An Open Letter To My Ex

To my ex-partner,

 

When I first met you in the summer of 2015, it was meant to be a casual encounter and nothing more. I was never the committing type. I was in the prime of my life, looking for companionship rather than relationships. It all changed when we saw each other every consecutive day ever since our first date. It was truly beautiful. Maybe it was just us, but we truly believed that our first date belonged in the movies. What followed was a whirlwind romance that took the form of a committed relationship with a lot of planning for our future together. I was genuinely shocked that I even let myself jump head in.

But before we did do what was unimaginable to me at that time, we talked through some ground rules. I told you I was very independent and do not do well with clingy. I told you that I am very sure of the person I was and would not change for anyone, not even for you. You agreed at that time, but you confessed later on in the relationship that you hoped that I would change. You were convinced that I just hadn’t experienced being in a relationship and I would change as the relationship matured. And you were right—I did change. I devoted my entire life to you, as you did yours. The dynamics in our relationship drastically changed for the worse after. You have told me multiple times how you missed the confident me. I’ve told you many times how happy I was that you had gained so much self-confidence compared to the first time I met you. Perhaps this was the start of the end, which did eventually come in the winter of 2017.

When I found out that you hooked up with a stranger you met in the club three days (10th Feb) after we broke up, it broke me. When I found out that it was not just some meaningless hook up, but someone you were sort of seeing, it completely ruined me. How could you? How were you able to touch someone else and not think about what we had? Did our relationship mean so little? I was shattered and I acted out the only way I knew how: unbridled rage. I burned everything that reminded me of you; I deleted all the photos I had of us; I had to rid you out of my existence. I had to feed the flames of my burning soul. I harbored so much hatred and anger for days. That was the only way I knew how to cope with my overwhelming emotions. I have never felt so betrayed and small in my life.

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Technically, we were broken up. You were free to do whatever you needed to do. Deep down, I knew it made perfect sense. I have always known that you don’t do too well with being alone; it was a part of your personality that I had long accepted. It was a textbook case. You did the same with your previous ex, you found solace in other people. I mean we did get into a serious relationship merely three weeks after your heartbreak. If this was your coping mechanism, I had known it all along. Why did I get so mad?

Perhaps you did still love me and this was the only way you knew how to move on. Perhaps you did not mean to devalue the beautiful thing we created. Perhaps I wasn’t really angry with you; I was taking out my self-loathing on you. I am angry that I had lost a huge part of me. Over the course of our relationship, I sacrificed parts of me and became a shell of the person I was. You knew this. All my friends knew this. I knew this, but couldn’t do anything about it. I was trapped. I couldn’t love myself any longer and the only thing that held me together was the fact that you could still love me. My self-esteem was dependent on you. When you slept with someone else so soon after the break up, it made me feel small because any semblance of my esteem was gone. How did this happen to me? How could I have let this happen to myself? All the outrage, it was meant to be directed at me and not you.

So, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted so badly; I shouldn’t have projected on you. Recognizing this is perhaps the most important step I have taken thus far, because I now know what I have to do to be at peace with myself. Being hung up over what I consider to be a betrayal is not helping me any more than you. You deserve to move on and find your happiness, and so do I. The way forward for me is to find myself again. I know this sounds cliché, but by finding myself I really mean loving myself again. I need to rebuild my self-esteem. I need to go back to the point in my life when I was content just by being me. I need to go back to the time when I loved myself enough to never feel dependent on anyone else but me. And I truly am looking forward to meeting me again.

I wish you luck in your future relationships. I’m not here to tell you how I think you should act or move on; I don’t have a degree in psych. But if and when we do meet again, I hope you will be meeting the old me—the confident man you met in the summer of 2015.

 

With love,

Jeff

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Because I am free.

“WTF is going on?”

“My life is going to shit;
and I’m going down with it.”

I am in the midst of a mental breakdown. I wish I could so eloquently put down the circumstances leading up to my exigency. But as I try to type what I had pieced together in my head, while I had tried to mourn my flailing self-control, the monologue now escapes me.  Continue reading

Hand-Me-Down some goddamn Textbooks

I am sorry that I haven’t been able to update this place in a while. I’ve been really caught up with school, studying and just a speck of socialising. I came across today’s prompt to write about a meaningful hand-me-down in my life. I really don’t have much time to reminisce nor contemplate such a significant object. Instead I am going to write a short rant about a current grievance in my life.

Textbooks are staple to a student’s academia. Yet, they costs too damn much! A brand new textbook could range anywhere between fifty to over a hundred dollars. Do you know how many modules I take each semester? FIVE. And the most infuriating part is that they are only ever relevant to that one specific module – that doesn’t even last you a goddamn year!

So, to answer the question; “Would you please hand me down some goddamn textbooks?” Trust me, they are so very meaningful to me and I will love you for it.

O Apollo, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?

I dedicated my yester–free–day to Literature.

I spent the entire day revisiting the materials covered in the lectures over the past 3 weeks – all of which were devoted to Poetry. Poetry is beautiful, but abstract; some might even consider it irrelevant. Personally, I love the language part of it. I love the way the theme and context, expressed through metaphors and imagery, evoke such deep feelings (I’m too proud to say ’emotions’) in me.

But we all know that Poetry is multi-dimensional. You can never observe it –through a critical literary eye– without considering the metrical structure, rhythm and other poetic devices within it. And really, this is the part where I completely suck at.

I can identify the pattern of words, sounds and even rhyme; but for the life of me, I can seem to identify the metre with ease. I mean, aren’t they arbitrary? Isn’t it dependent on the manner in which you read it? My lecturer asks us to follow our instincts; “which do you feel is more literary?”

I don’t know. Perhaps we ask Apollo for help, shall we?

I can never seem to follow through with my scansion as I am inherently doubting myself. And if I were to ignore my uncertainty and go ahead with it, I end up with weird metrical structures. I once ended up with a mix of  iambic and trochaic metres within the same lime, only to learn that the line is supposed to have an iambic pentameter. Great!

I also seem to have trouble associating technical jargons to actual meaning. Let’s suppose a certain poem has an alternative quatrain  and the first two lines seem to display an iambic pentameter. How does this translate into what the persona has got to say??

Clearly, I am struggling with this module. Also, I think my compounded confusion and frustration materialised itself this morning – in the form of severe flu, headache and fever.

I have taken some medication (which happens to be drowsy), so I’m off to bed in a bit. In the mean time, if any literary geniuses (or aspiring poets) out there would like to help me out bit, please do so. Any help/input is better than nothing at all!

Disoriented Cogitations about Life

This week’s writing challenge requires me to write over the span of 5 days while adhering to the following prompts:

  • Day One: start your post
  • Day Two: add a quote from a conversation you had with someone today
  • Day Three: add something related to what your childhood self wanted to be when you grew up, or a dream you have for your future.
  • Day Four: add a reference to something currently in your refrigerator.
  • Day Five: add something inspired by a song you heard today. 

I have been thinking about death lately. No, I’m not suicidal (nor depressed). It all started with an episode of True Blood, and exacerbated by the recent flight tragedies. I even wrote a fictitious piece that sort of reflects my notions of death.

I have used the word ‘death’ way too many times this week, and it is beginning to leave a sour taste in my mouth. So instead, I’m going to talk about ‘living’ – or rather, the lack thereof.

Continue reading

On Laughter and Body Image

I was not being very professional when I browsed through my Facebook newsfeed whilst in the office. This one picture had me stop my incessant scrolling.

My colleagues looked over from their cubicles, perplexed.

I was laughing. First, silently. And then my whole body shook. I succumbed to my laughter and openly roared in the office. Clearly, I am the epitome of professionalism.  Continue reading

I’m Hatin’ It

Writing 101, Day Ten: Tell us about your favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.


I’m going to take a page out of Mara‘s playbook for this one. I hate this damn prompt. Let me tell you why – I had a sinful affinity for food and I’m over it.

I struggled with weight issues my whole life. I know, I know, I only have my self-control to blame. But I did something about it. With a hell lot of willpower I am now physically healthy, but mentally disturbed. Food no longer conveys any semblance of happiness for me. The last time I binged on a pint of ice cream, I was an inch away from bawling my eyes out and banging my head repeatedly against the wall.

So, if you are one of those ‘live to eat’ people, you might want to stop reading this rant right now. Click here and you probably will enjoy a much better read. Otherwise, you have been warned.  Continue reading