Dear Diary: You Had Me

We looked into each other's eyes. How you found your way to me, in the dark corner, is still a mystery. You entered the room and made your way to me, eyes on the prize. I think I was the prize, I'm not really sure. Maybe I was just your best bet for an actual conversation, and not just a night of nonsensical slurring gibberish. At long last, you arrived in front of me. You had me at "Hello"...not really. 

You never had me at all. To have me, you would actually have to say "Hello". You never said "Hello" or any other words of greeting, or any words at all. All I get from you are those stares, those eyes that follow me all the way home and still make my skin crawl, my body get warm, my stomach tingle and my heart drop in anticipation. In anticipation of what, I know not, since I've waited many years and it seems more  years of vain impatience are to come. 

I need something from you and I have no idea what it is. Some validation that I haven't simply built this whole relationship in my head, I guess. I wanted to make sure today. I wanted to talk. That didn't happen. You only come ever so often (never), and I just wanted a word. Something. Time ticked away, making me a little later for the next class because my whole being was hungry for a sign. And that's when I realized I was among a bunch of these girls, just waiting to lay themselves at your feet. I was never going to through myself in your arms, that was a given. 

However, I was the last fan to leave.

Dear Diary: Am I A People (Boy) Repellent?

Dear Diary,

I've always been the sheltered type. That's why I expect nothing less than having many steamy affairs with several of my male professors in university once I'm a freshman. I also expect some heavy drinking and a drug intake that would make Whitney Houston look good. (No offense Whit, I'll always love you too).Being sheltered so much has put a real brake on the development of my social skills. In brief, I am headed for the nunnery or a cave in some far away forest to start my life as a hermit if I don't act fast. 

So I did what I thought normal people do when they don't know how to hit it off socially. In my quasi non-existent catalog of boys I know, I chose the ones I would consider reproducing with. Then, it was a process of elimination, kind of like a multiple choice life or death pop quiz: who had terrible hygiene, who couldn't carry a conversation to save his life, who I would be embarrassed to bring home for Christmas if things were to go too well, who I'd have to kick myself not to set on fire... 

And then, there was one name left. Joy! Contentment  Satisfaction! The next step was clear: ask the guy out! We were on lukewarm terms, he wasn't the athletic type I always saw myself with (I want to be picked up and thrown around caveman style people!) and he lived abroad. However, he was the intellectual type, a musician and had a different kind of beauty only certain people can truly admire. My type of boy. After a sleepless night and a 5 hour conversation with an insomniac friend, the perfect message was created (her idea, not mine):

Me (7:48 AM)

Hi. I heard you were back in the city, wanna grab some sushi?

Him (11:35AM, same day)

[message has been viewed]

I kid you not. This is as far as it's gotten until now. Tomorrow is Friday. What did I do wrong? Was the hip wording not correct? Or did the purposely bad grammar through him off? The brief, concise, no commitment attached message wasn't CLEAR? For pity's sake! 

So now I'm stunned, and angry. It's not like he has an excuse, he's seen the message. Maybe the intention of getting lunch didn't come across. I dare say eating no-crumb, barely messy, quite delicious food may be okaying a quick shot-gun marriage and agreeing to a life of child bearing and poverty. 

Of course, I could be over exaggerating (I'm really into that). My friend thinks he may actually have a decent excuse. In the midst of the blablabla overlapping her condoning his evil plan to ruin my night sleep, I think I may have heard a "Well, maybe he likes you" that was quickly sent back to wherever it had come from.

Pity party aside, the thought of him feeling more than friendship is too terrorizing. It would mean that I have no brick wall to hide behind if this going-no-where-until-now-makeshift-relationship goes to hell. It would meant the butterflies in my stomach could stay there longer in stead of dropping dead after weeks of unrequited love. 

OR, I'm making love scenarios in my head again, and the point of this story would be to make your list of potentials with more rigor and chose the one that's weak with women next time. Or become a nun. Or a hermit. It's up to you to decide.   

Dear Diary: Night Soul Search

Dear Diary,

I was never one for change. The 6 letter word scares me, shakes me in my very bones. It means that shifts are inevitable, that every time I think I've reached some kind of stability, things get messed and here I go for another unwanted round of "AHHHHHH!!".

I mean, I have changed. I stopped sucking my thumb, and most recently, I've gone natural (click here if you don't know what it means) and decided to live a more holistic lifestyle (exercise, healthier food, the whole shebang). Ironically, I also started smoking, which kind of defeats the purpose, but who's to judge that it was a stupid thing to do?

And I've been depressed. I mean, I was always the emotional type, and mood swings were a daily thing -- an hourly battle. But I mean, I've been REALLY depressed. (details some other time maybe...) I've been unable to sit down unless it's for watching reruns of some kind (Gilmore Girls anyone?) or mope for hours at a time. I'm tired of misery wanting me as company. 

So I did what I do when I've been circling the same annoying dark thoughts in my head: I went for a night time walk.
First things first: getting ready for the occasion: pants, coat and three pairs of socks (it's incredibly cold out there!). I-pod in tow, I walked out of the house ready to kick myself in the face for wasting more time that could have been used for more scholarly purposes such as but not limited to my geography project I told my partner I had already done -- one week ago.

First Stop: a bench in my neighborhood's park. My feet were already freezing, but the cigarettes were sure to help...calm my throbbing head. One of the many benefits of those calcium filled beauties is that they make me spit like a sailor. Which makes me a hypocrite because I hate when people spit in public. But since I was all alone among my tree friends and the jungle gym, I got a free pass. I turned the I-pod off, the noise wasn't making the throbbing go away either. And then, the impossible happened: silence. I never realized how pretty it was. The snowflakes waltzing through the warm glow of the streetlights made it all the more enjoyable. It was now time for the second and last stop of my little escapade.

Final Destination & Favorite Place in the World: the arboretum. I walked down the slope to the river and was overjoyed by the sound of water that broke the silence. I thought the whole thing would be an ice rink by now. You have to count your blessings, right? I crossed the bridge and went through the sinuous path sheltered by leafless branches to reach the final destination. My lone tree had been surrounded by new young ones since the last time I'd seen it. It was where I had buried my bird Blueberry. It was my sitting tree, my thinking tree, my chillax tree. I unceremoniously rid it of snow so I could sit comfortably. I breathed. It was my first breathe in ages. Like the little loner I was, I sat there calming myself out of the tantrum-panic attack I had momentarily been in earlier. Snowflakes greeted my face, replaced the tears that had been there only moments ago. My heart found a steady pace. I know I have to stop observing life and start being an active participant, but... this place absorbs my pain and my anger like an unknowing sponge, without wanting anything in return. Maybe the next time I spat, it would get the bitter taste and everything else finally out. 

It's a New Year, but that doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean that everything will get resolved, that my life will change in a significant manner even if I want it too. I need to stop being a spectator and believing that my life is a movie or book and that wishful thinking is going to get me what I want. I'm going to get me what I want, even thought "that" has a very obscure meaning at the moment. Now, if I can just hold on to that feeling, I'll be just fine. I'll be OK. 

This year will be different.