If you lose, I haven’t won

He was an incredibly smart person. Thorough, quick, logical. Anything he did, his mind was two steps ahead but still expansive enough to sufficiently consider his bases.

But when it came to the ins and outs of our relationship he was steps behind. It was disheartening, he couldn’t see the practicality of what he was doing with me. Loving me within his boundaries.

Maybe he didn’t want to think about it because he was worried if he did, and he still didn’t know how to fix us, that would mean he had lost.

I thought I needed to stay around, as he took some distance, let him figure things out. As if there was one puzzle piece lost amongst a handful of others, and he would eventually find it. He would fit us back in. He would not lose this.

But there was no piece lost, it was always missing. We alluded to it’s lack of existence, we just couldn’t admit it had never been there.

Miss Mess

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2017, a year in review

Some people are so attached to their significant other that they are nothing without them, that they feel like they are nothing without them. I never learnt that, never experienced it. I am nothing with someone. I have never known the feeling of being someone more. I am always just, on my own.

Well, then I met him in San Francisco. I was everything and more with him. He made me be more. Better, kinder, smarter. Quick to talk and feel and want everything and anything beyond my reach.

Miss Mess


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A short story about separation

[from A’s memory]: She looked me in the eye and told me how much my words hurt her, how my actions and lack of effort effectively left her feeling unwanted. That our time spent together, she could only cringe when remembering: what we did, what we didn’t, how I seemed impassive. I watched a single tear roll down her cheek and I felt the cold blow of reality hit me across the face.

I wasn’t completely oblivious, despite what I portrayed, my carefree mannerisms. Under the surface our problems had been on my mind for some time; but right then, hearing her say them out loud, and seeing her so beautiful and vulnerable in front of me, I felt so unreservedly ashamed.

For a while now, I had realised my mistakes, I had wished I had acted differently, but bad habits and male ego are something so thickly etched within our personalities that they are impossible to get away from. Until we finally look up and see the result of our actions piercing our heart with honest words. Until it was too late.

I tried to reach for her soft hands, but she moved them off the table, away from me. I searched her face to answer her confusion as to how we had gotten to this endlessly distant place. I found it hard to express myself but attempted to, I tried to formulate my sentences. Opened my mouth to start, closed it. I wanted to tell her she had been continuously on my mind, wanted to tell her I’m sorry for the way I had made her feel. I needed to make it all better, I needed to make her feel better. She put her finger to my lips. I closed my mouth, my words unformed; I slumped back into my chair. She was oblivious to the spark that ran down my body, as her touch brought back all the memories. She shook her head, I saw the lump in her throat. I lost all my words.

In that moment, I saw the full extent of her pain; her closed heart as she looked listlessly into my eyes, said a resigning ‘oh well’ without ever speaking the words. She stood up to leave. I couldn’t concentrate, she was saying her goodbyes, I racked my brain to understand how we had gotten here, how such friendship and longing for one another had ended so abruptly; how I was suddenly so immobile, so lost for words, for action. I wanted to tell her how I felt, to pull her into me, to stop her from walking away. But she wouldn’t give me the chance. Somehow she was slowly disappearing into the crowd.

[from my memory]: I walked away from him. Each step was the hardest I had ever taken in my life. My feet felt heavy and my legs shaking as the finality of the situation consumed me. Head down I moved through the crowd, everyone was a blur. With every breath I took, my tears collected in a pool in my eyes. I tried to stare at the exit so I didn’t crumble and turn around, beg him to want me, to hold me, to make everything okay again. My confidence shattered, my throat raw from last night’s shouting. I was both physically and emotionally seconds away from crashing to the floor.

Despite expecting too much from him, I could not believe the nerve of him to just watch, to not make me listen to his reasoning. Even if it was me who had silenced him, he stayed impassive, still, like his usual self, wall-like, ignorant.

However hard it was to see any glimmer of good in my current state, I knew I had done the right thing. Love or not, nothing should be this painful. Being the bigger person is never easy; spilling your heart out is even harder; worse yet being met with immature silence. But seeing it in this light, admitting the reality of his personality, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I knew it was time to move on, and I was happy it was done. I could now start the healing process, and stop blaming myself for things not working out. His reserve was terribly heart-breaking; his ability to remain seated and not stop me walking away was beyond accepted norms. That was the final harsh slap I needed to be able to step out. That is who he was and not what I wanted.

That’s what he never realised.

Miss Mess


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Did you develop a bad habit because of a past negative experience?

2 years post London; 6 years pre San Francisco:

whenever i get annoyed at you, i start missing you within the hour and i forget all about your hurful behavior. i tell myself to ‘be cool’, to not say anything because you don’t like it. and i pretend that all the fleeting fun times we had together, makes me happy. but unfortunately it was never enough for me. the day i tried to tell you that you hurt me, you wouldn’t listen to me.

during the week it’s easy for me to stop loving you. it’s easy-er to be okay with not seeing you. but those five days building make me give you everything by Thursday evening.

my tears are flowing continuously now. if only i could express myself. if i could just stop these sporadic tears. talk and tell you about the crushing.

how is there so much to tell you when i start talking to you in my head, but all these words seem immaterial after you take me to dinner and ask me to sit next to you.

i imagine i know what i want, that exact feel of your hand on my neck in a secret moment. but does that fleeting shiver really make me happy? you know i just can’t bare to lose you, but i know i can’t continue in the shadows of your rare moon either. does this mean i should leave you?

tell me who made you feel that way?
tell me why you would do this to others?
tell me who else has been here.

Miss Mess


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An oldie, but goodie

Here is your ending. You will walk there too.

It was like we both happened to be walking in the same direction, against the whispers of the wind, parallel to the rising ocean. It was a beautiful sunny day, we hadn’t planned to meet, or to trail side by side on that promenade. We were both headed that way, and soon we naturally fell into step. Our footsteps tapped at the same time, our stride equal. It felt odd at first, like one of us had to speed up without making it offensive, just to mitigate any mindless awkwardness. And the other felt a surprising urge to keep the pace, lest we lose that destined harmony. So eventually, we both relaxed and allowed what was happening, the path we were walking, to take its course. Neither of us had any meaning by it, any plan for when we reached a crossroad, any thought beyond being in-tune.

Those walks didn’t last. I fell in love with something in him. He fell in love too, I never found out how deeply, but he loved me, that much I know.

Whenever I spoke about him to others, I truly believed people wouldn’t understand the relationship we had, and the feelings we shared. We didn’t have anything beyond the ordinary, or even extraordinary; but it felt like what we had was more special than what others had. Of course I knew millions of people around the world had been similarly in love, were in love; I understood that, but I still believed something more in us; like what we had between us was unique. Unexplainable. Exact.

Months later, after the rose colored tint faded, I realized everybody thinks that about their relationship. Especially the days after they lose it, in those periods they feel like they’re fighting for it. This inexplicable, deep, connection of their two hearts.

Miss Mess


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Please tell me what I should do

We’re halfway into our relationship, and I’m helpless.

I saw what life is like without you.
And all I want is: you.
The only person I think about being with is: you.

It’s true, really. Sure, I wonder about someone from my culture, and consider the introductions, the simplicity, and imagine laughing at their charm, but they are tidbits, not enough, not loyal, intelligent, generous, in love, with me.

I wish we could go back to how things were.
Just like the Royals, back to July ’16.
And the fun months that preceded.
Dinners as friends that turned into dates, drinks with friends that turned into dates. Our unplanned trips spontaneously to LA. Mornings and nights of multiple rounds. God you were the best.
The ease of knowing nothing, being consumed in your everything.

That was before I stumbled, exaggerated and crumbled it all.
I was so scared of loving you, so scared of having my heart broken;
So it made sense, I cracked it myself.
I couldn’t endure the loneliness that seemed bound.
Well its bound.

And now I’m obsessed, but I need distance.
I want babies, but I can’t fathom a happy aisle.

And I don’t know if we’ll recover if we break up again. Again.
I don’t want to show you my soul, then runaway, then 3 months later come back to you again.

Can you do the thinking, this time too.
Can you just tell me what we should do.

Miss Mess

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A trip back home

Let me explain the process:

You feel this insurmountable happiness in your heart.
You rest your eyes and smile with peace, knowing that they are waiting for you.
The flight, the walk through the terminals, the faces of the other passengers, you radiate euphoria.
And when you see them, your heart literally bursts into crackles of joy, upon joy, and joy.
And every minute is just comfortable, weightless, eternal
It’s just the feeling of home
It’s hugs that give you light
It’s conversations that leave you in head-shaking smirking aw
Affection for you as you are.

It’s, everything.
And that continues cozy and endless for two weeks, maybe three, if you’re lucky.

Then as if abruptly, as if all those days of heat and rest that were passing so slowly, suddenly end in a heartbeat. You fly back. Miles and miles away.
Catch a morning flight, thinking you need to land at a decent time. Get back to real life at a decent hour.
And as soon as you’re on that plane, you’re alone again. Exactly as you were before the trip. Well this time you have more baggage, you’re carrying an extra weight of loss. A mirage of happy days that never seemed to have occurred.

Back at your house, day after day, all you feel is empty.
Lost and trodden and shivering.
Going about your life, so far away from the warmth and ease.
Trying to rid yourself of the glow that softened your sharp edges.
Gradually you become numb, teaching your brain to accept the circumstance.
You try to cut down on the phone calls, distract yourself, do the things you never had time to do. Well you never do them. But you do build distance.
And you start to acclimate, creating a wall to hide the loss inside of you.

Until six months later, beneath the wall, you start to bleed pain. You need a trip back home again to stop the darkness. The wallowing loneliness. And then, the process starts anew.

Miss Mess

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