Pretentious, Self-Righteous Essays

Once upon a time, I was introduced to a gentleman named Mr. Right.  Okay, so maybe his name wasn’t spelled “Right” but it sounded like it and I and my girlfriends all enjoyed referring to him as such.  It’s every girl’s fantasy to meet her Mr. Right.

Mr. Right and I were getting to know each other by going out for coffees and drinks, talking away evenings on the telephone.  Then one evening we went on our first real date: dinner, a show, and drinks afterward.  The night ended, we kissed passionately at my doorstep, and said goodnight.

Prior to meeting him, I had booked a flight to somewhere to sing at something.  It was my first solo vacation, and I was really looking forward to going alone.  I hadn’t expected to meet Mr. Right.  He was new in my life so I wasn’t going to invite him on my trip.  Nor did I have any real inclination to ensure that I saw him before I left or upon my return.  I did ensure that he knew about the trip.  We had gone on one date.  That was it.  Knowing I was going away, in my mind, was all that was required of me, all that seemed appropriate, and all that I was comfortable with.

In order to prepare for my departure, I put in a lot of extra hours at the office.  I wanted to ensure that everything would be in order during my absence.  The evening before my departure, I got home from the office around 10 p.m.  I went straight to sleep.  I planned to be back at work early the next morning so I could finish off a few things before my flight.  I awakened the next morning to notice a voicemail.  I had missed several calls from Mr. Right.

Where are you, honey?  I was thinking that since you’re flying out tomorrow, we could spend this evening together, but it looks like I didn’t catch you.  Okay, so tomorrow morning, we’ll go to your favourite breakfast place.  It’ll have to be really early, I know. So, if I don’t hear from you, I’ll meet you there at 6am.

I didn’t go to the breakfast, nor did I bother calling him to let him know.  I went straight to the office that morning, finished up the few things that I had planned to do, and then left for my trip.  I had a great time and never gave Mr. Right a second thought.

Mr. Right and I never spoke again.  I didn’t call him upon my return.  I know I eventually responded in an email, but I can’t remember when, why, or how.  I venture to guess that it was at my leisure with the intention of ensuring he not contact me anymore.

I learned a lot from Mr. Right.  As intrusive, pushy, and controlling as that one voicemail seemed to be, I had to take responsibility for the fact that I misled him, even though it was not intentional.  I expressed interest, but I never discussed with him what I was looking for, and what I needed.  My only defense – albeit a fair one – is that getting to know someone new is complicated.

We try to look for signs and meaning: signs that our feelings are reciprocated, and meaningfulness in every tiny action directed to us.  What does a stare mean?  A long gaze in each other’s direction?  How about chats online?  Telephone calls? or the lack thereof?  Occasional gifts, surprises? Saying hello/good-bye?  Having tea together?  Not making time?  Not responding to messages?  What does anything mean?  The answer is simple: you can’t know how meaningful an action is or isn’t until you know the person.  Where Mr. Right went wrong was in ascribing greater meaning to my actions than was actually there.  I now try to just instigate explicit dialogue when I am confused (even if it is like pulling teeth).

There are no universal indicators of interest, and even when someone is interested, it doesn’t mean that anything should or will happen.  To help facilitate things, it genuinely is a pleasure when someone you’re interested in is open enough to help you understand them.  Otherwise, getting to know a person feels like a crap-shoot: blind throws with hope for the best, exciting small wins throughout the quick-to-accumulate net losses, and a growing feeling of helplessness.  If you’re not a gambler who gets a thrill from always only almost-winning, I’m not sure how you remain motivated in these sorts of situations.

Interest makes inaction tragic, but acting on interest is a big investment.  Be sure you can handle the level of risk before getting into the game.

I don’t feel guilty for the offenses committed against me by the men that I had let into my life, as if I had a hand in the heartache they caused me.  I take no credit for others’ weak characters.  I’ll only admit fault in not seeing through their acts.  That is, I can concede that I was generous when I assumed that a man could be strong enough to do what is right.  I do not feel guilty for making that assumption.  I only feel pain when I discover my folly.

Anyway, that being said, I didn’t always feel this way.  I used to feel as though I had done something wrong, or as if there was something I could have done to make him happy and to make things work.  Once Upon A Time captured the short-lived existence of this youthful, romantic, self-deprecating girl.  She’s dead and gone, and the memory of her makes me sick.

Destined to err… fine.  Doomed to bear the burden of my folly?  No longer.

My ‘Sweet Sixteen’ was a surprise birthday party thrown for me by one of my then-close friends.  I remember strange bits of the party.  For example, that it was held on the night before my birthday so that we could all be together when the clock struck midnight.  I remember that we had cake and other food that people made.  I remember that the host was nice enough to invite a friend of mine that she didn’t personally like.  I remember Jeff coming from Scarborough by bus to be at my party.  I remember taking his baseball cap and wearing it for the rest of the evening.  I remember Marlene [my sister] leaving early to go with Jeff to the subway, and asking to borrow my sweater because it was cold.  I remember one of the attendees’ asked her parents to drive me home.

What’s distinctly memorable is everything after the party.  I remember driving to the street that my apartment was on and my friend’s parents insisting that they drop me off right at my door to ensure that I was safe.  I remember waving good-bye as they drove away.  I remember the moment it hit me that my house keys were in the pocket of the sweater that Marlene had taken with her when she left.  I remember knocking and screaming really loudly hoping that someone, any one of my family members would awake and let me in.  I remember thinking back to the moment that my friend and her parents offered to wait until I got inside, and shooing them off.  I remember walking to the nearest payphone and collect calling my home in hopes that that would awake someone, and being really upset that it didn’t.  I remember how cold it was, that I bore only a short-sleeved t-shirt [because I had given Marlene my sweater] and thankfully, Jeff’s baseball cap because I’d forgotten to return it to him.  If it weren’t for that cap, I would have been freezing.  And finally, I remember my Deus Ex Machina: a successful collect call to one of my ex-boyfriends who happened to be home, a fun walk in the middle of the night, and free room and board.  He snuck me into his apartment past his mom and let me crash in his room.  I still remember sneaking out in the morning.  Hilarious.

Getting locked out of your home is dangerous and fun when you’re sixteen.  When you’re twenty-seven, it’s just a nuisance.

It just occurred to me that today is the 14-year anniversary of the day I started dating my first boyfriend!  At least,  I think he was my first boyfriend.  At the very least, he was the first boyfriend who ever told me that he loved me and have the feeling requited.

And contrary to what you would probably expect, I won’t recount how it was that we fell in and out of “love”.  I’m here only to remark on the sweet innocence that it is to be in love at the age of thirteen.  I still remember how my heart raced when in his presence, melted when I heard him speak my name, and stopped whenever our eyes met.  I remember the first time we held hands when we walked home together, our first embrace on Valentine’s Day, our first slow dance (to SWV’s Weak) at my best friend’s birthday party, and our first kiss on a Spring afternoon in the park nearby our school.  Every word, every glance, and every touch was so meaningful.  Relationships haven’t been quite as simple ever since.

I imagine one day I’ll experience such rapture again, and until then I’ll fantasize about it like a 13-year year old schoolgirl would.

NB:  I’m not still interested in him.

I’ve been to ugly places and back so many times in my life that I just expect something horrible to happen, and the circumstances to be unbearable. But I do this not in a pessimistic sort of way.  It’s more like a “that’s a part of life” sort of way.  I reached my lowest low around 2002-3.  There were a lot of things going on then.  What got me through it was the realization that I just needed to survive it.  Nobody asked anything of me.  Only I demanded everything of myself.  I was my own worst enemy, feeling as though I needed to not only survive, but that I needed to do so spectacularly – the way the heroes do in the movies.  But I only needed to live  … which was nearly impossible not to do.  It’s not as though all of the emotional pain could kill me directly.  Only I could do that.

//

A Peek Through Tinted Glasses

By Carolyn Ursabia (circa 2000)

Did you know I died that day?
Held loosely onto life’s last breath
Decided I had nothing more to give,
I closed my eyes and embraced my death.

Didn’t I deserve more than this?
Because, I swear, I’ve done my best.
The blind faith wasn’t good enough
To have succeeded beyond this relentless test?

Because a heart can only take so much.
When broken, needs time to heal.
What then when it all comes down at once?
Mine surrendered its capacity to feel.

I thought experience was supposed to grant wisdom:
Break you down, then make you strong,
Open up your heart and mind
And teach you right from wrong.

Yet, still I see my world of darkness
Where no one saw my pain.
I see my restless, cloudy skies
And endless nights of rain.

I see myself, an empty shell
The remnants of a mind
The memory of who could have been
Had life, to me, had been more kind.

//

The Days of Grey

By Carolyn Ursabia (circa 2003)

I reside in the days of gray -
The meaningless ‘in between’
Where nothing counts.
Outside the bright sun shines
And makes me angry
Because it lies – the sun lies!
It is not a bright new day
Time could not have passed
Because I am still here
Where nothing changes inside me.
And where once I had hoped
That it would be TIME that would save me,
I was wrong.
Instead TIME opened up my eyes.
It shone the sun’s LIGHT upon the truth:
Time does not heal all wounds.

//

Daniel, you always rescued me, and taught me that I never needed saving.

//

I was never good at being in relationships, but I was always in one.  I was a hopeless romantic, and I would always let my heart dictate what I did.  But this isn’t a good strategy. It teaches us to betray convictions, and breeds resentment.

I’ve been focusing my energy on finding the perfect balance between being easy-going, open-minded, and having a ‘take no shit’ attitude. That is, I have to defend myself (so as to never become bitter), but also know when to step down (so as to be fair).  I have to be ready for life as it comes (and be easy-going), and not reject it when it’s not what I hoped it would be (because it’s so easy to be hard on people for not giving you what you wanted from them).

It’s the only way to go forward that makes sense to me.  But it’s hard.  Sometimes I don’t know if I’m being unfair when I’m defending myself, or letting people walk all over me when I don’t.