"Excuse me, can I ask you something?" He approached and I smiled already knowing what he was about to say. "Is that poem real? I mean based on a real story?" The 14 year old I used to be would dance around the truth and explain that was just a mere expression of what goes on in this world to save face. The 24 year old that I am no longer hides. It has become my philosophy to be me all the way. To not hide in fear of my opinions, thoughts, feelings, expressions. If it bothers someone, so be it. Why does the world hold the right to express themselves so clearly (and rudely) to me, yet I have no right to be honest?
"Yes, it is." His eyebrows raised. His eyes widened. "Wow...um...well." Speechlessness floated across his mind, while every ounce of speech drowned in mine. "You didn't like it? I heard you say something right at the end there." He blinked. "No, no, I was kidding. It's just that was intense you know. The anger. The emotion." The innocence or malice that dripped from my smile completely mimicked irony as he spoke to me of something that no one would smile of. I felt like the Grinch smiling in an evil like manner at something that didn't deserve smiling, but the truth was I proudly believed that I should be honored at such words. Not only have I mastered leaving an impression, on a man no less, but I got my message across! Why can Taylor Swift publicly express her anger in cheesy lyrics and state that men shouldn't near her if they don't want to be "track number 12" but I can't? How does poem number 237 differ from track 12?
Four years ago I worked with a man who was obsessed with Kanye West. To me that man is like hearing a cat scraping its awful white nails across the blackest and driest of chalkboards. It's not his voice...it's everything else. But four years ago he released a song that this coworker always had on repeat, "Heartless." By the 15th time of hearing it, it rubbed off on me. Not the beat. Not the singer. Just those lyrics. While people heard it, nodding their heads to the tune of the bass and sympathizing with West on his heartache, I envied the woman he was singing of. "The coldest story ever told...a woman so heartless."
And there I was, driving home after a long day, uttering simple words of a wish I didn't know would come true just a mere year and a half later and last for almost a full three years after that. "I wish I could be that girl that Kanye sings of, the heartless one that could make such an impression. At least then I will be remembered...and safe!" The magic lamp had been rubbed. The words spoken. The heart erased. And once upon a time I awoke heartless.
When he let me go, I changed. A lot. I'm sure deep down at the pit, in my core, an essence of who I am remains, but everything else changed with his absence. I learned to become...heartless. I learned to keep it from healing into a whole object again and let it be. Broken. Dysfunctional. A robotic shamble of pieces mechanically beating because that is their essential duty and nothing further. I learned to be tougher, in the worst of ways. I learned to stand up for myself and no longer take any abuse. So I was suddenly being courageous enough to defend myself with my boss. To say, "No," when necessary and explain my discomfort if needed. I was brave, so much so that we ended up clashing and I had to quit. Never in my life did I quit something, and suddenly it was becoming a habit. I learned to no longer take any crap from the so called friends I thought I had. And so I found myself shying away from them the more they appeared disloyal and careless. And every man that came into my life I pushed away, because he wasn't...him. But I also pushed them away because I was afraid each one would be him. The metaphorical sense of potential disaster and ache that cannot even be put into adjectives because of how horrifically painful it all was. So I learned to be, alone. Safe, protected, and miserably alone. And I realized that when you finally stand up for what you deserve, you get nothing!
They told me, "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger." (Dang it, another Kanye reference!) What they forgot to mention was that for some reason, what doesn't kill you may only make you more evil. Harden your heart. Change your perspective. Manipulate your reality into a nightmare. Hinder your potential to thrive. And that's what happened to me. The metamorphosis I unconsciously endured after his blessed departure.
Six years ago, sitting with a group of my girlfriends, trying to avoid the horrid heat of Irvine, a friend of my mother's approached me and began complimenting me on how I had "blossomed" into a beautiful woman (a.k.a. puberty had finished running its entire course and now I was beginning to show my potential birthing hips that she could recommend to all hunting suitors - no joke). When we began discussing the recent trend in my peers finding their "perfect matches" and marrying, she immediately tacked on the infamous, "Your time will come soon."
Six years ago I was naive. I wanted love. I wanted a man in my life. And so I said, "Inshallah." (Inshallah means, "God willing," in Arabic, but I must have not "wished" those words because they didn't come true). Her facial expression distorted upon my innocent yet sincere words. Instead she replied, "Well maybe you should tone down that arrogance then, hmm?" I didn't realize that putting my faith in prayer to God to bring me my soul mate was arrogance, but apparently I was wrong. But now, six years later, I am more than ready to oblige to make her assumption a reality. Arrogance. Confidence. Me. Why not? After all, what remains?
Why not believe I am worthy of most if not all? Why not demand my rights, even if I get nothing? I've witnessed enough women who devolve upon their brainwashed mentality post-love and they forget who they ever were and intended to do with their lives. Their education. Their ambitions. Their dreams. Girls that I had spent years with, hearing about their visions and plans, and it all gets thrown away on a white dress, a big ballroom, and years of complaining thereafter. It's a turn off that I can't support. I want to see a woman who finds a man that only supports her of her dreams. Proves to her that upon their union, things won't change for the worse, nor will she be forgotten. But he will be a perfect scaffold to hold up her principles. I guess that is something overreaching these days? (I bet you were about to roll your eyes at the word "perfect" weren't you? Ha! No one is perfect.) So I find myself drifting away from the girlfriends I once knew as they try and show me the beauty of bubbly love where imaginary hearts twirl above our heads as we go cake tasting, wedding dress shopping, in-law gift shopping, and so on and so forth. The sadder part is that the crash from that high they are in may be far more painful than that crash I felt when he let me go. At least there was no ring on my finger to remove; no awful tan line to physically remind of what once was.
It probably is selfish to say all this, but then again, it's what's become of me. At first I told myself to keep away from the toxicity of the environment around me, to watch out for the dangers of getting sucked in. And all this to only discover that I've been infected with another disease all along. As tacky as it may seems, it reminds me of that Black Spiderman. All it took was one touch and I was a goner. Slowly becoming comfortable in this indulgence of carelessness and arrogance. Believing that I deserved something when nothing came. But when I wanted to slow down, take a breath and reconsider this new philosophy, all I could conjure up was this:
With every connection, relationship, friendship I always gave. I gave all of me. Everything I could. My time. My money. My sincerity. My efforts. My love. My heart. My mind. My ideas. My loyalty (yeah, that's a big one). My commitment. And I never asked for anything in return because I decided to wait. Patience is a supposed virtue? I thought deep down if they love me (friend/guy/relative/etc.) they will remember at some point. When it didn't come I put the blame back on me and said it was selfish to anticipate anything in return. Love isn't about taking is it?
I learned that lesson the hard way. Let's face it. That unconditional "I don't need anything from you" thing is bull. We are all humans. And it's only human nature to desire some form of reciprocation or acknowledgement or appreciation. So it was only human nature to feel worthless with the way it all dwindled. Because I used to never go down without a fight. Trying and trying again to grab hold of whatever could be salvaged until I finally awoke to the realization that I was cheap (in their eyes). And so I stopped. Stopped everything with everyone.
Pulled away from the society I thought I knew. Pulled away from the friends I grew up to. Pulled away from the idea of love and its twisted fairytale delusion. That's when I discovered that to be remembered, you must be forgotten. And to be cared for, you must become careless. It's this sick game of life. Men want the chase. Apparently friends want it to. I surfaced from hibernation at a few events recently and people had to actually take a few seconds to recognize me. "Where have you been?" I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. What excuse did I have? I couldn't find a job. Post-graduate schools had been as good as men in rejecting me. So where have I been when I RSVPd no to every invite?
The truth? On what seems to be an everlasting trip of self rediscovery. Swaying back and forth like a ship lost at sea wondering who I will become internally as well as externally. A long time ago I put this community at the forefronts of my to do list. I wanted to work for it. Give them all that I had. Help them with my studies. Be a part of them forever. Even, dare I say, marry from within to stay grounded and raise a family here. And if the latter was a fail, I urged in hopeful prayer that God would send someone who didn't mind moving here. Well, a majority of that has changed as I found myself quickly distancing from the "here" crowd to find new ones. New friends. New connections. Even new men.
It seemed the oldies were not into me or what I had to say or do or feel. They still aren't actually, even though now they somewhat seem to value my presence as I appear here and there after a long long absence. But what good does that do as it remains a shallow expression of, "Oh, hey, it's been forever. Hope all is well." Well, all is surviving, if it matters to you. I've learned what independence means and apparently the world is cruel enough to define it as: Knowing what you deserve and realizing that you'll get none of it...while the world thinks you are just an over emotional female that needs to be broken in by marriage ASAP.
