Hello folks. It’s been another minute. I’m back to air out. Can you guess? I’m navigating through another heartbreak. I wonder if this theme will take precedence over everything else on the site. I’m not really sure how to begin this conversation between blogger (me) and reader (you, many of youse or maybe spam-you?) but I am on the verge of an emotional, transitional and coming-of-age barf.
Ok fuck. Where do I start? Well COVID sucked. DA END. I’m kidding but am I? If 2020 was a good year for you, well then hello, Satan, thank you for joining us (me+spam-you). In all realness, 2020 was difficult for me. I’m a hardcore introvert and love spending time alone but I spent a good chunk of 2020 isolated from the outside world and it brought a lot of unwanted feelings and memories. A lot of it was learning how to be alone and emotionally independent and it was really fucking difficult. I finally processed how terrible my ex partner was and realized I had no idea of who I was and who I wanted to be, because a lot of my energy was spent on pleasing someone else and I molded and changed my desires to keep this toxic person in my life.
I started dating, meeting and talking to other people but that was difficult because I didn’t trust anyone. My heart, my guide but also my broken lens, didn’t allow me to see people for who they were. Everyone was jagged and sharp, waiting to inflict pain and I disconnected before there was a bond but one day, I went to get a COVID-19 test and all of that changed.
A few days before Thanksgiving, I went to get tested as there was a steep rise in cases and I wanted to spend time with my family, while feeling at ease. The day started unusually warm for November, about 60 degrees and while I waited in line it dropped 30 degrees in one hour. It was like all of sudden, winter, the most cynical of all seasons, wanted to make a grand appearance and shattered his fucking weight through the atmosphere, Kool- aid man style. I froze waiting two hours to be seen in my thin jean jacket and high crop jeans. I’m not kidding when I say I thought I was dying. Winter was here and I was slowly becoming a White Walker until they finally called my name and escorted me to the tent.
I remember reading one day about how group of psychologists performed a study to see how memories associated with pain are stored in our brain. They had a group look at a series of images and then instructed them to place their hands in bowls of ice water with certain pictures. They found it was easier for people to remember images associated with the bowl of ice water than the ones without. This memory hurts.
When I walked into the tent, I was delirious, frozen and numb until a tall blonde nurse, walked over and guided me to a chair. He asked me to verify my name and date of birth but I didn’t know who I was. I was a White Walker, DOB: Now. When I looked up from the paper, re-directing my attention onto the nurse, I went into eagle mode. My vision sharpened instantly. He was wearing a mask and between his strawberry-blonde hairline and blue surgical mask, his eyes popped from his peach-white complexion. They were blue, but not an ordinary blue– like a blue with a hint of grey, kind of like the sky on the other end of a sunset, a couple of minutes before it transcends to navy-black. It burned into my mind. The interaction was less than two minutes. He swabbed my nose and took my blood with genuine care. When he was done, he gave me a paper and told me where I could find my results online and left. It was one of those moments when you are attracted to someone but the time flies too quick to act upon. I left thinking about him and wondered if I would see him again.
During quarantine, I started a little side hustle and baked for some extra money. I sometimes dropped off some of my baked goods at hospitals or clinics to show my appreciation to the essential workers. One day I went back to the testing site where I last saw blue eyes to drop off some cookies and slices of cake. He wasn’t there but the nurses appreciated it so much that they became recurring customers of mine. Every week I would go by dropping off cakes, cupcakes, cookies and brownies, feeling so grateful for their business. I looked out for blue eyes but never saw him.
One of the nurses was having a birthday party and she asked if I could make some cupcakes and brownies for her party. She also extended the invitation and told me I could come. I had nothing planned and figured it would be a nice way for me to meet people. I also hoped blue eyes might be there.
She threw her party at a modern-casual bar in the upper west side. The bar was packed with her friends and family. I had to plow my way through the crowd to find her and when I did, she was super happy. She took my sweets and lead me to the front of the bar and sat me in front of blue eyes and her other friends. He immediately introduced himself, in a well-distinct southern accent. For the sake of the story, I’m going to call him Wyatt. I sat for about two hours talking to Wyatt and the other nurses, hearing about the gossips going on in the tent. It was hard to gauge if there was any attraction with everyone there. I was pretty beat, so I threw in the towel a little before 10pm. When I got home, I saw an email come through. Someone had contacted me through my little home bakery website. I opened the email and saw Wyatt’s name. He said he knew it was awkward contacting me through the website but I left before he could ask for my number. I smiled and responded. That was the beginning.
Wyatt was handsome, smart and emotionally aware. I was guarded in the beginning but he was patient, kind and understanding, nursing and patching the void I had in my heart for so long with genuine care. Wyatt became my best friend. We talked and saw each other every day. We dated for four and a half months and everyday was bliss. Even the days when I felt down, I’d wake up to a text, reminding me of my worth. In my whole life, I never met anyone that made me feel worthy. That feels kind of sad.
Now that I am older, reflecting and learning from my heart breaks, I realize in life, we experience different types of love:
Teenage-love: Pure, erratic, irrational, passionate and addicting. It’s like being born again, already knowing how to eat, walk and talk. All you want to do is eat and fuck. Then, when you experience your first heartbreak, you and everything else around you dies. You move through life dragging your feet until your heels burn.
Bond-love: Love that grows over time, the longer you’re with someone. Maybe that person doesn’t give you butterflies anymore but you still love them because the time you spent together is dense. Your tallied memories measure your love. It’s not the connection but the routine that keeps you both locked.
Nurture-love: Similar to bond-love, because it also grows over time but it’s the biological reaction of being a parent (or feeling like one); feeding, clothing, and seeing your ‘child’ grow or maybe you’re the ‘child, being fed and clothed as you watch someone pour all their hopes and dreams into you. You depend on each other to build and a fulfill a legacy.
Then there is the love that I felt with Wyatt which at the moment I can not categorize but only describe. It was electric, magnetic, fulfilling and deep. It was the kind of love where you could see and feel the chemistry. His eyes would sparkle when he looked at me and I would blush as an electric charge went through my body. When we hugged or spooned it felt like two pieces perfectly fitting into one another. The connection went beyond physical and emotional. I would say it was almost spiritual, like the reunion of two lost souls, at least, that’s what it felt like to me.
Wyatt was not from New York and was here on a contract with the intention of moving back to Texas where he resided. He was also married, going through a divorce. We often talked about what would happen, when the contract was up and what would happen to us. We mutually agreed to try a long distance relationship and make an honest effort. We planned on being close friends even if it didn’t work but unfortunately, it never happened.
Just as Wyatt was about to move back to Texas, he decided he wanted to give his marriage another shot but did he know, as a literal bystander, what it would cost me? That ‘shot’ went right through me. All of a sudden I was detached and thrown into empty space, floating with a numbing gaze. I felt like my future had died. How could this love that felt so pure and genuine disappear so quickly, like turning off the last switch before going to bed. Did he not feel what I felt? Was it pretend? Was it a lie?
I have theories on what could have happened but I am not going to share them because I’d end up bashing him and his wife and I’m not about that life. Do I resent him? Yes.
I’ve emotionally matured within the past year. I’ve been able to pull myself off the cliff and let my emotions be, pure and raw. I don’t suppress them anymore with alcohol or weed and whether it be rage or angst, I ride them until there is no more gas.
I’m afraid that I’ll end up alone not because there aren’t any suitors but because I’m bitter and when your taste buds are bitter it’s impossible to distinguish anything but the sour settling into your mouth.
Love is a muse– THE muse of conscious and life.
The kinetics of atoms and molecules.
The intention, the twitch– the lift of the heel seeking new ground.
I cannot move unless I love.
I cannot grow unless I lose.