I always seek love but pain finds me instead

Today marks the year and a half anniversary of when we met. This generally would be an unimportant date but we’ve been spent every important day away from each other (apart from birthdays). In fact, on our year anniversary, he got frustrated with the double life he was leading and attempted to end our relationship. He took her out on Valentine’s while I stayed home and prayed that he wouldn't do something special with her.

I’ve given up believing that life is ever fair- it never was to me. But I’ll take whatever I can out of it. I just wanted to do something tonight- whether it’s meeting for drinks or dinner or walk or whatever. But I can’t ask him because he confessed the other day that he was more comfortable with the person in the previous relationship that with me. Proximity increases comfort, he says. But you have to comfortable to be close. It’s a catch-22. He still helps her, fresh after their break up, so I guess he is more comfortable with her. I wonder if he’ll ever be comfortable in his relationship with me. He never once wrote about me, he never photographed me. None. Am I always going to be a "compartmentalized" part of his life? I always wonder. I wander and wonder.

I always seek love but pain finds me instead.

make love to him tonight. I've never felt it so intensely before. I don't want to take up his time, so I don't tell him, but I wish he knew....I only wish he knew how much I want to be with him tonight.

White Nights

"For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!"

- Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights

Life's ironic

She's 44, successful, rich (a trust fund baby) and childlike.

I am 24, still climbing up the ladder, rich only because my ancestors were and well-mannered because my family comes from a certain class in the society, and mature beyond my years.

She had the opportunity to attend art school and become a successful designer. Although my family and relatives saw my potential for art and tried to nudge me into the direction of art school, at 17, when my entire portfolio was stolen, I decided that it was not meant to be. Moreover, I had grander plans. It would be easier to get a backup job with an Economics degree and Math minor than with an arts degree. Eventually, I know that I am made for acting- nothing else would do.

Now that she is in her forties, she wants children. The man I love chose her at a point in his life when he needed the care and the love that an older woman could offer him. This was a slap to my face, but life slapped me a bigger slap when she called to tell me that he wanted to have a child with her. I remember looking at myself in the mirror an hour later and wondering what had happened- I suddenly wondered whether my child is not worth having for him. He had always told me that he never wanted children. They why did he actively try with her? It hurt to think about it. I declared my ultimatum to him that I want children also at some point in my life.

I dreamt a dream a few months ago when I was playing with a boy (around age 4) and twin girls (around one years old). I felt that they were my children- the boy had my eyes. The girls, well, they were lighter skinned but had my dainty features.One of them had straight hair. The other one had my Shirley Temple curls.

Her and I are perfect complements- we each have what the other doesn't have. My darkness versus her light inconsistency. My jet black hair against her blonde waves. Her blue eyes are probably more "beautiful" than my piercing brown ones. Come to think of it, if they had ended up making a child, the baby would have been very attractive. My babies, on the other hand, would probably not be attractive in a conventional sense. But all the wealth in the world would not make me as happy as my own children would, I am sure. I will have them one day, and it doesn't matter if I have to raise them alone. I'll do it. Like a true scorpion, I'll be the best mother that I can be. Maybe I could not be the best lover or the best daughter or the best sister, but I will be my best at motherhood.

I pray and I hope that she too finds her joy somewhere. From one woman to another, wish you the best, lady, wherever you are.

Sometimes

it seems as if no matter what I do, it won't be enough. Doesn't matter how hard I try, I'll never be good enough. That makes me want to not even attempt. If I can't get it right, what's the point?

Black and White

Why should the process matter when you get the results that you want?

I don't know why it does. Sometimes you want the process to go a certain way, but who said that we can control life? What we think is ideal, morally right and inherently good or evil are just that- our own viewpoints. The idealists probably suffer the most in this world because they refuse to conform.

Something that life teaches me everyday is that not everything is black and white in this world. There are gray areas, and whether I like it or not, the sooner I accept it, the better I'll understand life.

The sun shines

in the bedroom when we play,
The rain it always starts when you go away."