When I was a child I’d look around and see a sea of people just like me.
Eyes like stormy skies and hair washed in the light of the sun
Now, today, when I stand and glance at the colors of my world I look back at a childhood as whitewashed as Huck Finn’s fence
In my new, rainbow tinged world, I stand alone
In my solitude I think of the home I used to know
Filled with people who looked just like me
Then I look outward and see my new home
The home I built
It is full of people that I love
It’s full of exotic eyes
That feel like home
Here’s what I didn’t say.
Babies come from hot nights and too many drinks.
Babies come from poor decisions, conversations with girlfriends in bathrooms packed with other women with makeup slowly running down their faces, and from packed clubs full of sweaty, straining bodies.
Babies come from broken condoms, and “I’m on the pill” and “I’ll pull out” and screams of “Oh God!! Do it!!!”
I won’t tell her that babies are made amidst moans of pleasure and hands sliding over bare skin, and open mouth kisses that taste of toothpaste and lust.
I didn’t mention that babies are created in a moment of fractured ecstasy where you belong to another; body and soul.
A time when a woman’s body is punctured and stroked and strains to join with that of a man.
Babies begin in online dating forums where lonely people look to meet each other for a night or a weekend or a lifetime and you can’t who is worth spending time with and who is going to become your next stalker.
Sometimes babies are made by ticking clocks, charts and graphs and monitors. Injections and schedules. Microscopes and doctors.
Babies can be made of desperation, “don’t leave me,” and empty marriages made of people with empty eyes who look to fill their lives with someone else’s.
Babies can be born of love, hate, loneliness, fear, boredom, and lust.
That’s where babies come from.
I’m laying here, boiling in a broth of my own making
Locked in my little corner of the world
Isolated as if this room were an island far removed from the “regular” world
And in this room I look and catalogue my faults
List my should do’s
Alphabetize my failures
And look at a unsure future in which I am terrified and tired of each and every moment of decision
I am paralyzed by my own mistakes
So sure I will face another moment of not being good enough
And what, if there is such a thing, is good enough?
Who has ever attained such an ideal?
Why can’t I accept my flaws and recognize that the lines on my face were earned by surviving happy times… And bitter ones.
I have survived but have I began to live?
Hallmark cards and travel magazines and commercials for penis hardening meds say I haven’t.
I’ve never had a picture perfect family, taken incredible journeys where the tour I take isn’t on any map but was created by knowledgeable 200 year old locals who, by virtue of their foreignness, are way cooler than I, or had a romance where, after a decade together, he still wants to cuddle me in the light of a dying sun.
I am not the girl you see in those ads.
Mine is the face of a single mother who has been perpetually heartbroken for years and sees each moment as another reason I will be heartbroken again.
Afraid of love yet stupidly open to it.
Hopeful in spite of myself… I plunge ahead dodging bullets as they pass.
People say “when will you marry?”
I wonder when it will end.
So sure am I that I am not the one for anyone.
I sigh to myself and move forward because certain death is the end of the story and I’m not going to waste the writing of it… Even if it means surviving the lines and the heartache.
If you haven’t caught on by now, my life is ever changing. I’ve had friends note that my life has more drama than most soap operas… And they weren’t wrong. I try to ride the waves rather than swim against them. Sometimes that’s very hard to do.
I know many of you are from different countries but I’m sure you have heard about the housing issues the US is experiencing. A bit over a year ago, I rented a house and entered into a mutually beneficial if somewhat stressful living situation with my mother. She and I have an interesting relationship dynamic but that is fodder for another post. All was well until we found out that the people we were renting from (thru an agency) weren’t paying their mortgage. Now I have less than a month to find somewhere for myself and the kids to live. My mother has decided to part ways from us and move back to North Carolina. School teaching is not a lucrative position and I have been frantically trying to decide which type of Ramen noodles we will survive off of.
My boyfriend, being the amazing guy he is, has offered to move in with us… All of us. The man has balls of steel to be willing to do that!
Of course I’m totally terrified. I worry that moving in with me is going to break our relationship. There is nothing I would like less than that!
I grew up in a small town. We weren’t some all white community or anything… But our population consisted of mostly white, black, and Hispanic people. Although there were Asian and Indian (yes, I know India is part of Asia) students, there weren’t very many. I’ve never been shy about interracial dating but dating people of Asian descent is a recent thing for me.
When we are around other Asian families, we get looks. Especially from the older generation. I want to shout- Yes, I’m dating this man! Yes, I love him! We aren’t as interesting as you think so quit staring!
The thing about Asian culture is that it’s much more traditional than white American culture. The concept of a first born, successful son dating someone who is not also Asian is a problem for some families. It’s hard for people who were not raised in that culture to understand. Even harder is the level of respect to parental wishes that Asian children give to their parents.
The reason I tell you this is because my boyfriend told his parents about us today. On the 21st we will have been dating for 5 months. I wasn’t worried exactly… But I was concerned. I don’t know what would have happened if they were against the match. So far they are ok with things… But they don’t know about the kids. Baby steps.
I have, for as long as I can remember, hated people who blast their happiness everywhere they go. It’s in their overly lovey profile pics or in their sentimental posts. It’s in their beaming faces and heartfelt advice that seems a little too smug. Or that has been my perception. You see, I’ve never been one of the beaming masses. My marriage never put that goofy smile on my face that would denote lack of functioning brain cells in any other circumstance. I may have lightly touched the outer edges of the kind of love that makes one want to fight and believe again… But never have I stood in the sun and basked like a fat cat after a hearty meal and a relaxing scratch behind the ears. That is, until now.
I have caught myself doing the unthinkable. I have googled images like the one you see above to send to my boyfriend just because I need to tell him that I love him and that he’s on my mind. See! You hate me already! I get it. What happened to the bitter and interesting girl with the horrible dating profile pics and all the sarcasm? How did this stupidly emotional girl come from? She’s so gross… And yet happy and sweet. I even have a cute profile pic of us together..
Yup. When my ring tone for him becomes a love song… Or worse, something he played on the piano, shoot me. Ok… Well don’t do that. I mean, I’m pretty damn happy… And smug, I will admit.
Curses… See what happiness has done to me. Excuse me while I gaze lovingly at dried flowers that he has given me and ponder the wonder that is him. And don’t think I don’t know you are busy gagging over there!
It has been forever since I posted here. I’ve felt the lack keenly. I’ve avoided blogging because of simple superstition. It’s silly, I know. I just have felt that shouting happiness to the world would invite disaster. I’m not sure why I feel so strongly about this. Still, I’m determined to face up to my fears and fill the chasm once again with my words.
I made a wish here. I wished for a man to love me. One who would give as well as take. The inequity in my most recent relationships… The unwillingness to hold strong against challenges… Left me feeling empty like a deflated balloon. I felt sure that everyone I met would fit easily into the mold left by the pervious occupants. Every time I think I know something… And am so sure that I’m right… Life shakes me and reminds me that I’m no god. It is not my place to know everything. The best I can hope for is to be sure of myself and even that is challenging sometimes.
My wish was granted. It was unexpected and still surprises me to this moment. I met someone who dazzles. He has, from the moment we met, become a part of my life so deeply it seems that he has always been part of it. I have no idea if it will last or if I am, as usual, way too optimistic. However, I am hoping for a wish come true. Here’s to granted wishes!