WE SHOULD HAVE JUST REMAINED STRANGERS……
If I hear one more sermon on having to be happy I met someone even when it doesn’t last and be grateful I had them in my life, I will barf. Like, what does that mean!!!!!.
Disclaimer: this is a rant, and maybe I might feel differently when I am calmer.
So we meet someone and get intimate. And by intimate, I am not talking about sex. I am talking about trust. I think the book The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo captured one of the truest definitions of intimacy when it said,
People think intimacy is about sex. But intimacy is about truth. When you realize you can tell someone your truth. When you realize you can show yourself to them when you stand in front of them bare, and their response is ‘you are safe with me’.
Okay, it’s true I haven’t even gotten to that level of intimacy where I am completely bare, and truly I doubt any of us ever get to that level in reality. It just sounds good on paper. I don’t mind going to my grave with some secrets, and I think that is okay. Now, not to digress. Let me get back to being mad.
I haven’t ever been one that likes to share so much. I had always had a diary since I was 13. Even then, I realized that when something leaves your mind and gets into the universe through a paper or conversation, it is no longer yours. I mean, no matter how much I hid my diary, my family or friends seem to find it and read it, getting a glimpse into my mind. When people can see the contents of your heart, like every dark thought, every insecurity, every happiness or sadness, I don’t think you can be more vulnerable than that. I hate being vulnerable, so I stopped writing. Keeping every dark thought in my head. Sharing selectively. Like you censor what you release to the universe, being guarded as much as possible.
Then life happened, and somehow I got convinced I needed to rant or vent to not explode. I started cultivating the art of intimacy. This is the closest thing to love for me; once I feel comfortable really talking to you, I know I am about to get in trouble.
So imagine fighting inner demons just to open up to someone, so you can create lasting memories. Then slowly, like a flower, you begin to open up. It feels nice to let this person hear your thoughts, maybe censored still, but it is still personal. Then 6 months, a year, 2 years later, after loading some much information on this person and breaking your own rules, they decide they have had enough and leave with all your secrets, memories and of course a part of you. Lol, I understand why in movies, they never leave someone with any sort of information alive. That shit is scary.
Now, I will be okay dealing if I don’t hear things like “don’t be sad it ended, be thankful it happened .”Or Astrid Singing, “it is okay if you forget me .”No!!!! Neither of these is okay.
You cannot walk into my life, change what you want and then waltz off and expect me to be thankful I had you. No, I am not, and memories are fickle for me. Maybe it is how my brain is wired to protect me, or maybe it’s my curse. But when things end, I barely remember anything. I always need screenshots or videos to remember what I felt in the past. But you see the hole in the space once occupied— that, I feel every day. So, yes, I don’t want to know you for 6 months, or a year, I’d rather not know you at all.
I mean, have you ever gone through your camera roll and looked over photographs in two years or some years back. There is always that one person you were almost inseparable with and told almost everything, but now you don’t even talk anymore. You are just strangers.
While many will argue that they gave you one of the best years of your life, I feel differently. What I feel they give you is an expectation of how life should look like, and when you have settled into that world, they take their leave. That world feels different because it was never yours to begin with. And sometimes, if it turns out it wasn’t your own house to begin with, you become homeless. And that right there is the worst place you can end up in.
What I want is a long-term friendship. And yes, friendship feels differently at different stages of our life, and that’s okay. A deep intimacy may wane, and like a flower past its time, wilts slowly and dies. I feel that’s fine rather than a flower plucked untimely. One of such examples is my childhood best friend, Amuche. At one point, we were inseparable, but with time and life, we began to drift apart. Now what was beautiful is that it felt natural. After over 15 years, with waning intimacy and distance, she still always leaves a warm feeling. I wouldn’t trade this for anything. This is what life should be. Friendship or relationships, especially one that changed you, shouldn’t have to be cut short. It could wane. It could do anything but not take my secrets and memories, shut me out, and expect me to be thankful. No, I am not thankful, I am mad, and I’d rather we just remained strangers, and you were never a part of my journey.
