Archive for category: Writing

I’m Sorry, But I Can’t Forgive You

I’m Sorry, But I Can’t Forgive You

forgive move on Im Sorry, But I Cant Forgive You

I can't forgive you, but the least I can do is move on

Dear Cat Lady,

I have spent the past year writing, re-writing, and then scrapping drafts of what it is that I would like to let you know. In hopes of creating a resolution for myself – the ability to forgive you – I’ve come to realize that I just can’t, at least not right now or anytime in the near future.

The earlier letters recapped in vivid detail of what you had done to me – how having you in my life made it impossible to function, let alone live, for what may have been some of the darkest six months I’ve ever experienced. Even after removing your influence over the way I lived my life and the medications that I took, I couldn’t forget the emotional bruising, despite it having healed. There arose a new level of trust issues with medical professionals, while I was trying to better myself, and that was something I could accept. But it was the reviewal of the aftermath that I can’t shake at all.

Not only did you take my situation and spin it whichever way you saw fit – suggesting that I was an alcoholic, and that I was resistant to help – but you also took my life and re-wrote its entire narrative. You made me out to be someone that I wasn’t – you were “treating” someone that didn’t exist.

Despite all of that, I was wiling to forgive you, in spite of the fact that you have never apologized to me, believing that the consequences of your actions would make you a better person because of this one case. And then I learned that I wasn’t the only one:

I just wanted to say thank you and that I am so proud of you for being brave enough to step up and say something. [She] made the same assumption (that I was Korean) despite multiple corrections and repeatedly attributed the difficulties I had communicat[ing] distress or frustration to “cultural misunderstandings” in which “Americans sometimes don’t understand [my] people.” I had been far too afraid to say anything directly and simply took steps towards avoiding treatment altogether.
You are a real-life hero – thank you thank you THANK YOU.

Mind you, forgiveness isn’t a means to absolve wrongdoing, but rather a means to provide acknowledgement and acceptance of what has been. Surely, I acknowledge what has transpired, as can be seen from my many blog entries about the whole “saga,” but it is the acceptance component that eats at me.

To me, acceptance is a two-fold process. First, I have to be able to accept that the past is past, but more importantly, and secondly, I have to be able to accept that you’ve changed. And I can’t, especially after learning that it has happened before; no one talked about it until now.

I was vulnerable, and you abused me at the worst time possible. And to know that you did this to others, I’m not sure that I can believe that you have bettered yourself beyond a promise relayed to me by others. With that said, I want to let you know that I don’t hate you. Everything aside, I hope you have changed, but that is just my wishing.

As for me, I want to move on, even it is without forgiving you for what you have done to me and others.

Best,
Barbara

Image via Flickr (user: reallltype)

January 12, 2013 0 comments
Firsts: Kisses

Firsts: Kisses

starbucks kiss me Firsts: Kisses

'The kiss you're about to enjoy is very hot'

My first kiss, if you fancy calling it that, was in the seventh or eighth grade.

Recess signaled its end with the shrill ring of a bell, but our game of “truth or dare” still had its remaining moments. Last minutely, someone in our group dared one of the boys to kiss me.

“Oh boy, it this how my first kiss is going to be?” I thought to myself. No sign of hesitance could be shown on my end. How silly would it be to tell the other thirteen and fourteen year olds that you wanted to hold out for that iconic first kiss? Like a child gathering all their gumption to show that they “are a big kid now,” I feigned the necessary nonchalance, playing off the dare as something barely worthy of its title.

And like a vaccination, the kiss was over with before I could think otherwise. He simply grabbed me and landed a quick smooth – his lips on my teeth. So that was my glory-filed and moment-lasting first kiss.

Some odd amount of years later, when I was seventeen, I had my first boyfriend. There wasn’t much to really say about it except for that we somehow always wound up wearing outfits that matched in colour by coincidence.

I don’t remember a lot about our first date aside from the fact that it was when I had first started driving, so when I pulled my car to the side of the road to pick him up, it was more or less situated in the middle of the road.

Everything in between is a bit of a blur, though I can recite, like a narrator to a teen romantic comedy, what happened leading up to my first kiss.

He had asked me if I would be his girlfriend as we lay atop the roof of my car listening to Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars.” I suppose that was one’s post-Grease way to ask someone to go steady in suburbia. My heart fluttered a bit before I decidedly added a thick layer of awkwardness by kidding that it wasn’t official unless it was on Facebook. To add context, he really wasn’t a fan of Facebook, and I doubt that he is even to this day.

I drove the car home around the meandering corners to his house to drop him off for the evening. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he paused for a moment before saying, “I think this is where I kiss you.” This was certainly anything but Grammy-award winning stuff, right here.

And he leaned in, with eyes closed and all, and then here it came – I burst out laughing. The whole night and scene was just too funny in its entirety to be taken seriously. Here I was, working through a scripted mess of teenage clichés except I was driving the car, not him.

So what resulted was the most awkward of kisses after I stopped my fit of giggles. I’m not even sure how you would describe it – I won’t even bother trying.

In the end, I suppose that the first “first” kiss was no better than the first one. At least I wound up with two short (hopefully amusing) stories to tell.

For the curious, that relationship didn’t last very long anyway.

Image via (user: a7laa_gzayell)

December 6, 2012 0 comments
Silence

Silence

what silence is 640x509 Silence

'Silence is the speech of the hollow well'

I’m pouring myself into the void, sometimes knowingly, but other times not quite so. The fact that it all starts so innocently with my hope resting that it was a miscommunication is the default position. I conjure the reasons, “life gets in the way, life is hectic, life is busy,” but then slowly realize that those are valid reasons but just not applicable here.

And so I leave myself waiting, jilted at the altar of send and receive with texts remain unanswered, and emails left unreturned. The optimism that I affix to slowly weens itself for me, leaving to realize that the wall imposed between myself and the other is a deliberate one. There aren’t any excuses, only reasons that I don’t know of.

So what it is that stings are not words – those merely bruise. It is the eventual realization of silence and its overarching presence, which delivers a swift blow when acknowledged. And that hits harder than any words ever could, especially since the end result is that my heart is fractured.

December 3, 2012 0 comments