I’ve been meaning to write this for awhile but I’ve been afraid that if I write it out in words then it would concretize these things. I could never find the right words to say, and even now, I think still don’t have it all yet but writing is cathartic and I hope that in writing it out, I’ll receive some epiphany at the end.
I remember standing outside Zouk with some of the AC boys. Some had more to drink than others and we were all inebriated and everyone was being stupid. Then someone said that he would pay me 5 bucks to pretend to be his girlfriend in front of some friends. But the more significant thing that struck me was a comment from a friend who saw me through the break up mess. He was standing around when all these happened and he asked, “Why her? She has baggage.” And even though I forgot what happened the rest of the night and I usually never remember conversations from nights out, that line stuck with me. (Also, whenever we used to club together, we were supposed to wingman each other. Look what a lousy wingman he turned out to be lol)
I never dared typed it out or told any one this anecdote because I was afraid that saying or typing it out would make it true – but I’m starting to realize that it is true, that I do have baggage. And in that two years, I definitely lost things.
When I talk about The Mess and my 2012 (which was basically the peak of my self-destructiveness), I don’t talk about it without talking about the people that got me through that period of time either. Family and friends are God-sent angels that gave me the strength to get through something I thought I could never get through. And it was in that season that I met The Boy Who Makes Me Laugh (I’m going to call him “A” for simplicity’s sake and for keeping in line with my I’m not going to type out the names of my friends for privacy’s sake) and The Boy Who Showed Me How I Want To Be Treated (“B“) .
My mum was driving me to school one morning when she asked me “How is A?” Then after I mumbled something incomprehensible she asked me “What about B?” (I’m close to my mother like that so she knows about all the significant enough boys in my life.) Just like a typical mother, she continued to probe, “Do you regret?”
Once in awhile, I still think about what could have been. If I was not in my self-destructive, damaged, baggage-full state then, would things have played out differently? What if I had said “yes” to A, would I be happier now? Or even if I did not, if I was not the me I was then, would we still be close now? Or if I had not been so guarded with B, would I have ‘missed out’ on someone who followed through and didn’t have to say anything but showed it all with his actions?
Earlier on this year, I sat at Island with Ariel and as I spoke to her, I realized how cynical and jaded I’ve become. I used to be the type of person that wasn’t afraid to love and loved intensely. I still believe in love and that love is all a matter of choice, but what I don’t believe in anymore is people. I trust myself to make the choice to love – even if there is someone better, there will always be someone better that will come along, even when things are tough, simply because that’s who I am (or who I think I am, rather) (“she mates for life” – quoting Greys) – but after everything, I no longer believe in the other person choosing to do so either. Simply because I’ve experienced first hand how it was like to have someone else choose not to while you are desperately clinging on and trying to fight for the other person. And there’s something about that that breaks you and makes you lose something.
So I guess, my point of writing all this is basically that I’m scared. I want to love again, eventually, with the same intensity, with even more than I had the first time round. But I’m so guarded now – every time someone comes along, it feels like a game of chess, every move is so calculated and wary, it is tiring. And it is not me. (This is belated, but I’m sorry.)
And I’d sing a song, that’d be just ours
But I sang ’em all to another heart
And I wanna cry I wanna learn to love
But all my tears have been used up
On another love, another love
All my tears have been used up
On another love, another love
Eventually, though. I’m getting there and I’ll find what I’d lost again someday.