I Miss You

"I don't think I can live
with this love, anymore.
I don't think I can take
another night.
And I know your beauty will haunt me when you're with
someone else,
but darling there's not enough left of me to divide
and if I swallow hard, I might not come undone
and you might no-ot see the way I feel...."
-The Bangkok Five, "Outlines of Us"

Please be warned before reading on, Chris, that the following entry is devoted completely to, well, you and the us that formerly existed. I won't ask you not to read, since I can stand you knowing how I feel.

The night I called Chris in Iowa, I knew it was the right thing to do. I had rehearsed the phone call in my head almost obsessively, but "I think it's a dealbreaker" still nearly didn't come out. I remember how calm he seemed. At the time it was almost maddening as I wasn't calm at all, but in retrospect it was probably the one of the best ways he could have handled things.

This Friday I give him back my engagement and wedding ring. These are gorgeous pieces of jewelry which I treasured. When we looked at those rings, it was a sign that, at the end of the day, we loved each other and everything was going to be okay. And honestly, it still breaks my heart to give them back, because a part of me really wants to be there for him at the end of the day, even though I was the one who said that I wouldn't be in the first place.

I don't regret what I did. I've reached a point, a point earned through a lot of pain, where passion will never lead me around by the nose again. I am in control, and no matter how much I care for someone I can make a rational decision with regards to him or her. We've both agreed multiple times that we will make better friends than ...engaged people. If we got back together, it would solve nothing. And in the short time we've been apart, I've already felt the positive affects of us breaking up.

I still really like him, because that's the way humans work, I guess? There is a reason we stayed together for three years. I also still think he's damn gorgeous. I know he'll probably think that I am just saying that, but it would make it easier if I didn't think he was. I miss his mischievous nature, our jokes, our references. I miss my cuddlebuddy. If only that was all that it took to make this work.

I don't know how people get divorced. Maybe that's exactly why some unhappy marriages stay together. Would ours have been an unhappy marriage? I don't think so, but it wouldn't have been the right one for either of us.

I'm at a strange point right now, letting go while developing real feelings for someone else. I'm trying not to dwell on them, as I don't know if they're returned, and I have a life to try and live. I can be single and very happy, and that's what I'm holding on to right now-independence.

But I still miss you, every day. I don't think it's romance at this point, I think it's the close friend who I'm not talking to. I'm afraid it could turn back into romance, so that can't be rectified at the moment.

I don't think you would know me anymore. Remember when you didn't see certain things coming? Like that. Or maybe it's just easier to think you don't. Probably it's a combination.

I don't come first anymore, you don't come first anymore, we don't come first anymore. Your opinion is just an opinion now, though I still respect you. And it's hard, but we live on to tell the tale and be there for each other to a lesser extent at a later date.

Calm Before the Storm

This article on Jezebel is horrific.

"Female infanticide in countries like China has widely been considered one of the causes behind the gender discrepancies in population growth. However, Baute points out a study by Siwan Anderson and Debraj Ray that shows that while infanticide is certainly an issue, the majority of "excess female deaths" comes much later in life. As Anderson notes: "Previously, people had thought that they (the missing women) were all at the very early stages of life, prenatal or just after, so before four years old. But what we found is that the majority are actually later." Those "later" deaths can be attributed to a number of factors: poor access to health care for women, high suicide rates, HIV and AIDS, and dowry-related murders (which, Burke notes, are marked as "injuries.") "

Even worse are some of the comments:

"When we go back to visit India, and people meet my father and find out he has three daughters and no sons, they say, "I'm so sorry."

It's really insulting of course, but it is honestly how people think. In a culture like that, how can you not have a dwindling female population?

I have to say, it does affect me when I'm there. It's hard to hear people lament about how unlucky your parents are and not consider yourself devalued. I could see how someone who's lived it their whole lives would turn to suicide."

-momentsofabsurdity

"Is this really all the fault of men? My mom, who grew up in India, doesn't trust any men, since she grew up in an exceeding crappy home, in which her father didn't care for her and her brother was valued above her and her 4 sisters. But she puts a lot of blame on other women for perpetuating this kind of vicious, misogynistic behavior that keeps other women down. After all, it was her own mother and my aunts who taunted her for having 2 daughters and no sons, and for marrying my father, who isn't the best-looking guy ever, but is really forward-thinking, and more importantly was the only one to move his family to the US (all other sisters are living in traditional families in India). In my mom's family, there are also rumors that an aunt murdered her son's young wife (with the rest of the uncles, who were city bigwigs, covering it up) because the wife was poor and the son was a drunkard who couldn't support the family...."

-JeromeCabaret

In a different time and place, I could have been one of these women. In fact, I'm only three generations removed from this world.

My family's story is fascinating and caught up in the politics and threads of the world. My grandparents on my mom's side were indentured servants, and my mom was alive when Trinidad gained independence as a country after being a colony of Britain. World war II is much too close historically when I think about these things. I don't like to think about how recent it was. It's terrifying to reach through the sepia and black and white to bring that horror into the real light of day.

I was thinking about art history last night when lying in bed, about how, really, it shows how history created art. The problem is that studying something like that from books is something of an exercise in futility, because many times it is necessary to see the art in person to fully appreciate it. So much is lost in photographic translation, from the brushstrokes to the size to some sort of magic which I can't explain but makes the experience in person very different when looking at a masterpiece. This is true of sculpture, also-Winged Victory is breathtaking in person. I mean this literally, as remembering it is taking my breath away. That's why I decided to include it in this blog entry.

It's hard in museums, sometimes, to appreciate what is on display, with one masterpiece after another and time as a constraint. Only afterward, when context is created, do I sometimes appreciate what I've seen.

Of course, I believe the futile effort is definitely still worth undertaking.

With Chris gone, I also have to research film and (more) music independently. I'm hesitant to say when I will do this, but I will. Also, I should research photography. So much to learn, so little time.

Tomorrow marks the four week anniversary of Chris and I splitting up. At first I was surprised at how well things were going. Now I really wish they would go faster.

Quantum Physics final tomorrow! So sorry if this seems especially hastily written or edited.

I Have Forgotten the "Art" Tag in a Bunch of Posts

For me, personal space is a necessity. I am one of those people who may appear messy, but are actually very organized. I have a folder with my medical records, household manuals, etc sorted into neat files and my shirts are all organized according to type. There just are a bunch of books on the floor and I tend to not hang up my clothes right away.

I've learned to let go of certain things. When we first moved into our house in Winnetka I started stealing books from downstairs and buying others, all of which accumulated in stacks along the side of the wall. My parents finally decided to buy me a bookcase, so I organized the non-fiction books by topic and the fiction books by date published. The fiction books took a very long time to sort, probably four or five hours at the least, and I could never keep their order straight(though when my mom used to throw books back on the shelves it resulted in several screaming matches). I now know the general area where a book is supposed to be and the structure is too much to keep track of, so I've stopped being as exacting about it. The same thing happened with my stuffed animals. I know you're mocking me now, but I will take your mental words with a quiet dignity. Wait, I already used that joke recently. I'm cornered! The moral of the story is to not use a system that requires being more organized than you wish to be.

I tend to create a "nest" where I spend most of my time. Why do I call it a nest? Usually it is in a narrow space on the floor that rapidly accumulates books, artwork, and various other random papers. I tend to have another "nest" on a couch. These two places are where I spend 95% of my time at home. No nest of mine has ever been on a desk. I don't use desks, and I don't particularly understand why, though the big black chair next to mine tends to make me fall asleep. I like the floor.

Flight of the Conchords-"What is Wrong with the World Today"

"There's people on the street getting diseases from monkeys
Yeah that's what I said, their getting diseases from monkeys
Whys this happening, please, whose been touching these monkeys
Leave these poor sick monkeys alone
There sick, they've got problems enough as it is"

I stopped by the Betta section today in Petsmart. There was a purple boy, a color I have never seen before in real life on a Betta. After finals I'm going to clean out the three gallon and put a Betta in it or something. Also, part of my dream last night involved choosing between a water dragon and a friendly salamander, but I decided to buy these small fish living in a "sustainable environment" they would obviously be dead in a week from.

Chris and I would always stop by the Bettas together in Petsmart. I would look at them and he would go "lo-ove", as if I was going to buy one, and I would get angry with him because I thought he thought I lacked the self control to keep myself from

getting one. Why can't it be "I love you, you love me" instead of "I love you, you love me, but we're really not right for each other so no amount of trying is ever going to make this work"?

We tried, we really did, and now it's time to try with other people. Or lock ourselves up in seclusion, which is what my preference is for the moment.

I feel sort of strange for liking the following two songs. The first is "So What" by Pink, which I've mentioned here before. It's extremely catchy, and Pink uses it as an opportunity to sing her heart(break) out. I can't embed the video, so click here to listen. While I've never particularly been a fan of Pink's music, she seems like a genuine enough musician, whatever that means. I don't have anything against her.

The second song, Jai ho, is more complicated. While I loved "Slumdog Millionaire", this song is a feat with The Pussycat Dolls. I hate this group because instead of actually making good music, they writhe around on stage going "Don't you wish your girlfriend was a skank like me?"*

*not the actual lyrics

And no, I'm not jealous of them. If I thought being a skank was cool, I'd be a skank. And if your boyfriend would leave you for a skank, dump him and re-evaluate your priorities. Unless...that makes you happy(?!).

So anyways, while the singer gyrates around, the voice synthesizer she's singing into makes her voice decent and this was obviously not arranged by them. And I like this song.
Again, I can't embed the video directly, so here you go.

The above photograph does not reflect how I feel in any way. I just thought it was very evocative.
Photocredit: ALBERTO PIZZOLI/AFP/Getty Images

Straight Up

I past my first independent credit check today.

I miss Chris and I's relationship, though what I'm missing is sort of an idealized version created by letting go of bad memories and annoyances. So I don't know what to call what I'm actually feeling right now. Marisa-wants-to-live-in-an-idealized world syndrome? Marisa had a dream last night where she met Chris and Artur and then had psychic powers and rained fire and lightning down on her enemies but the enemies still won, so she had to eat orc meat and sing the country, which contained Mallorn trees, back to life? Marisa is letting go of the idea of any significant other being present in her life for the time being? Speaking of the dream, I was with Buffy and Chris and Artur were dressed up for Halloween. Buffy and I were trying to evade an attack from Spike, but then we got pushed into this other world and were using magic seeds on the ground in a woodland area for protection, but the woodland animals who were supposed to be defending us decided to eat some, so the army of spiders got through. I was helpless, except I developed psychic powers which I wasn't sure were working, but worked.

Part of the problem is that I know what it's like to be truly alone, a state which is extremely unpleasant, to say the least. I don't want to ever experience that again. But I don't think I ever will have to, for a variety of reasons, one of which being that I have these people called friends. I think I would have done better in a time period where friendship was regarded more seriously, except for the sexism and racism and the fact that I probably would not have survived being born prematurely.

It's strange to suddenly be at a different stage in life. Suddenly wedding dresses and a shared house are things of the distant future, instead of realities happening in the course of the next few years. If they even happen at all, though I also thought I would be someone who reached twenty without ever being in a relationship or even kissed. In other news, my first kiss sucked.
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I was in third grade, and taking a class at John Robert Powers. "Stand up straight against the wall!" said the teacher. I tried to stand up straight against the wall, but failed, as I knew I would. My back didn't line up properly with it the way that it should have.

"You have the most sensitive back I have ever treated", said my chiropractor in eight grade after I had sprained my back.

"I always wondered why you veered off when you were walking. It's because you're crooked! Here..." Alex Jacobson, my flute section leader, tried to adjust my posture. "OW!" I ejaculated, tearing away. All the other flutists laughed, and I tried to laugh too, but it wasn't funny. I knew that had no idea what it felt like, and I still feel no grudge against them for their reaction. This was in tenth grade.

"Wow. This is a lot of tension. Was this caused by trauma?" Andy, who was filling in as my physical therapist last Friday and is not to be confused with Andy from the lab. I wish my physical therapists could simply massage my knots away all at once, but after the pain I've gone through from being overenthusiastic, I'm quite clear on why they don't. I don't want to end up in the hospital in shock.

"You have to be able to bend that way. Everyone is able to bend that way." I've heard this countless times throughout my life.

Today, this morning, I can stand up straight. I feel so happy and blessed for that simple gift. People are born with much harsher circumstances than mine, and I can't look at pictures of people with severe back problems. After what I have gone through, and I look like I have a normal back, what must these people feel every day? If the pain were just a bit sharper, I would need medication to keep it under control. My arms are horribly sore, and I spent a lot of time massaging out knots in addition to exercise and appointments, but I can stand up straight. It feels good to be rewarded for all of this effort, though my physical therapist and my mom's insurance played a crucial part in helping me. I have a while yet to go, but straight! Me! Happy!

Beached

My day started at 3:13am this morning when my mom and dad brought Snuggles home from the vet. Apparently his tests came back with normal results, and the cause of his illness was speculated to be either his teeth or a hairball. One of his teeth needs to be pulled and he, as we suspected, has cataracts. Both of these will be attended to by the regular vet on Tuesday or Weds. The emergency vet gave him a solution of electrolytes and stressed that he needed to eat every day for now, but once he was healthy again he had to go on a program of diet and fitness to reduce his weight. The message has finally gotten through to my mom, and I look forward to a new, healthier Snuggles.

I then had a dream about Chris and I trying to get back together and how miserably the attempt failed.

After watching the kittens prance and pounce in the backyard and petting Snuggles goodbye, we headed off to San Diego. Mom kept going over how mellow Snuggles had been at the vet last night. They also were talking about how proud they were of what Christopher has been accomplishing, and, when they thought I was asleep, me. At Petsmart there was a large black cat named Snuggles who looked and acted a bit like him. Dad half-seriously suggested that we take him home.

After they left I browsed the internet for a few minutes and then started out for Black's Beach(Torrey Pines). Andy had invited me to bbq-and-ultimate-frisbee-get-together-thing. The directions I got were shoddy, however, and I ended up getting off the bus early against my better judgment. This was my first time at Black's that didn't involve someone else driving me.

Crazy screaming lady is back again. I can hear her rattling cans.

After getting off the bus I started stubbornly walking in the direction I thought the beach was in. In my olden days I would not have had the gall to simply wander in a direction without giving up and going home. Literature champions large decisions which "show your true character"; less popular are all the little choices showing how your character interacts with everyday life in situations which might seem much bigger than they are when they are taking place. I ended up going through the Salk Institute and witnessing a silent panoramic view by myself in a rare moment of peace. After reaching the site where the handgliders launch , I finally got on the trail to Black's.

I didn't even know I had such a harrowing fear of heights until this one particular spot in the path which looked like a smooth downward curve with no handholds. Usually I throw dignity to the winds when hiking and, if necessary, start using both hands and feet. I started fearfully inching down, wondering if the traction of my sandals would hold me, when a couple came up behind me.
"Scared?" asked the man
"Yes."
"Join us!"
With their moral boost I did not slip and die, although not looking down helped a whole lot. We talked for a little while and I called Andy, who said that at this point I should keep walking south as I was probably on the wrong side of the beach. I was unconcerned, for while at that point I had walked about a mile I was on the beach and enjoying myself. Except for all the naked men-did I mention that Black's is a nudist beach? I saw more *insert your favorite name here* today than I ever wanted to in a lifetime. I figured that I would walk to the main entrance of Torrey Pines and take the bus from there if I couldn't find Andy at that point. And that's how I ended up taking a three-or-more mile stroll on the beach today, which probably added a few years to my lifespan. For part of the walk I was completely alone. There are so many thoughts seething in the water, though none probably as beautiful or as edifying as the clear waves themselves in the here and now. My thoughts wandered, and for a little while I struggled between holding on to the moments and living them. I'm terrified of the day that words will only bring back dying embers of past experiences, but I would rather have lived those fully than spend them remembering the details to write down. Everything from crabs to Chris; making all the little unconscious corners let go of him. They say that the death of a relationship is mourned like the death of a person. For me this was not true; it was a moment in time with both good and bad memories, all of which are over; we touched and then parted. With a person, the person is over, usually for no clear reason other than what we in our puniness can metaphysically attribute.

I had to climb a large rock to get to the other side of the beach. A stranger held my hand for a moment so that I wouldn't fall, though I navigated it surprisingly well on my own. My bag wasn't even there. I dislike handbags, as they feel like a sexist weight which hampers physical activity and fitness. I can't just keep my wallet, keys, and phone in my pants or they would fall down. Speaking of which, this entire time I was wearing shorts and a thin t-shirt over my swimsuit and not freezing to death. I once read that symbolically cold is attributed to individualism, climbing a mountain. Perhaps minute adjustments have been made in my constitution because of my mental state. I personified nature and wondered if the colors and shapes of the cliffs had some deeper, hidden meaning.

Anyways, there is too much to write. I got on the bus and came home with sandy feet, although physical limitations took over and I became numb while walking to my apartment. There will be more opportunities to go out and meet new people(at least I hope), and I had a great Memorial day.

People

I remember a conversation I had when I was sixteen.
"I hate people", I typed in my instant messenger window.
"So are you a misanthrope?" asked Chris, who was just getting to know me at the time.
"No......"
The conversation went on from there, although I don't remember the rest of my reply. It basically stated that I like individuals but dislike the way groups of people operate.

What? I went out with him for practically three years. Half or more of my current stories include him.

I love individuals. People from all walks of life have so many tales to share, new nuggets of information which I may never have heard in my circle. Whether we be blessed to see the intricacies of the human mind by never being able to objectively view it or are trapped in obvious but invisible boundaries, sharing things from our innermost minds is one of the most satisfying things I can do with another human being. Or, I am biologically programmed to feel that way.

I feel good, strangely over the breakup. Not completely over it, as one might expect, but as if some crucial point has been passed. In fact, I still felt really sick this morning, but this afternoon I feel very good.

So I am curious about something. Sunblock absorbs or scatters UVB and UVA, crucial and large components of sunlight. People who do not get exposure to sunlight risk developing SAD(Seasonal Affective Disorder, although I'm pretty sure they made up the acronym and found a name to fit it). Sunlight is also used by the body to metabolize vitamin D. So while we may be protecting our skin by applying sunblock, are we doing the rest of our body any favors? There are no studies on this that I can find. I mean, preventing direct DNA damage is, of course, important, but I'm curious. This would of course only apply to those who use sunblock religiously.

My spontaneous and casual writing has definitely improved because of this blog. Although, interestingly, when I look back on posts a week later I almost always find errors to correct, no matter how many times I review the initial post.

Untitled

I was outside today, observing a pine tree by my apartment. The needles quivered in the wind with such grace that it was almost like watching music while the tree itself stood out like paint strokes in the dusk. There is as affective an algorithm for calculating this movement as there is for calculating the weather, even though there is an order to it. Cacophonous music.

I saw the sharp divide between the box painting of my apartment, lit up with warm CFLs through the door, and the outside world, the universe stretching outward and beyond. The divider being, of course, the roof.

Who is there to give me a gold start for my accomplishments? Some people would, in fact, denigrate me. There are no smiley faces in a world where we are taught to crave them. I want to rise above the world of smiley faces.

I finished watching the first season of "Pushing Daisies" today. It is a great show that displays creativity and talent, which is why they, of course, canceled it. As I put it back on my shelf I realized that I could finish "Orphans of the Storm" by myself, a movie Chris and I were forever meaning to watch together. And then it all came flooding onto me, that this really was my life, mine, and mine alone now, with no restrictions as to what to watch, with nobody to watch anything with me, with no priorities dictated by another person. And honestly, I'm scared, scared of messing it all up, but glad there is nobody else to blame in the end if I do.

I don't write everything down. Why would I?

Sunny Sunday

I've been treating my aquarium as a garden. I love the environment that I have created and watching creatures interact in it. The only problem is that unlike a real garden, there are very few surprises in it these days. I have no idea where my cherry shrimp or sparkling gouramis went-that's a surprise-but there are no insects crawling out from the dirt, no cats giving birth to kittens, no wildflowers bursting seasonally up from the ground to live a short and beautiful life. I want to add more creatures, but I'm afraid for the balance that has sprung up in my small "ecosystem". Regardless, working with it and watching things come to frutition is very gratifying. I wish I could create a million of these tiny worlds. Working with living creatures, combining my love of observation with the aestheticsm of the arrangements and the science of what makes it all not die but in fact thrive makes me really happy. The Dario darios, goby, Trixie, Dopey, Tiny Frog, nerites and female sunfish are all doing fine. Come to think of it, the shrimp have been with me the length of their usual lifespan, so they may have died of old age. Tiny Frog is a male, and I saw Dopey amplexing Trixie last night. Dopey, Trixie, and Tiny Frog are all African Dwarf Frogs, which is abbreviated as ADFs. I may actually be able to fit killifish into this environment...hmmm.......*maniacal twinkle appears in my eye*

At the moment I technically have no large problems in my life outside my head. While, yes, the three upcoming midterms aren't happymaking, they don't qualify in the same way. My head is getting the message, which also makes me happy.

Also, I will never hate Chris. Many people have shared that their first reaction after breaking up with someone is to demonize them, and I have experienced this myself. I was expecting this, waiting for this to come, but it hasn't and at this point I know it won't. I don't agree with things he's done or some of the opinions/attitudes he has, and I don't want to get back together any time in the foreseeable future, but I genuinely think he is a good person. There are, of course, unanswered questions, but that's ok, I shouldn't expect any less.

Another Hodgepodge

I'm still drifting between denial and reality at the moment. I wrote a lot of this entry yesterday before the breakup and want to publish the content.

I was invited to an "erotic party" over Facebook, which is a first. No, I'm not going, just noting this because of amusement.

The top three mistakes in my writing are:
1.) Forgetting words. I'm not quite sure why this happens, though I suspect that it's because my
mind thinks faster than my fingers can type.
2.) Extraneous commas
3)Repeating words.

"The real question was why no one ever seemed to figure this grim scenario out on her own, just by looking at you. This was enraging in and of itself - the fact that severe depression, much as it might be treated as an illness, didn't send out clear signals for others to pick up on; it did its deadly dismantling work under cover of normalcy. The psychological pain was agonizing, but there was no way of proving it, no bleeding wounds to point to."
-Daphne Merkin

Depression is a disease that our culture fails to recognize. Bringing in a note about being sick from stomach flu will help people excuse a lapse in productivity but equivalently crippling mental issues will inspire no sympathy from many. This is not an overall rule, as I've actually encountered many sympathetic and kind people, but there is still a feeling of judgment which encourages silence rather than reaching out for help. Therapy is seen as either for the weak or shallow and pills a part of our feel-good culture. Are there some people who will prescribe medication without a second thought and therapists who are ineffectual? Absolutely, but this overall stereotype of the psychological and psychiatric professions is horribly detrimental to those in need of help. Mental illness is not a choice and those affected can still be sane, competent and smart people, as I would like to consider myself to be. I still blame myself for things I did under the influence of this disease, although for me it actually is easier to accept blame in some ways than to admit that it is something which I can't or couldn't control. Therein lies another problem, as the line between the disease and the patient can be difficult for the patient themselves to recognize, let alone others. This fact only beneficial to disease out of all those involved.

After reading this Wikipedia article on Francis Bacon I am wondering what a movie about his life would be like. Also, I wonder what regular names in our day will go on to become swear words, food items, or some other oddity.

I really like this song by "The Kills":


I haven't even watched the video, however.

"Sometimes a thing gets broke n' you just can't fix it" -Firefly

This morning, things still feel surreal. Three years of thinking about "us" doesn't turn overnight into thinking about "me". I keep going over our fantasies, the way our wedding pictures were going to look, the imaginary house we built together. Fantasies don't always weather realities, though. A little part of me keeps speculating that perhaps we'll get back together in the future, but I know that's not true, or if it is it will be a long time from now, a time not even worth speculating about. I wouldn't say there is a torrent of memories, more like an organized trickle as things come forward one by one. I did genuinely believe we were going to be together forever. The concept that he is not standing right behind me is still alien.

I don't feel angry, although I may later. There is plenty to be angry about on both sides. At the moment I just feel sad, because I did cherish the time we had together. Part of me wants to fixate on the hurt, part of me wants to fixate on the good, and I'm retracing both side by side.

Chris and I just broke up. Why? I don't want to talk about it. I still respect and like the man, even still love him, but there are some things which a relationship cannot get over. I hope that he finds happiness, and I genuinely wish him well.