(A Disclaimer, this is neither an attempt to cause problems in your life, nor is it an attempt to get you back. That boat sailed a long time ago! This is my twenty-something-old self saying goodbye to some long time held anger and of course the always lurking ex)
Writing has always been helpful to me especially when dealing with the hard stuff in life, getting some closure for those chapters of my life that felt like they remained open at some point. For a couple of years, you have been an unclosed chapter, paused midway with a bookmark propped in the middle. I was afraid to open it again, afraid to close the pages or even skip those pages of our moments that are hard to look at. In twenty twelve, I closed my eyes on that chapter and refused to open my eyes. I kept the pages open; sometimes my fingers would hover over the words and the sentences, over the reason why I lost you. Sometimes, I was tempted to open my eyes, to take a cursive glance but I was scared of my tears, scared of regrets. Not that I did not cry, I did cry but inside. In those moments, with my fingers over the pages, I would indulge in little titbits of our moments, little tiny scraps of our happy days but never the big moments, never the ugly episode when you left.
Therefore, this is the moment, the moment I open that last page, that large ugly blotch of dirty ink on the page. You broke my heart, but I am sure I broke yours with my words. In these past years, I have gone over those words, I have turned them in my head, I have said them over the wind and listened to their echo. I have flung them afar and watched them bounce back to me. I regretted having said them and I regret them even today. Those words were uttered by someone who was frustrated by a lot of things, a person who was not sure where life was headed, a person who wanted more from her partner but did not know how best to communicate that, instead she chose anger and misplaced anger at that and uttered words that she could not take back.
You offered friendship, years later but I declined it. Please, understand that, my eyes were still closed, fingers still hovering over the sentences of my pain, refusing to open them and accept your offered hand of friendship. I was still angry, at myself, at my stupidity. I was still grieving over my loss, over you. How could I accept your proffered hand when I had not even accepted and forgiven my own guilt? I could not, so I declined your friendship and chose to languish in my anger. This does not mean I was caught in a limbo, I had moved on but there is a huge difference between moving on and letting go. I had not let go, you were still in my subconscious and unknowingly you would remain there for the next 5 years. If I wanted to, if I was ready I would have extended my hand, in my mind and touched you but I did not. I closed my mind. I chose distance and silence. I chose Anger.
I was angry, angry at that last trip we made. Do you remember it? Of course, you do not. Why would you? I was so many eons ago. That trip offered hope for me, after a deafening silence of a couple of months, that trip was an olive branch offered to a sinking sailor. It gave me hope. As that day ended, I nurtured hopes of your forgiveness, a possible reconciliation, a possible future. Even though I had questions, I did not voice them then, instead I clung to that hope, it was my lifeline for three months. Only that in hindsight, I recognise my stupidity in holding on to that hope. And this apparent stupidity is what has fuelled my anger long than I should have been angry. That trip was your way of saying goodbye, you had organised it planning to tell me that you had met someone else; that you were moving on and you had family on the way, but you lost the courage to tell that to my face. Was it my smile that undid you? Or was it seeing that I was happy at that moment with you that did it? Or was it a careful consideration on your part on what such a revelation would do to me that you decided not to tell me? Well I am not seeking answers anymore. That trip was your closure. I did not know it then, and I wish I were perceptive enough then. It was your way of saying goodbye, and I foolishly saw it as hope.
Years later, I would make contact during my initial hallucinations of pain and we talked or emailed about how you chose to break the news about your ‘happiness’. You apologised, that you never thought about what I would feel and it was never your intention to hurt me. Well, it hurt me and I was angry. I was angry at how inconsiderate you chose to break that vital part of your life. I had no idea you had moved on, let alone how far you had moved on, since this came barely a few months after our trip. That damn trip that raised my hopes. I was crushed; I was lost in pain, anger and confusion. After a while, this pain, this confusion bred more anger, towards you and on me. Therefore, I declined your friendship for I was not in a position to accept it. A girl can wallow in her own anger, can’t she?
What is the point of all this point then? You ask. None at all. Time heals even the deepest wounds and my wound-You-has healed. It has taken time and many mistakes, but alas, it has healed. I can now accept your hand of friendship. For there will be no hurting memories evoked by your name. At last, through this writing, I have closed those pages that chapter, and now a new book beacons at me.