My Love Life: A boy and a city. (Pieces of my mind during my flight back to South Asia)

So this is the New Year. 2010 holds so much mystery and growth. It is sure to rock my face off more than any other year and I welcome that face-rocking. I can use some 2010 after the semi-morose ending to 2009. More than just a year ended; a chapter in my life, nay an entire era, ended. Expectations and goals dropped with that silly shiny ball.

But just as 2010 came, so did he. He called. He showed up. Our relationship didn’t die painfully and silently. It ended in ceremony and now slumbers peacefully. It was quite poetic as I imagined it should be. Feelings remain to a certain extent, but directions have changed. We shared honesty and revealed so much growth over the past 14 months. He put pieces of my heart back together when he told me how much I meant. I saw him as I used to see him and we shared time. Closure weighs on me heavily, but beautifully. We had a real goodbye and we both deserved it.

Now I’m flying back to the other world in which I live, lost in my own thoughts. New fears, unexpected tears. It’s been one long, lonely day. I’m ready for time to bring me healing. Distance is what I want from this painfully perfect goodbye. Everyone promises me that “time heals all wounds.” Well what is time waiting for? Is he on vacation? I’m ready to get on with getting on with this.

I have a whole mindset to transform now. A whole set of plans to re-arrange. My hands are sure to get dirty and my eyes are sure to get wet. You see, I used to think that love would protect me from sadness, but in reality- love has caused the greatest sadness I’ve ever known. I’m realizing in the realest way that anything/anyone you love can be lost. Anything/anyone you give yourself to can take a piece of you and never give it back. The one you try to hold the tightest can slip right through your fingers, leaving you empty and confused. So here I am: lost, wounded, empty-handed, asking Tennyson if it truly is better “to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all?” Yes? Yes. I think that my answer remains yes. Shame on me for ever assuming that I should be able to love and escape loss.

Isn’t it strange how something that used to bring you so much, can end up taking so much away? Isn’t it strange how heavily love can weigh us down? It can lift us so high one day, only to bring us plummeting to the ground the next. Heart meet floor. It almost seems cruel, doesn’t it?

Cruel and strange like my love for a boy who is miles away, is my love for a city that gets closer and closer with each passing second. You see, when I tried to love a boy (miles away) and a city (right outside my door), I failed on both counts. I felt as though I couldn’t give all of myself to either boy or city. I felt torn, out of focus, and generally unsuccessful. Maybe someone stronger could have succeeded at loving both short and long distance. I could not. So as one love comes to a close, I return to the other to try again. I will land in my city soon. It will welcome me with smells and heat that cover me like a sick blanket. Mmmm, what an inviting thought. Sweat come pour again! It is strange to love a place that seems so utterly unlovable. But I find purpose there – unlike any other purpose that’s ever pulled at my heart strings. It takes me from my petty tragedies and dumps me into a swamp of true tragedy. Best of all, it gives me something that I can do about that swamp. Slow work, hard work, but it is something.

Yes, it is fair to say that I’m falling in love yet again, with a city- not a boy. Surely I could lose myself here. And losing myself has never seemed so necessary. That’s not to say that there aren’t days in the city that make my feet drag. Days where I want nothing more than to escape. Those days might even outnumber the days I feel otherwise. This isn’t quite like the cute flirtation that begins normal relationships. The giggles, the butterflies in your stomach, the forbidden glances don’t exist when you’re falling for a collection of concrete and trash. But the days, even moments, where I do fall in love with this city make all other days worthwhile. Like a real commitment, like loyalty, this requires a painful amount of steadfast dedication. And like a boy who can swallow my love and walk away, is this city that can steal my air and replace it with toxic smog. Real love can be so messy sometimes. It is always a calculated risk: What am I losing? What am I gaining? Does one make up for the other? Who knows til it’s over anyway?

Nobody likes to face this risky vulnerability, but to be human is to be vulnerable. Still, so many people are in denial. We’re taught from a very young age to suck it up, put on a good face, deal with it. Why do you think so many people are running scared and breaking others to forget their own brokenness? But what’s the point? Hurting others is unfulfilling at best and pretending you’re not hurt is a waste of energy. I will always admit to my broken parts. Look at me go: I am broken and I am hurt. But I am still breathing and I’m surviving well, even laughing. I will not avoid vulnerability- cuz it’s how we share and it’s how we truly live. I am absolutely determined to love this wretched city – because, dangit, it deserves love. I am well aware that the parts of myself I give to this city may come back tarnished. Let’s be honest, they may never come back at all! I will face annoyance, misunderstanding, fear, and an assortment of other barriers. Yet I do believe that this is a situation where no pain means no gain. So I stand in these streets and say DO YOUR WORST, knowing that I’ll probably still be standing when it’s over.

Yes Alfred Lord Tennyson, loving and losing is better than simply co-existing! I refuse to lose this new opportunity to use love. I will LoVe unconventionally. I’ll take hold of love. I’ll dip my fingers in it like finger paint and decorate this city like a child, who knows no better. I fell in love once, I’ll do it again. I painted love for a boy once, I’ll paint love for a city now. Hope my newest art looks good on mama’s refrigerator.