The moment I realized this is done, a drop of water from my heart fell into a well.
This relationship. I’ll never hear from him again, in the voice of a date. But I might hear from him again, regarding something else, which makes it worse to imagine.
The well is so deep, that I waited, waited, waited, waited, waited. I cannot hear it —- the sound of my drop fell into the embraces of other water drops.
The distance it travels is the depth of my dead love.
You can see that like a drop of tear. Of me. This time falling in love. And now it is in a place where all the past times of me, and probably that of a million other women, gathered in the form of water.
I no longer need to post anything on Instagram simply because I want to let him see it and, maybe if he feels like, he will send me a message. I unintentionally connived this habit.
But he won’t. I’m done with him. He gets it.
I unfollowed him. Long ago. So now his name can only show up at the bottom of my stories’ viewer list. And I’ve learned the pattern that, the more bottom he gets, the earlier he has seen the story. But why do I always make the effort to scroll down to the bottom to see if he has viewed this or not?!
I even learned his timetable of the day by checking his name at the bottom of my stories. If I don’t see it in 1 hour, oh he is asleep, oh he is having fun with his girl and other people. Oh, he is just a rich man with a retired lifestyle. I’m an energetic social human with a huge potential to become big therefore the thing between us is a no-go.
But I’m jealous. I can’t help. Both of the lifestyle, and of his accompany.
Love, jealousy, and anger. Someone said these three always go together. And somewhere from the dead love’s well (sometimes I feel standing in front of a thousand wells waiting for me to drown), come these endless bad intentions and arbitrary conclusions about him, his lovely partner, me, this world, the connection we’ve had.
“Maybe I was too pushy. I fell for him too fast. I told him too much. I lost control of myself. Or I controlled myself too much from the outside. He was just trying to be nice. There should be a dozen women before me that had fantasized to save him from his seemingly boring relationship. No, it’s not boring. It’s just very stable. He got a girl that admires him and puts all her attention on him. But she can probably also be herself. That perfectly-Asian Japanese girl.
I cannot be myself. At least nobody ever gave me the chance to.
I won’t put all my attention on him either. I have my career. No. I don’t want to. No. I want to but I cannot.
How pathetic I am! Why do smart women like me want to exploit ourselves and make an impact in the world? Why can’t the world just appreciate our hardworking and take it the way it is? Why can’t the rest of the world acknowledge the wealth of China? Is new money always being despised, so we are naturally so much worse than the Japanese? She can appreciate art, but me too! I can drink much more than she can. She looks so ordinary but I’m amazingly smart… But she looks much more innocent than me, it’s true…”
This goes on and on and on.
My friend Joanna said, don’t judge yourself with “wrong”. It’s too harsh.
And somewhere in the movies, someone shouted at the protagonist, “Your whole life, you think you’re better than others! Look at where you are!”
“Ok, let’s forget about all that shit. Stop judging myself and where I’m from. This is just really bad timing.”
I talked to myself.
Because I just came back to Paris and have been trying to make my business work by living in France. I’m a foreigner without a long-term stay nor a European boyfriend that I can trade my body for the visa.
Then I realized that every time I fell for someone with these frenzies, “this is bad timing”, I repeatedly told myself. I have to leave. I cannot handle the crave. BAD TIMING.
Maybe it’s not. It’s not bad timing at all. It’s just something “wrong” in my mind, that I longed for this type of pain, the strong emotions that could bury me alive, to feel energized and to live again. If I cannot handle it, I make up excuses to run away.
Life itself is like a well. It’s not worth it without heartfelt emotions that release the beasts inside you. I should have been an actress. I need strong emotions to stay lively.
My deadly romantic ego tells me.
No no no no no no no.
I’m done. I can’t live like this anymore.
I like being girly. But with wisdom and experience. I’ve failed 3 times over the past 8 years. In 3 different cities. 3 different nationalities. Same story. I used to think I’m the kind of person that could always learn from mistakes and change the way I behave. Because I’m a quick learner. But apparently I’m not. From this time to last time, it’s been 5 years. I simply forgot how heartbreaking it was. It’s like mothers usually forget how painful they gave birth to the babies. Bad analogy. I only gave birth to pains, and painful lessons for life.
So no matter how hard it is. This time. I’m done with looking for painful emotions within my crazy affection for some guy. These guys, they are all wild, present, wildly good-looking, present everything with style and comments. They are all strong souls.
Me too. I’m a strong soul.
Maybe it comes with age. All of a sudden, I realized that I can have relationships that makes me calm and sensible.
So I started on Dating Apps and try to chat with people. In French.
This almost ideal person should be like —- When I spend time with him, I feel the time is well spent WHATEVER I DO. Not whatever he does. Whatever I do. I don’t need to care a single cent about how he judges my moves. If I want to keep quiet, he won’t mind. I can do stupid things to make him laugh, or mock. If I get stressed and want to lock myself up in a room. He will pat me on the shoulder and say, it’s fine, and it will be fine.
Then I grab a cup of tea, and we sit down for some no-brainer SitComs.
I’ll take my emotional trials somewhere else. Maybe in the articles, maybe with coffee, maybe with song-writing.
Change the exit. Find another exit to release the beasts. Experiment until my needs are properly satisfied, or maybe they will get tired longing for the satisfaction. And I’ll save the best for the ones that would really keep me company.
By whatever means.
After all, springs hibernate in wells.
As I just checked my Instagram again, this time he liked my champagne tasting post. I didn’t open my stories and scroll down.
But I still want to thank you. And all those who made me crazy in love and had to fleet to save myself.
I love you.
maoa 