(wrote this in 2014? 2015? i like how i wrote this)
And why do our stories matter? Not because of their rightness or their plot. Our stories matter for the richness of the human experiences they carry.
So I will write my story, I hope it will come out raw, naked, and for me to finally let go of what happened.
I met Alex at 5am at a friend's balcony under the shivering morning rain of Melbourne. Why that particular odd time and place, I will never know. All of us had a party and both of us, coincidently, couldn't sleep. So we walked out of the door one by one and started chatting away the boredom and the cold. I remembered that we both agreed that we wanted to travel the world, Melbourne wasn't enough.
That talk led to others, to beer nights beside the Yarra river, to warm cocktails on the rooftop of an indie bar on Fitzroy street... And we talked. We talked for endless hours, in both sober and tipsy minds, and I remember I thought to myself that this guy would be one important person in my life - someone I would like to keep in my life; because, hell, was he special. He was smart and funny and matured, with experiences and scars of a world I never knew before. It was 3 weeks before I left Melbourne, and I didn't have any intention of coming back.
We had the first date one week after we met. He was my first boyfriend and I was his 13th lover. There were so much differences in two person that we could have been, to say I am white and he is black wouldn't be much of a exaggeration. I wasn't sure of what was in my heart, and that's the first mistake from the series of things I have done wrong in the course of our days, that I have agreed to start it when I knew the fee 2 weeks left, and everytime we talked about the near future of whether I am coming back I cried, because I knew that my head said no and my heart wasn't too sure of this new feeling to said yes, but we have already built up so much memory for me to let go. I have already had his photo in my pocket, his kisses on my lips and his perfume on my shirt. So I went back home with tears in my eyes and unsure plan of the days we would meet again, and we started what others called Long Distance Relationship.
We argued a lot, more than once a week, two strong and stubborn heads are not meant to be together, yet we hang on and made up again every single time, feeling relieved and new as we knew something more about each other. I felt in love with him 1 month later, way later from the day I said the oh-so-very hard word of love (which is actually very easy to say, even when your heart doesn't say the same). It was after our first break up, when he patiently waited for my call everyday and said I can be raw with him and I started to believe so. I felt fulfilled, love was what I wanted all my life, I was beyond happy, I knew he was happy. We loved crazily and madly, kissing each others laptop screen several times a day during our Skype session. 4 hours difference was easy, we had each other.
After that, sun were shining less, birds were chirping less. We were still two hot-headed person, trying desperately to make it work. As I grew more attached I become more and more emotional dependent on him, if he was unhappy I would be even worse. I didn't realize it at that time, but maybe that was the start of the ending, where I lost myself and expected him to find it back for me.
We argued more after his visit to Vietnam. He was more busy and stressful than ever, and I realized that I was no longer something worth taking care of on his crazy schedule. We would talk and he would say he was so tired and mad at something, he would talk about dying and escaping and feeling utterly lost in his projects. I was confused and helpless, I was millions miles away, how can I even help? I would text him I love you without a reply, I would Skype just to see his tired face. My mood was up and down in this rollercoaster, with down deeper than up. I don't want to annoy him with my "woman anxiety", yet that unsure pain was hurting my chest and I broke down anytime a day. We were both tired. But noone said anything, I thought this would be over, and we would be back to the love we had before.
And you know, it didn't happen. The time we didn't talk grew longer. I saw him commenting on girls' facebooks when my texts were left hanging. I was so afraid of losing him the fear was kept burning in my throat and I couldn't even say that he wasn't in love with me anymore because maybe it was real. He talked about 'maybe we should stop, I am so tired' and I was crying 'no i will stay silent for now we will make it work'. At one point I sent him a message saying I couldn't make it alone if he wouldn't pay any effort, that he would treat me like someone he met on the street and ignored. I was hoping for a yes, he was looking for a no.
We broke up over Facebook messages. I remember I was crying too hard and my breathing was too messed up I couldn't feel anything for a second. The room was spinning. I typed madly all the words of love and promise and things we still can do and I still love him so much. He went on with his vacation trip in New Zealand, left me broken into pieces and pieces in blood and tears. I went on a trip with Te right after that, and silently cried behind his back while we were passing the sunset on Red River. It was unreal, it was too real.
We talked once more time after that. I wanted to make things clear, and I need more than a Facebook chat. When I asked him to call, he said 'I don't have anything to talk about, I am very busy I will have a meeting in 10 minutes'. I don't remember the talk, a lot of me crying and of him chanting about his suffering and busy-ness. My last words was don't forget me. And he shut the Facetime window.
I don't remember how long has it been. Two months? Three months? The last time I had my heart smashed and stain blood red on the sleeves. I am no longer her, yet I caught the image of her from time to time and I wept for her broken mirrors of memories. I saw him coming up on my Facebook sometimes, and it wasn't old enough for me to smile and wishes him the best of luck. It was both our faults, and it was over, I just wish it was that clear in my heart as in my mind. I am now at the place where I can finally at peace, with myself, giving all the love I should have given to myself and let her grow. Having your heart high, and then broken because of love wasn't easy, but it build you up as a person. Neverthenless, I am grateful that this happened, that I was once love and loved in return. You learn so much about yourself after you went through the stage of your lowest, darkest, saddest self.
