you, "Why haven't you told her about me?" And you'd say, "I was afraid that she'd flip out. I would just stop seeing her. She's not you, baby. I love you. She's some married woman with kids, she meant nothing." 

And you stopped with me. Just like that. You were gone.

Just like that, I was moving on.

I was appreciative of you. You taught me how to love again. I was no longer bitter or sad. I was happy that we'd crossed path, again. You taught me that I should stop listening to what men had to say to me, but observe what they did to me or for me. 

Never ever a brunch on a lazy Sunday morning. Never ever a proper photo of the two of us. Never ever a party where I was introduced to your friends. Never ever a short get away. Never ever a trip taken afar like we used to fifteen years ago. Never ever going to be another birthday celebrated or Valentine's Day or Christmas holiday. 

Never a future. Never snow covered path with northern lights, hand in hand. 

We could never have a future because we never had a present.

People told me that I was a desirable woman.  I could share a morning coffee with someone in a local cafe. I could meet his friends and their children. I could walk to Golden Gate Park on a sunny Saturday afternoon with him, hand in hand, I could take him to my favorite restaurant in Richmond, I could tell him my childhood stories. He would listen, and knew who I was behind the shell.

He would tell me that he used to do photography in the middle school, he would tell me his years spent in Boston as a college and graduate student, he would tell me about his childhood growing up with two sisters in the suburb of America,  he would tell me about his friends - Ken, Peter, Frank, Michael, Sarah and all those other people were up to, he would argue with me about a movie we saw together - I loved it, he hated it, he would tell me about the calls he got that day, from his dad and mom, and why his sister should give up her unrealistic expectation of finding a solid man, his trips made to other parts of the world. He would never tell me that he loved me. But every action he took, every moment he spent with me, would make me realize that perhaps he did, or could, possibly, in the future. And if he did not, it would be OK as well. I would not have cared that much. Because I would not have loved him. I should not give out my love so freely. I learned to protect myself, finally.

Eventually I would come to my senses, and realize why this final goodbye was warranted. Finally I'd understand why I should never ever see you again. You were not good for me. You were not good to me. I would realize that it was no longer worth it. I had loved you. You squandered my love and abused my trust. 

You never did care about me.

I meant absolutely nothing to you.

I needed not to be reborn this time. I needed not to be reinvented. I was always me.

And this was the final goodbye.