After much contemplation of my relationships and lack thereof of them, there has been a similar pattern. You and I know I’ve had too much time thinking of regrets if I had come to this said conclusion. But c’est la vie, one must move on but that doesn’t mean you can’t look back. The physical aspect of it is a given if by any chance they are all profiled in a single line as if in prison– someone tall to lean my shoulders on, un peu ronde to cuddle with, and a smile that can transform from sweet to cocky in a millisecond. The psychological aspects are few and simple– smart, confident, and funny. Those were all what was normally called as ‘my type’.
But more so I have come to another common denominator that I didn’t want to accept until I had to mentally slap myself with a giant raw fish in the face. The men I choose are always the ones that will leave me in the end.
The term ‘leaving’ could mean different things. At first perception, it seems as though I am left on air, the role of the sad, scorned woman landed on my lap. I’ve had that, don’t worry, and I am so over it. But then again, it could be me who leaves them too. Not a very nice thing to do, I know. What I am pointing out is that I am more inclined to men who have great goals for themselves that it resorts to them leaving to a far off place to achieve it. I am, as I would like to label myself now before others could, a long-distance relationship magnet chick.
Some of you must be wondering why. Why am I letting myself be in these situations? Why do I choose to stay in it, knowing I’ll get hurt in the process? Why bother with love at all? Okay that last one was an exaggeration, but really, why do I keep getting into it?
My first impulsive answer would have been I KNOW, RIGHT? Why do I even bother with relationships if I have to do the same crappy, complicated love over and over again? It gets tiring, of course it does. It drains me emotionally to the point of recklessness and impulsive decisions. I get to my breaking point, holding on to anything to make me feel like I’m still floating even when I’m not. I’ve done it, I did it and it was the craziest time of my life.
My next answer would be I DON’T KNOW. You can’t really choose who you get emotionally involved with. I mean I know you can, but sometimes it’s too late to change them. And when the inevitable pattern comes back again, I have no choice but to accept it or leave, which I have both done and still left me shitty inside. There is no escape that doesn’t lead you to emotional turmoil other than don’t get into a relationship at all. And as much as a strong, independent woman I am, I still yearn for that.
And then my response would be BECAUSE I HAVE TO. I’m in way too deep, invested myself too much into it that it’s too late to back out. You think of all the moments you had, the risks you took, the problems you had surpassed, so you think what’s another year of being far from each other? What’s four years of not seeing each other even if you lived in the same country? What’s wrong with planning to move your entire life to where they are, or having someone do that giant leap for you? Backing out would have meant that all those hardships were worth nothing, and would not matter in an instant. Maybe it meant that the love was not real at all, and I didn’t want to accept that it was a possibility because I know– I know from the deep caverns of my chest cavity that it was real, if not at least it was something. Leaving it behind made me a coward, and that if I stopped I would have regrets later in life.
So then later on, after lying down on my bed, thinking how I got myself into this cursed situation and how I deal with it– a question people tend to ask me all the time with a sour tone of them feeling sorry for me– I have come to my final answer and it was BECAUSE I WANT TO. I wanted to invest myself, sink deep into this sick, sad, twisted love affair. Call me a masochist if you want, but to me it made sense. I get the pleasure of being alone without never really feeling alone because I know somewhere out there I have someone. And as much as I want him to be with me always, my isolation is my most anticipated and precious time, not because I don’t like other people’s company but there are moments when I’d rather be with myself. I can have time with him without jeopardizing my time with my family and friends. I can grow on my own without ever relying on someone as a crutch to get me by.
And yeah, there are the big risks– infidelity, the dying of the fire, whatever it is kids call it these days– but if it was bound to end that way, then so be it. I would have rather taken the deep end of the plunge and simply feel than dip my toes on the shallow waters. Love is always the messy parts, and boy do I like it dirty.
So yes, I am the fool that falls for the guy that will leave me in more ways than one. It’s crappy, I hate it, but I know I’m strong enough to take it on and let go if I can’t anymore. Let them leave me if they can, at the end, it’s their loss.