Sorry internet for the delayed writing. It's not that I had forgotten to write, but I think more now and write less now.
A wise man said this to me once, "If you have nothing pleasant to say, say nothing at all."
I've been practicing that mantra. At work, in personal life, even when I'm alone. I try to think of a nice, pleasant way to describe things, a situation, an event, a person, and if that fails in my head, I think some more, and when all the thinkings are exhausted, and nothing good came out of that, I park it and move on.
It helps because I think anger is a wasted energy. Hatred too, for that matter. We all have to learn to move on from people, from situations and from our own past. But we all do that in different ways. Some men find women who are like their mothers, so that they could relive that trauma or abuse; some men find women who are totally different from their mothers, so that they could break free and be their own person. Some men had fond memories of their kind mothers, and they treat women nicely not for show or for pursuit but because that's how they feel towards women who reminded them of their mothers. At the end of the day, how you are and who you become as a man are tightly related to how your mother raised you as a child.
I hope to be a good mother to my son. Loving but not without discipline. I hope he's strong and confident and self sufficient. I hope he finds his mother loves him and gives him plenty of space to grow into a young man.
I have not succeeded in all of my endeavors. I failed pretty miserably in the adult love department. The only feeling that could describe how I feel is how humiliated it had made me feel. The man who I thought loved was not who he was, but beyond that, I am nothing to him either.
One moment he said that he loved me, the other he tried to erase me out of his life. He's ashamed of being seen with me, being with me, and he's ashamed of his desire for me.
I always thought that I could pick up the phone and talk to him, like that we were adults, but I couldn't because I realized that none of that made any sense. There was never any communications involved. I simply was not important enough. I had to believe that somewhere deep in his soul he loved me, or I had wasted my time all those years, but is it possible that I chose to believe it or I'd feel even like a bigger fool?
I think at some point, we are all just very exhausted. I'm exhausted from being so invisible and chasing a ghost. He's exhausted from all the anxiety I had given him. No one really needs this any more. I've been chasing a ghost. All is well in the end. Ghost vanishes. I'm left with nothing to chase. I'm returning to the normal. He's no longer in my life.
I purge images, emails and memories out of my head, body and soul, and in the end, I remember nothing at all. My undying love stay unclaimed and forgotten. He was not really there to begin with. His feelings, no matter how much I thought were genuine, were simply mood enhancers in the bedroom, declared by whispering into my ears just before he climaxed. Me feeling ridiculous at the end of all this was the only thing that was real.
Next time I run into him in those frequent streets and shared neighborhood, we are perfect strangers.
A wise man said this to me once, "If you have nothing pleasant to say, say nothing at all."
I've been practicing that mantra. At work, in personal life, even when I'm alone. I try to think of a nice, pleasant way to describe things, a situation, an event, a person, and if that fails in my head, I think some more, and when all the thinkings are exhausted, and nothing good came out of that, I park it and move on.
It helps because I think anger is a wasted energy. Hatred too, for that matter. We all have to learn to move on from people, from situations and from our own past. But we all do that in different ways. Some men find women who are like their mothers, so that they could relive that trauma or abuse; some men find women who are totally different from their mothers, so that they could break free and be their own person. Some men had fond memories of their kind mothers, and they treat women nicely not for show or for pursuit but because that's how they feel towards women who reminded them of their mothers. At the end of the day, how you are and who you become as a man are tightly related to how your mother raised you as a child.
I hope to be a good mother to my son. Loving but not without discipline. I hope he's strong and confident and self sufficient. I hope he finds his mother loves him and gives him plenty of space to grow into a young man.
I have not succeeded in all of my endeavors. I failed pretty miserably in the adult love department. The only feeling that could describe how I feel is how humiliated it had made me feel. The man who I thought loved was not who he was, but beyond that, I am nothing to him either.
One moment he said that he loved me, the other he tried to erase me out of his life. He's ashamed of being seen with me, being with me, and he's ashamed of his desire for me.
I always thought that I could pick up the phone and talk to him, like that we were adults, but I couldn't because I realized that none of that made any sense. There was never any communications involved. I simply was not important enough. I had to believe that somewhere deep in his soul he loved me, or I had wasted my time all those years, but is it possible that I chose to believe it or I'd feel even like a bigger fool?
I think at some point, we are all just very exhausted. I'm exhausted from being so invisible and chasing a ghost. He's exhausted from all the anxiety I had given him. No one really needs this any more. I've been chasing a ghost. All is well in the end. Ghost vanishes. I'm left with nothing to chase. I'm returning to the normal. He's no longer in my life.
I purge images, emails and memories out of my head, body and soul, and in the end, I remember nothing at all. My undying love stay unclaimed and forgotten. He was not really there to begin with. His feelings, no matter how much I thought were genuine, were simply mood enhancers in the bedroom, declared by whispering into my ears just before he climaxed. Me feeling ridiculous at the end of all this was the only thing that was real.
Next time I run into him in those frequent streets and shared neighborhood, we are perfect strangers.
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