The end of summer always gives me a creepy vibe. Or maybe it’s the transition phase. I don’t know.
But I have been thinking a lot about ends in the last couple of weeks. About how somehow the end suddenly sums up the everything. As if the end defines the whole. As if the whole cannot exist independently of the end.
(Not that I had my heart broken by a boy; it has been broken by stories of abrupt ends.)
I don’t deal well with things coming to an end.
And I have been having the writer’s block lately. And I thought that was the end.
Is it the end of my blog? Do I still have anything to say? Or have I already said it all?
I am not used to giving up. I might have temper, but everyone knows I’m perseverant. I have started this blog when I broke up with my ex, more than a year ago. I wanted to end things because I wanted more.
I wanted plans that go beyond the coming weekend. That didn’t mean that I wanted him to ask my hand in marriage, get us a house, three kids and a huge dog. But I wanted the certainty of knowing that this guy was sure enough he wanted to spend a holiday with me. Make travel plans with me three months in advance.
What’s so stoical about that? Even for a commitment phobic?
Imagine you’re dating someone new, and you’re really into that person. Then he asks you to share what you want in that relationship.
“Oh, I just take it day by day.”
I think we fail to express our wants and needs because we’re terrified of getting rejected or being judged or being perceived as needy. And if you dare get brave and make yourself vulnerable, watch him pull a Houdini act on you.
**SFX: Ghost busters soundtrack**
My post breakup period was filled with lousy dates with ‘men’ who, on the first date, gave me the ‘relationships never last’ speech, with some variations in the choice of arguments:
-Monogamy is a myth.
-Men are not made to stay with one woman.
-Men are different than women.
-Every relationship is doomed to end sooner than later.
-I am not looking for commitment.
-The social media gives us so many options at the touch of a button… I mean come on, what do you expect?
Silly me. What do I expect?
The best one came from a guy who told me on the second date that the best relationship he ever had was when he was seeing two girls at the same time.
“When one of them was busy, I could always enjoy the company of the other.”
Last thing I heard was that he found the love of his life and was planning on getting married.
So maybe it was just me. It’s like when I meet a guy, he instantly hits me with a dating deadline. A relationship expiry date.
Dude, you got it wrong.
I am not asking you for guarantees. I am not sure I will still like you next week. But easy on the terms and conditions on the first date, puh-leaaaase!
I have had quite a few disillusions this past year- to say the least, so I shut myself down and decided to forget about love and feelings altogether. Built myself a little comfy house on the safe side.
Back to my ends saga. I think that I am going to use this end of summer blues to “tabula rasa” my life.
I love making resolutions. And using Latin phrases. So why wait till end of year to make some? It’s an end too, isn’t it? Might as well come up with a resolution or two.
But honestly now, why do we wait for ends to punctuate a period of our life since we hate ends so much? We wait for the end of the day to have some fun with the gang. The end of the week to enjoy the weekend. The end of the month to get paid. The end of the year to write down some silly resolutions that vanish before January 2nd. The end of the book we’re reading to know what’s going to happen. The end of the movie we’re watching to know what’s going to happen.
Back in school I used to love ending an essay with inspirational words. Strange enough, my train of thoughts would start with the end and go backwards- not the other way around as it is supposed to go.
And so we wait for ends. And we forget how absolutely supernatural beginnings are.
Mornings full of potential where Possible plays side by side with Improbable, until they merge and become one.
I love mornings. I get high on them. I love beginnings too. First dates. First heartbeats. First words exchanged to try to express ourselves in the most perfect way possible. First outfits we wear to try to look our best. First impressions we try to make.
Thinking back on the first chunk of this year, I can say I came a long way thanks to this blog. Strange enough my blog revealed the most sensitive, most vulnerable part of my personality. My friends tell me that they never thought I’d let my weaknesses show so freely. I had never seen it that way, but it is true that I have let myself go, with little concern about the image of the tough cookie I always wanted people to see.
Back to the resolutions.
Not going to bore the shits out of you with a complete list, but I’m just going to say that I’m choosing to be vulnerable. Enough pretending to be cold just to adjust to the cold-hearted a-holes I encounter more often than not in my daily life.
I don’t want to move around with a shield. I am not Captain America, am I? I do get paper-cuts and I still crave the touch of a new book. Those who love me will love my vulnerability first.
I am not going to apologize for choosing to be vulnerable.
I am vulnerable because I am real.
And I want real back.
And I am sharing my vulnerability by clicking the publish button.