Reclaiming Myself

After finally logging into blogger again and discovering that someone or some people in Slovenia have been reading my blog, I decided that, hey, I might as well do some kind of post to keep this thing going. Maybe I'll get some post-it notes and stick them to my laptop to remind myself to post regularly. I usually just come home from work, make dinner, and play games until I'm ready to go to sleep. So much for an interesting life.

We went out last night. It was the last show for my co-workers' band 'Moip'. I had gone to all the shows, so of course I would go to this last one. One that was surely going to be some of their finest material.

Around 12 in the afternoon I got a call from him. Breaking up with me.

After a rough break up, I find that it's not very fun to go out to a club and trying to have fun because you just see everybody around you actually having a good time and all you (read: I) are doing is feeling hurt about what happened earlier...you know, the parts where he called you a liar and a bad person and said that he never wanted to speak to you again. Those things hurt. And they also put a damper on what should be a good night.

I wasn't in much of a mood for drinking. I felt that if I really started to drink that I would end up more depressed than I already was. I'm a brooder. And one of my friends called me out on it last night actually:

"I see you as someone who holds on to things internally until they erupt out in some overly dramatic show of emotions. I mean, I've seen you at worse--"
"Yeah, y'all saw me at New Year's."
"Yeah, and, so, from what I see, you're on the path to do that again, but I don't think it'll be as severe this time."

He's got a point, I guess. But more than erupting on New Year's, I collapsed into a sobbing pile of myself in front of a crowd of happy people ready to bring in 2012. I'm determined not to let that happen again, but I'm afraid that, yes, I am on a path to do that again. I let my emotions eat away at me until I am just a fragile remnant of my formerly confident self.

Ha. Confident. That's also a lie. Maybe he's right. Maybe I am a liar. Maybe I'm just the kind of person who manipulates the truth and the people around him to get by in this life. Maybe I actually am the bad person he described me as.

Immediately after the break up I messaged a good friend of mine here in Korea. After talking in her room for a while, I asked the question that was bothering me:

"Am I a bad person?"
"I don't think so."
"OK, but do other people feel that way?"
"I don't know what others think. But to me, you're just someone who's always super real with people."

It gave me some minimal comfort. But I know how my friend can parse her words at times to not be devastating to people. The way I constantly bite my tongue to refrain from the truth. There it is again...that lying person coming out.

I know I'm probably overreacting, but still I wonder about how much of it is true. How many of the things he said to me that I took as hurtful are actually true? I'm sure that people don't like to think of themselves as bad people, but where do we draw the line at the delusion?

Maybe I'm just being my crazy self, over thinking these things to the point where I start to believe they are true. Or maybe I'm finally coming out of my fog and realizing that I'm not a decent person like I have thought. Maybe all the bad and horrible people in the world actually believe that they are good people just trying to make it in this life. Where does that leave me? Am I on the side of those who are good, or those who deceive themselves into believing that their intentions are actually beneficial?

"At least," I told another friend as I glanced over at the bartender that night, "I'm free to look again."

She turned to me and I leaned her head up so she could yell in my ear over the music, "Heck yeah, you are!"

Voices

I just said a pretty mean thing. I was looking at someone's picture when they were holding a postcard that said "I got in to James Madison University." I responded (in my mind) with, "Well, the doors are wide open, anyone can get in." Don't get me wrong. I think Mr. Madison is great. I mean, I portrayed him in the fourth grade and still know a lot about him and the amazing things he did for the political world. But...the university that is named after him has done little to live up to the academic standards and rigor that the former president would endure. For some reason I cannot respect that school the same way I respect UVA...or even VCU and Virginia Tech. And I hate Virginia Tech. Anyway, school rivalries and differences aside, I have decided to stay here another year. I love living here too much. Every time I talk with my parents it's always "well, there's not much going on here" and that's what I would return to. Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING. There is NOTHING for me in King William or West Point. I hated living there and they know it. The only thing I can say I got from living there is an awful country accent that doesn't fit with the rest of my family. I hate the way I speak and I blame my county. When you have to hide your natural voice from people because you're embarrassed of how you sound, that's bad. With the exception of my early childhood, I have hidden my natural voice.

I'm so Sorry

Would it be better if we had never met?

It would hurt less.

But you should be happy.

And I should be happy for you.

But I can't stand it.

Memories rush in like a flood.

Turning sour in my mind.

I hate the way I feel.

But I can't make myself feel another way.

Even though I've tried.

I don't regret loving you.

I try to take the good memories.

And only the good.

Of us apart, and never together.

Because we can't be like that.

The way I want.

I want to see you.

But you're too far away.

Never have I wanted to go home this bad.

And race to see you.

Though I know it would be for nothing.

It could never be the way I want it to be.

Because I'm not what you want.

And I want to ask why.

But I can't bring myself to do it.

Maybe eventually I can move on.

Through the pain of these times.

I'm reliving that moment over and over in my mind.

Wondering what could have been.

But it just can't work.

And I need to assure myself of that.

I don't want you to tell me that.

It would hurt too much to hear it from you.

In your words.

Your words that cut through me so sharply.

You don't mean it.

But I always take it in that way.

The way that makes me hurt.

And I'm sorry for that.

I'm so sorry, but I love you.

Still.

Years after rejection.

You are always in my mind.

The thought of you usually brings a smile to my face.

But today it only brings tears.

And you didn't mean to do it.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry for the way I am right now.

It will get better.

But not yet.

Lokomotywa

I'm working on memorizing this...Well, memorizing it again. I had most of it down when I was taking Polish class, but now I've forgotten the descriptions of what's on the train and then most everything after the wheels start turning.

Julian Tuwim -- "Lokomotywa"

Stoi na stacji lokomotywa,
Ciężka, ogromna i pot z niej spływa -
Tłusta oliwa.
Stoi i sapie, dyszy i dmucha,
Żar z rozgrzanego jej brzucha bucha:
Buch - jak gorąco!
Uch - jak gorąco!
Puff - jak gorąco!
Uff - jak gorąco!
Już ledwo sapie, już ledwo zipie,
A jeszcze palacz węgiel w nią sypie.
Wagony do niej podoczepiali
Wielkie i ciężkie, z żelaza, stali,
I pełno ludzi w każdym wagonie,
A w jednym krowy, a w drugim konie,
A w trzecim siedzą same grubasy,
Siedzą i jedzą tłuste kiełbasy.
A czwarty wagon pełen bananów,
A w piątym stoi sześć fortepianów,
W szóstym armata, o! jaka wielka!
Pod każdym kołem żelazna belka!
W siódmym dębowe stoły i szafy,
W ósmym słoń, niedźwiedź i dwie żyrafy,
W dziewiątym - same tuczone świnie,
W dziesiątym - kufry, paki i skrzynie,
A tych wagonów jest ze czterdzieści,
Sam nie wiem, co się w nich jeszcze mieści.

Lecz choćby przyszło tysiąc atletów
I każdy zjadłby tysiąc kotletów,
I każdy nie wiem jak się natężał,
To nie udźwigną - taki to ciężar!

Nagle - gwizd!
Nagle - świst!
Para - buch!
Koła - w ruch!

Najpierw
powoli
jak żółw
ociężale
Ruszyła
maszyna
po szynach
ospale.
Szarpnęła wagony i ciągnie z mozołem,
I kręci się, kręci się koło za kołem,
I biegu przyspiesza, i gna coraz prędzej,
I dudni, i stuka, łomoce i pędzi.

A dokąd? A dokąd? A dokąd? Na wprost!
Po torze, po torze, po torze, przez most,
Przez góry, przez tunel, przez pola, przez las
I spieszy się, spieszy, by zdążyć na czas,
Do taktu turkoce i puka, i stuka to:
Tak to to, tak to to, tak to to, tak to to,
Gładko tak, lekko tak toczy się w dal,
Jak gdyby to była piłeczka, nie stal,
Nie ciężka maszyna zziajana, zdyszana,
Lecz fraszka, igraszka, zabawka blaszana.

A skądże to, jakże to, czemu tak gna?
A co to to, co to to, kto to tak pcha?
Że pędzi, że wali, że bucha, buch-buch?
To para gorąca wprawiła to w ruch,
To para, co z kotła rurami do tłoków,
A tłoki kołami ruszają z dwóch boków
I gnają, i pchają, i pociąg się toczy,
Bo para te tłoki wciąż tłoczy i tłoczy,,
I koła turkocą, i puka, i stuka to:
Tak to to, tak to to, tak to to, tak to to!...