We went to an open air concert together, a cool evening in the middle of Summer, stood on a grass field surrounded by a faceless crowd. The singer, a renowned Quebecois singer from the eighties, sang...
For a few moments, there was but the singer on stage, the music, and my friend next to me.
As rudimentary as my French is, I could understand the lyrics. The words spoke to me, and my body swayed with the melody.
"Tonight love is in your eyes,
But tomorrow morning will you love me a little?
Tonight love is in your voice,
But tomorrow morning will you think of me? "
I stole a glance at him, and wondered whether the words too spoke to him. There was an awkward silence, or so it felt, as we both stood and swayed our bodies slowly to the sweet, bitter, bitter sweet, melody and words. He turned to me and said that the song was sombre. I smiled lightly, and said nothing.
The very night, we made passionate love, and were so into one another's bodies. He even whispered to me that everytime touching me feels like the first time... The passion, the dizzying romance, the slow yet building climax was so intense, so difficult, so very difficult to resist...
13 August 2011
12 August 2011
note to self
...and yet, the mind cannot be quietened, the thoughts keep on drifting, longings and loss keep on returning.
11 August 2011
Something inside
Something died inside me. Was that hope? Was that a dream? Was that a temporary longing and sense of belonging?
Something died inside me. Now it is clear: we are just friends now. Friends in the most encompassing sense of the world, friends who know so much, perhaps too much about one another... friends who feel so deeply for one another... Friends who have brought so much joy and pain and anger and longing into one another's lives. The kind of friends who seem unable to hate one another despite what we have put one another through. The kind of friends who love one another, but short of being lovers. Maybe that day may still come... I do not know, but now it is clear we are no more than just friends.
I can sit and listen, sit and hear him pour his heart out. For I am his friend, and he is mine. I can hug him, stroke his back, rub his face in a signal of my care and my concern for his wellbeing. And he can do the same too me. But te sexual tensions must die, must be suppressed.
I told him how much I love him, how I care about him so deeply. I have never ere felt this way about anyone. It is true. I have felt this way for such a long time.
But he loves another, he has ever since they first met. even though he chose to be with me at one point, he never could forget, he never could let go of the other person.
How deep is that love? How does that love he feels compare to the love he says he feels toward me? There are so many kinds of love. Love cannot be compared, cannot be measured.
However much it pains me, I let my friend go. As they say, you love someone so much you can only wish them happiness, wherever, with whomever he may find it. I have to bolden myself, strengthen my weak heart and mind and be strong... I wished him happiness, true happiness and freedom from all the complications we find ourselves entangled in...
I wish him that, even though it is hard, even though it hurts. And I know he once had to bear all that hurt and pain when I was not ready, not willing to be with him...
He too wished me so many times in the past genuine happiness and finding true love, even though deep down inside, in his throat, in his heart he hurt so much saying it, thinking it. And now I think I feel what he must have felt.
I kissed his tears, his salty, his sweet tears, looked into his beautiful eyes, felt his beautiful face with my fingers. One last look, one last feel to remember him by... I will remember, and I will treasure our beautiful moments together, throughout these past three years.
I'll be around, I said. And I promised to be there to hold him, to comfort him should he need me. I told him to call, to text, to write when he wants to, when he needs to. Because I want to e there for him, be there for him as he has been there for me for so long, so often.
And deep down I felt I could do that. Though time will tell how strong i truly am and whether I am truly capable.
You are in my heart...
You are on my mind...
breaking through
There are moments in life when you suddenly realise things and you break through... Break through the mysteries, the unanswered questions, break through the lies and hiding, break through those lingering feelings and longings.
Perhaps you don't break through completely, but you know you are taking the necessary steps to doing so. However much it hurts, however much your affection is for the comfort and familiarity of being with someone, you must let go. And i feel it, or perhaps I am concubcing myself that I feel that letting go, even though perhaps tonight, tomorrow or the year after I may be so filled and so exhausted by regret and guilt...
I dread to sleep alone tonight... I dread the dreams and the waking thoughts... I dread having to smile and put on a mask to the outside world and say that things are ok whenpeople ask how I'm doing.
But after the break through, it is time to collect yourself, to nurse yourself so that one day when I am ready, I can keep on walking...
Perhaps you don't break through completely, but you know you are taking the necessary steps to doing so. However much it hurts, however much your affection is for the comfort and familiarity of being with someone, you must let go. And i feel it, or perhaps I am concubcing myself that I feel that letting go, even though perhaps tonight, tomorrow or the year after I may be so filled and so exhausted by regret and guilt...
I dread to sleep alone tonight... I dread the dreams and the waking thoughts... I dread having to smile and put on a mask to the outside world and say that things are ok whenpeople ask how I'm doing.
But after the break through, it is time to collect yourself, to nurse yourself so that one day when I am ready, I can keep on walking...
10 August 2011
Mum home again
I cannot conceive, cannot imagine exactly went 'wrong', if anything. Mum spoke to me for over half an hour, telling me her side of the story. How they would cook such meagre portions that she was afraid to eat... how eventually they did not want to cook for her, and on various occasions told her to cook whatever she wants to eat... how, when brother is at work, my sister-in-law avoids mum and hides in her room... how sometimes they would go out in the weekend, and leave mum at home... She told me how on some days she would leave the house and stay out till the evening, coming home only when she had finished eating just to avoid the trouble of who will cook for whom.
Of course, it is all one side of the story. But I can imagine it happening, though I cannot comprehend how it can happen. I cannot comprehend how is it that only on the very last day, when they were taking mum to the airport, did they realise mum's arm is in a constant state of pain? Do they not see her discomfort? Do they not hear her moans if she does not take her six-hourly dosage of pain killers? Do they not care? Or are they just not as caring?
Mum is glad to leave Europe, she said, glad to be back in her own home. This trip made her realise many things, about herself, about my brother and the sister-in-law. And she said, which made me tear, how she appreciates how attentive and caring I was when she was with me... She still remembers how I used to buy so much fresh fruits and organic products and would make sure she eats and eats and eats.
Perhaps I do not know the dynamics of a married couple. And of course I do not know what it feels like to be caught in between your own mother and your wife. Sure, my brother works all day long, and is probably too tired most of the time to spend much time with mum... And to be fair, my sister in law is heavily pregnant, and I can only imagine that she's probably moody and insensitive these days.
...yet, how can mum feel so uncomfortable and disappointed being there? Sure she can be critical, maybe even overbearing at times that after a while it can get on your nerves. But she is our mother, and who knows when or if there will be a next visit...?
I would like to imagine, if one day I were to have a partner and a beautiful little home, I will continue to warmly open my home to my mother and try to make her as comfortable as she can be, just as I have done recently. I would do that all again, and not think it as too much trouble.
Despite all her complaints, mum sounded cheerful, and genuinely happy to be in the comfort of her own home, "without having to look at other people's faces" (meaning, not having to adjust to other people's moods or tempers).
"I'm glad you made it home safely," I said, "Now you can take care of yourself, eat whatever you like, do whatever you want."
And she promised me she will.
Homo@LV
I was surprised by the degree of intolerance and prejudice that still exists. Shocked at times even by the profanities and, literally, shit thrown at gays and lesbians as they attempt to march under heavy protection of the police. The situation was so severe during the first event in 2005 that they had to, like in the Middle Ages when people were facing persecution, seek refuge in a church.
But the documentary on Latvia's gay rights movement of the past five years or so shows how behind the country is compared to other parts of the world, yet also shows the promises of little steps of progress that are being made.
Barely a year after joining he European Union, the bloc which champions liberties, human rights and the protection of minorities, Latvia's first pride event would unveil a deep, deep divide in society. The opposing voices and opinions are like everywhere else: staunch supporters of traditional family values pitted against gays and lesbians who simply want to be accepted and recognised as equal members of the same society. A secular State by name, it is hinted, is perhaps not so secular after all, when the cardinal and priests attend political rallies.
One scene that was extremely moving was the marriage between a couple. Their love looks so genuine, their vows are the same sworn by any other couple before God. Yet, there are many who will quickly jump up and condemn their despicable 'behaviour'. Who has the right to come between two people and sour their relationship by denying them the right to be together? Why does it matter what one does in the privacy of their own homes and private lives? Fundamentally, why does it matter to anyone who you love, even if it is a person of the same sex? Yet, somehow, even in this day there are so many who cannot accept, cannot tolerate difference.
The struggle of the LGBT movement reveals an interesting social and political phenomenon, especially for a little nation where, having emerged from the clout of Communism and the Soviet Union two decades ago, national unity and identity building is still very much a predominant political agenda.
Yet, having overcome the threat from the "East", the political elite and clergy to drum up fears of national division by depicting homosexuality as an evil spreading in from the "West". Playing on people's ignorance and strong hold to tradition, homosexuality is portrayed as an ideology,the tide of which if not stemmed, will with the support of the European Union and its older, more liberal (and predominantly western) members, infiltrate and threaten to corrupt Latvian family values, social cohesion and children. The words that come out of anti-gay protesters are vile, coarse, and full of prejudice. To which gay activists and marchers respond by spreading happy greetings and love. Which will ultimately triumph in the end...?
The struggles of the gay community in Latvia are the the only ones in the world, for there are many places, in Asia, in Africa, and even in communities of supposed advanced and developed democracies of North America and Europe, where homosexuals must live in hiding or in shame. A member of the audience, a spokesperson of sorts who originally hails from Cameroon, gave a moving and inspiring speech... Love, be proud, celebrate, and remember. Think of those who day in, and day out, do not enjoy the same privileges and benefits of being able to openly love, of being proud of who they are, and who must deny an intrinsic sense of their humanity.
But the documentary on Latvia's gay rights movement of the past five years or so shows how behind the country is compared to other parts of the world, yet also shows the promises of little steps of progress that are being made.
Barely a year after joining he European Union, the bloc which champions liberties, human rights and the protection of minorities, Latvia's first pride event would unveil a deep, deep divide in society. The opposing voices and opinions are like everywhere else: staunch supporters of traditional family values pitted against gays and lesbians who simply want to be accepted and recognised as equal members of the same society. A secular State by name, it is hinted, is perhaps not so secular after all, when the cardinal and priests attend political rallies.
One scene that was extremely moving was the marriage between a couple. Their love looks so genuine, their vows are the same sworn by any other couple before God. Yet, there are many who will quickly jump up and condemn their despicable 'behaviour'. Who has the right to come between two people and sour their relationship by denying them the right to be together? Why does it matter what one does in the privacy of their own homes and private lives? Fundamentally, why does it matter to anyone who you love, even if it is a person of the same sex? Yet, somehow, even in this day there are so many who cannot accept, cannot tolerate difference.
The struggle of the LGBT movement reveals an interesting social and political phenomenon, especially for a little nation where, having emerged from the clout of Communism and the Soviet Union two decades ago, national unity and identity building is still very much a predominant political agenda.
Yet, having overcome the threat from the "East", the political elite and clergy to drum up fears of national division by depicting homosexuality as an evil spreading in from the "West". Playing on people's ignorance and strong hold to tradition, homosexuality is portrayed as an ideology,the tide of which if not stemmed, will with the support of the European Union and its older, more liberal (and predominantly western) members, infiltrate and threaten to corrupt Latvian family values, social cohesion and children. The words that come out of anti-gay protesters are vile, coarse, and full of prejudice. To which gay activists and marchers respond by spreading happy greetings and love. Which will ultimately triumph in the end...?
The struggles of the gay community in Latvia are the the only ones in the world, for there are many places, in Asia, in Africa, and even in communities of supposed advanced and developed democracies of North America and Europe, where homosexuals must live in hiding or in shame. A member of the audience, a spokesperson of sorts who originally hails from Cameroon, gave a moving and inspiring speech... Love, be proud, celebrate, and remember. Think of those who day in, and day out, do not enjoy the same privileges and benefits of being able to openly love, of being proud of who they are, and who must deny an intrinsic sense of their humanity.
09 August 2011
abuse of his care?
I just wanted to talk, really, just talk when he called just as I was ready to retire for the night. I just wanted to get my feelings and that sense of emptiness out of me.
But he insisted on coming over, in keeping me company, despite my protests not to. It's pouring rain out there, so heavy I can hardly see the houses across the street. But he insisted.
"You're my best friend!" he said. Best friends, ex-boyfriends, "special" friends... What we are are all these things, and much more. His insistence on seeing me was more than I could receive from anyone, more than i feel i deserve, more than I have ever received from anyone.
Touched, I truly am, yet I am also scared that I am abusing his care, exploiting his care and attention for my own benefit. Whatever we are to one another, he cannot always and forever be there to comfort me, to hug me when i'm feeling down. How far can I take and take without giving back?
And... And I have told myself so many times in the past: be strong, be independent, don't let others into my heart; don't let others make me feel vulnerable. But his care (and dare i say love) defies all that.
I told him I'll be alright, I just need some time alone, just need to sleep on my feelings, and they will go away. But he insisted on either coming over or me going to see him.
So I compromised, I gave into his care and eagerness to make me feel better, cheer me up and to make me feel less lonely.
Is it right?
But he insisted on coming over, in keeping me company, despite my protests not to. It's pouring rain out there, so heavy I can hardly see the houses across the street. But he insisted.
"You're my best friend!" he said. Best friends, ex-boyfriends, "special" friends... What we are are all these things, and much more. His insistence on seeing me was more than I could receive from anyone, more than i feel i deserve, more than I have ever received from anyone.
Touched, I truly am, yet I am also scared that I am abusing his care, exploiting his care and attention for my own benefit. Whatever we are to one another, he cannot always and forever be there to comfort me, to hug me when i'm feeling down. How far can I take and take without giving back?
And... And I have told myself so many times in the past: be strong, be independent, don't let others into my heart; don't let others make me feel vulnerable. But his care (and dare i say love) defies all that.
I told him I'll be alright, I just need some time alone, just need to sleep on my feelings, and they will go away. But he insisted on either coming over or me going to see him.
So I compromised, I gave into his care and eagerness to make me feel better, cheer me up and to make me feel less lonely.
Is it right?
Home again
Just came home, back to my little home, back to my little cat. It felt so quiet, so still...
Fixing myself a meal, I find myself wondering what I should eat. There is plenty of food in the fridge, but I just feel like throwing everything in one big pot and cooking it, regardless of whether it tastes good or not. It is hard sometimes to get the energy to do something for yourself.
Somehow, I just feel so fatigued. The feelings will go away, they sure will. I guess there are a combination of reasons for my fatigue... the day began with a long (and difficult) chat with a colleague about health and life, worked a bit on my thesis, long walk with friends. And then late afternoon, I saw mum leave on the plane (indirectly, on a picture)....
Now that I'm home, the first thing I had to do was turn on the radio. In this somewhat vulnerable frame of mind, I cannot stand the silence, for it eats my mind, draws out the loneliness and emptiness that is brewing. The music, the songs and lyrics will hopefully fight those creeping feelings (this one happens to be playing now...).
I hope I can sleep well tonight, and not be disturbed by dreams and my overwhelming, restless and overactive mind again...
Fixing myself a meal, I find myself wondering what I should eat. There is plenty of food in the fridge, but I just feel like throwing everything in one big pot and cooking it, regardless of whether it tastes good or not. It is hard sometimes to get the energy to do something for yourself.
Somehow, I just feel so fatigued. The feelings will go away, they sure will. I guess there are a combination of reasons for my fatigue... the day began with a long (and difficult) chat with a colleague about health and life, worked a bit on my thesis, long walk with friends. And then late afternoon, I saw mum leave on the plane (indirectly, on a picture)....
Now that I'm home, the first thing I had to do was turn on the radio. In this somewhat vulnerable frame of mind, I cannot stand the silence, for it eats my mind, draws out the loneliness and emptiness that is brewing. The music, the songs and lyrics will hopefully fight those creeping feelings (this one happens to be playing now...).
I hope I can sleep well tonight, and not be disturbed by dreams and my overwhelming, restless and overactive mind again...
Farewell, mum
I didn't hear from her again before her flight, but from the picture brother posted on facebook, I knew she had checked in and was about to board. Now, she must be wandering around the terminal building at Schiphol.
When I spoke to her earlier today, she said she was glad to go home. Some tensions developed during her stay in Europe, and she says she is glad to leave. I don't know whether it is on a bad note, but she did mention that she was disappointed somewhat by the way she was treated (or felt she was treated...)
I do not know why seeing this picture suddenly triggered tears in my eyes, why there is again this overwhelming sadness in me, even as I am sitting here at the office, that makes me feel so weak...
It reminds me of that feeling when I was sitting on the park bench as mum's plane took off and flew further and further away... Where, again I ask, are these tears coming from...?
Looking at her slim, frail figure, she looks so vulnerable, so alone. She will be going home to her own home. An empty nest, as she once called it.
And she will be going home to medical check ups, to appointments, and to the reality of her state of health after these two months. She will have to go through all this alone from now, for there is little I can do, little comfort I can offer except words on the other end of the line.
She told me earlier she read the card I had written her and clandestinely placed in her suitcase just before she left Canada. She said it touched her reading it again. In it, I hoped she can be happy. In it, I wished that she can find her own life, stand up on her own and find new purpose and meaning in life after all these travels.
I truly, truly hope so.
Bon voyage, mum...
I do not know why seeing this picture suddenly triggered tears in my eyes, why there is again this overwhelming sadness in me, even as I am sitting here at the office, that makes me feel so weak...
It reminds me of that feeling when I was sitting on the park bench as mum's plane took off and flew further and further away... Where, again I ask, are these tears coming from...?
Looking at her slim, frail figure, she looks so vulnerable, so alone. She will be going home to her own home. An empty nest, as she once called it.
And she will be going home to medical check ups, to appointments, and to the reality of her state of health after these two months. She will have to go through all this alone from now, for there is little I can do, little comfort I can offer except words on the other end of the line.
She told me earlier she read the card I had written her and clandestinely placed in her suitcase just before she left Canada. She said it touched her reading it again. In it, I hoped she can be happy. In it, I wished that she can find her own life, stand up on her own and find new purpose and meaning in life after all these travels.
I truly, truly hope so.
Bon voyage, mum...
08 August 2011
Father's Day
While working today, I glanced at the calendar and realised: it's the 8th of August, or "Ba-ba Day" (Father's Day).
For a moment, I remembered what I used to do since my childhood, but stopped doing three years ago. I used to write to dad every year. Little cards, little messages telling him how much I appreciate him, how much I appreciate his presence in my life. Little cards, little messages that told him I care about his wellbeing, and that I love him for all that he has done, for all the sacrifices he has made throughout the years.
Then, I could not control my tears. I could not control the sudden sadness that welled up within me...
I looked back, and saw a beautiful text I found online a couple of years ago. I read it again, and was overwhelmed that dad is no longer around, saddened I cannot give him the love and care I have received from him in so many ways.
I miss you still very deeply, dad...
I really do.
(Afscheid nemen bestaat niet...)
"Come as the wind that you feel, and the rain,
Follow what you do as the light of the moon,
Find me in everything then you will come across me.
Whisper my name,
And I will be there...
See, what is invisible,
What you believe is true,
Just open your eyes,
And I will be with you.
All you have to do
Is believe my word
...Bidding farewell does not exist.
Look in the sky,
Look to the sea,
Wherever you shall walk, yes, I walk with you.
Every step and every moment,
Wherever you may be!"
For a moment, I remembered what I used to do since my childhood, but stopped doing three years ago. I used to write to dad every year. Little cards, little messages telling him how much I appreciate him, how much I appreciate his presence in my life. Little cards, little messages that told him I care about his wellbeing, and that I love him for all that he has done, for all the sacrifices he has made throughout the years.
Then, I could not control my tears. I could not control the sudden sadness that welled up within me...
I looked back, and saw a beautiful text I found online a couple of years ago. I read it again, and was overwhelmed that dad is no longer around, saddened I cannot give him the love and care I have received from him in so many ways.
I miss you still very deeply, dad...
I really do.
(Afscheid nemen bestaat niet...)
"Come as the wind that you feel, and the rain,
Follow what you do as the light of the moon,
Find me in everything then you will come across me.
Whisper my name,
And I will be there...
See, what is invisible,
What you believe is true,
Just open your eyes,
And I will be with you.
All you have to do
Is believe my word
...Bidding farewell does not exist.
Look in the sky,
Look to the sea,
Wherever you shall walk, yes, I walk with you.
Every step and every moment,
Wherever you may be!"
Picture and a thousand words
Take a look at the picture... Three children in the foreground, smiling, carrying roses they are trying to sell.
One child, a girl, has a closed smile, yet her face looks peaceful, calm almost. Another child has a smile revealing all her teeth, a genuine smile. Perhaps excitement at having her picture taken by a stranger with a fancy camera. They are walking dangerously on the narrow strip right on the traffic island. What is on their mind at such a tender age? Are they hungry, are they bemoaning what terrible conditions life has given them? Or are they just living from moment to the next, trying to earn their next meal by being exposed to the dangers of the traffic, the soot, the heat and the absence of a childhood of play and being care-free?
A flashy white car zooms past without stopping. Perhaps the driver and the passengers did not even blink at the children, because there are far too many of them to care. Or perhaps the hearts of those inside car, for a split moment just before their minds become again reabsorbed by the mundaneness of their daily life and routine, were so pained by what they saw, by the sense of hopelessness and powerlessness they felt at being unable to change what they see...
It is a very simple picture, yet underneath is the description that in parts of India, people survive on three times less than the global poverty according to the World Bank.
A picture can paint more than a thousand words. It can capture the life of others that we so easily forget. It can capture the suffering, bliss, pain and joy of others and remind us what simple joy there is to be had, lest we forget, or remind us of what real suffering means, also lest we forget...
One child, a girl, has a closed smile, yet her face looks peaceful, calm almost. Another child has a smile revealing all her teeth, a genuine smile. Perhaps excitement at having her picture taken by a stranger with a fancy camera. They are walking dangerously on the narrow strip right on the traffic island. What is on their mind at such a tender age? Are they hungry, are they bemoaning what terrible conditions life has given them? Or are they just living from moment to the next, trying to earn their next meal by being exposed to the dangers of the traffic, the soot, the heat and the absence of a childhood of play and being care-free?
A flashy white car zooms past without stopping. Perhaps the driver and the passengers did not even blink at the children, because there are far too many of them to care. Or perhaps the hearts of those inside car, for a split moment just before their minds become again reabsorbed by the mundaneness of their daily life and routine, were so pained by what they saw, by the sense of hopelessness and powerlessness they felt at being unable to change what they see...
It is a very simple picture, yet underneath is the description that in parts of India, people survive on three times less than the global poverty according to the World Bank.
A picture can paint more than a thousand words. It can capture the life of others that we so easily forget. It can capture the suffering, bliss, pain and joy of others and remind us what simple joy there is to be had, lest we forget, or remind us of what real suffering means, also lest we forget...
07 August 2011
The day after
After the long talks over the past two days, my friend and I (together with another friend) went on a long bike ride. Biking is like our therapy. As usual, when we are on our bikes, there is this free, (and as he put it) "unpressured" feeling. That freedom comes from having the wind, the speed, the open air (and late in the afternoon insects flying) on your face. At times we would race one another, go for speed down a stretch of open road, play a game where he chases me, or I chase him.
But the best is when we are biking next to one another, chit-chatting, giving one another little pokes here and there ( something 'fun' that we have come to do to each other). Then we are going at the same speed, in the same direction, and it is beautiful to turn to him and smile, and see that he is also smiling back at you. That is genuine happiness, unfettered, real and warming, however shortlived it may be.
Arriving home last night, it felt somewhat empty and quiet, and that feeling would only grow as the night wore on. After spending almost every single day of the past week with my friend, last night was one of the few nights I spent by myself. For a moment, I was unsure what I should do... then I decided to study a bit, and meditate before retiring to bed. Though I fell asleep quickly, I woke up many times during the night, all sweaty and disturbed by images, persons, events that have been revealed to me over the past few days...
There is a heavy, guilty conscience weighing down on my mind... For the first time, my friend described in detail how wonderful it was to have met the boy he met back at the end of November, and how quickly a romance developed. But I came in the way, I broke off something that was budding and never had a chance to bloom. It was cruel, selfish, and it was wrong, but I did that... Now everyone is hurting, everyone is unhappy, and nobody has anything... In the end, I come home, and there is this emptiness that grows and grows inside which I have difficulty getting rid of, and which I can no longer just pick up the phone and ask my friend to talk or spend time with me.
I must be strong again... must learn to be alone, and detach from the (over)dependance and reliance on my friend for happiness and for comfort. I must again build up my life, as I promised myself to do earlier.
But the best is when we are biking next to one another, chit-chatting, giving one another little pokes here and there ( something 'fun' that we have come to do to each other). Then we are going at the same speed, in the same direction, and it is beautiful to turn to him and smile, and see that he is also smiling back at you. That is genuine happiness, unfettered, real and warming, however shortlived it may be.
Arriving home last night, it felt somewhat empty and quiet, and that feeling would only grow as the night wore on. After spending almost every single day of the past week with my friend, last night was one of the few nights I spent by myself. For a moment, I was unsure what I should do... then I decided to study a bit, and meditate before retiring to bed. Though I fell asleep quickly, I woke up many times during the night, all sweaty and disturbed by images, persons, events that have been revealed to me over the past few days...
There is a heavy, guilty conscience weighing down on my mind... For the first time, my friend described in detail how wonderful it was to have met the boy he met back at the end of November, and how quickly a romance developed. But I came in the way, I broke off something that was budding and never had a chance to bloom. It was cruel, selfish, and it was wrong, but I did that... Now everyone is hurting, everyone is unhappy, and nobody has anything... In the end, I come home, and there is this emptiness that grows and grows inside which I have difficulty getting rid of, and which I can no longer just pick up the phone and ask my friend to talk or spend time with me.
I must be strong again... must learn to be alone, and detach from the (over)dependance and reliance on my friend for happiness and for comfort. I must again build up my life, as I promised myself to do earlier.
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