the necessary conversation
I started this entry quite a few weeks ago but didn't finish it. I was at the height of some pretty strong emotions then, wanted to take more time to record my thoughts and my journey so I didn't finish the entry. Am in a calmer place now so today's the time to come back and finish this, the journey so far.
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I never knew I have never left the spot where his body lied, covered in newspapers and my tears - since 2 years and 11 months a go.
He was a mere mortal with flaws, like me. But the ingredients of his love were, to me, pure and quite out of this world. He just wanted to see me sing, and sing more he wanted me to do - because it made me happy, pure bliss. And the same he wanted of others, he was just a boy who loved to make others happy.
Yea. I laugh to myself now, how could I trust that I would come close to such fortune ever again? If never ever to find something close to that, what would I do to convince myself of the meaning of this remaining life? I throw many options at myself, all these 35 months of time. Music, music, music, become a worthy being to others, music, be a worthy person...etc.
Along the way I have discovered my many many weaknesses, my weak mind, how easily I succumb to the negative end of a situation, how vulnerable I actually am, how terrible a cry baby I am, and how self-centred I must smell like in my little whirlpool of loss and mourning.
There have been sunny days too, and many many fantastic new experiences made on my own, with new people, new friends, new things, new routines. On those days I just sailed.
But somehow this new year of 2013 has been nothing other than a funk of confusion, self-doubts and clouds of depression, all mixed up in a big ball of activities. I have done some little research on depression and what people do about it but that didn't do anything for me.
Then came July the draught, the unpaid bills, more doubts, lots of time to be alone and think, and read. Reading makes me feel better and calmer, cooking too. So I read and cook, eat, and read, and play music, listen to CDs.
Then came a point one day quite recently when I was lying in bed thinking some more...something just snapped, and I decided that I was tired of feeling like shit, I have enough of the shit feeling. I wasn't sure what I was going to do to keep it away, I just knew that I was sick of staying and being in the gut.
This soul-searching is both tiresome and/but tireless for me. I reviewed the friendships I keep with others, I review the way I work, reminders of how little I plan for my future (practically none), review what are my real strengths, review my songs, my voice...review my views on relationships, on men..etc.
On men, back in 2011 I saw myself as someone eager to learn to love again. I allowed work and music to take the front seat and cruised along with glee because the work fulfilled me, there was not a quiet moment to wallow in the absence of someone special. Time passes and gigs came and went, I grew more lonely and there was lots of longing for him or someone. At the same time I was growing attached to my convenient...what I called, the `single singer life'. Too comfortable in my cocoon, I did nothing to change my status - a deliriously tragic and foolishly romantic widowed person, indulging in her easy single-hood, just stay missing him.
Besides, this is not a good place to be fishing for new romantic relationships. My environment (circle) is far too homosexual; working and meeting married men is a norm of my routine, and ah, working and meeting men a decade or more my junior is usually the case. I cherish the new friendships I found at work and some new friends I have made. Granted, friends are not lovers like him whom I counted on for much more support but the good ones are those I talk to, to keep my sanity intact.
The deeds of his life.
My sports and hobbies.
Watching others live.
I will promise myself to keep this conversation alive and honest. There is no shame in coming out as a tragic person as long as I have decided to stay alive and contribute.