live in love.

confession:

i am finally out of my vicious circle.

confession #2:

i have never been so damn lonely in my entire life.

“this i believe” is a series on npr.  in this series, people are asked to write an essay based on the prompt “i believe”.  in the five years that have passed since this series started, “this i believe” essays have been written by actors, singers, dignitaries, waitresses, college students, middle school students, high school dropouts, drug addicts; people from every walk of life have put pen to paper and written profound essays on what they know to be true.  this is my “this i believe” essay.

Although I only have one sibling, my father has three children.  My sister and I are two of them; his alcoholism is his third.  I have watched my father forsake all other relationships in his life, including the ones he has with my mother, my sister and I,  in order to carefully foster his drinking from a casual Saturday night at a bar to an all-consuming, full-time relationship.  He forgets my birthday, my age, my favorite color, my likes and dislikes, but he never forgets to buy his alcohol.  It is first and foremost in his mind.

However, I know that this coming Tuesday night, I’ll box up his empty wine bottles and leave them on the side of the road to be collected by the garbage truck.  I’ll wash out his glasses, clean up his spills, kiss him on the cheek when he comes home from a trip to the liquor store.  I’ll creep downstairs and make sure he’s all right, and I’ll spread a blanket over him when he stumbles into bed.  I do not think that this makes me an enabler, or a bad person.

I believe in forgiveness.

My father is an alcoholic, but he is also an entrepreneur, a caretaker, and a good person.  He has made sure that my sister and I have always had everything we need, and much of what we want.  He overcame great poverty and the struggles of a new, foreign country.  I have memorized all of these facts as though they were an affidavit.  Whenever someone finds out about my father’s alcoholism, I whip these out in his defense.  However, when I am alone, at the end of a trying day, and my father is belligerent, none of these points come into my head.  Instead, one key sentence swirls through my brain, like a haunting, soothing lullaby; “I forgive you.”.  

I believe that my father’s sobriety would be pointless and short-lived without our forgiveness behind it.  I also believe that a family that is suffering as much as mine is needs forgiveness more than an intervention, or a case of “tough love”.  I believe that forgiveness will lead to beautiful things, even if my father’s sobriety is not one of them.  I believe that forgiveness will allow my soul to escape from this dark place with no scars.

I love you, dad.

when we love someone enough to change our lives for them and, for the first time in our lives, share the center of our lives, we women put on a poofy white dress, uncomfortable shoes, five pounds of makeup, and force our best girlfriends to do the same thing, but in a much uglier dress.  we walk down a long white aisle, smile until our cheeks burn, and, most importantly, we take vows.  we promise to love, cherish, honor, have, and hold another person until death does us part; we promise to give every gift to another that we have previously only been giving ourselves.  our survival instincts suddenly include another person; the pronoun “we” is used just as commonly, if not more, than “i”.  we take vows so that, when the road gets rocky, we remember what we’re promising by putting that all-important “r” in between the formally very solitary “ms”.  they remind us that, when the married road gets rough, it is better to be with the one we love than alone with our pride.

but what about when a relationship ends?  especially the serious, committed, movie-love, kind of relationship?  the kind that changes you permanently and makes you see everything differently?  based on my personal experience, a break-up is every bit as life-changing as a union, so why aren’t there vows to remind of that when the single road gets rough, it is better to be alone with a little dignity than with someone who is not the one?

therefore, in the hope that any anonymous reader that stumbles upon this blog is finding some major potholes on their solitary road, these are my personal vows.  i wrote them on a private blog over a year ago, after the end of a major relationship, and because i still find rocks on my single road, i want to share them with you.

i promise to remind myself, in any way possible, that although i love you, i need to love myself more.
i promise that, because there is a person on the planet that  is meant to love you more than i do, i will work everyday at letting you go.
i promise to believe in better days, for both of us.
i promise to pray for you when times are rough.
i promise not to settle for you when i feel lonely.
i promise to remember the bad times and the good times equally.
i promise to love and cherish myself more than i love and cherish you.
i promise to put on a cute dress and heels and have dinner with a man that isn’t you, because getting over someone is an active process.
i promise to remind myself that i deserve to be loved more unconditionally and completely than you do/did.

most importantly, i promise that, when i break these vows, i will forgive myself and love myself anyway, and remember that tomorrow is another opportunity to be a more self-actualized and content version of me.

i do.

i’m learning very quickly that there are no heroes in most real stories.  anyone who can clearly create a hero and a villain in an enormously complicated situation, such as the end of a marriage, is either in denial, or is remarkably lucky/unlucky (however you want to look at it, i guess).  because of this, it is impossible to pick sides, but inevitably sides must be chosen.  so how do we choose?  there is no black and white here, but a million shades of grey.  i think it ends up being who we want the most, who we care about the most in that deep, dark place in our souls that we try so desperately to pretend doesn’t exist.  neither of them is evil; nether of them deserve a shitty marriage.  my sister, because she sees them about 10 times a year and can lie to herself.  she clearly sees a hero and a villain.  i live with them, and i see it all.  i don’t see the black and white.  i see the hundreds of shades of grey.   i know that there are a million stories behind the larger one that she sees, and as much as i would like to, they are impossible to forget.

but oh, i wish there was a hero.  it would make life infinitely easier.

(the title of this entry is for alycia, who is the only person who reads this that is not some anonymous blog stat.  and is possibly the only person to have a burned copy of the hercules soundtrack in her car.)

In the beginning
Before there was time
I felt your heart beat
And I loved you then
And I love you still
I have and always will
And I don’t ever want to leave
I just want you here with me
Could you love me
Half as much as I love you?
I’d do anything for you
Just let me love you as I do
All I ask is that you mean it
When you say to me
That you love me.

And I don’t ever want to leave
I just want you here with me
Could you love me
Half as much as I love you?
I’d do anything for you
Just let me love you like I do
And no matter what life brings
I will always be.
And I’ll love you.
And I’ll love you.
I love you.
I love you.

-Lauren Taylor, an inspirational stranger.
read her blog here. 

my blindness relies upon Your sight.

i never thought i was the “going in circles” type.

until i met you.

we have a sickeningly familiar story.  i know the cycle by heart, as do the friends who have apparently done something wrong enough in their past lives to have to listen to my endless whinings on my love life.  we do the same thing every time.

so often, we try to define love and relationships.  we try and find out who the victim is, who’s hurt and who’s hurting, who has a broken heart and who’s a heartbreaker.  we draw lines with permanent marker, throw accusing looks, say what we believe to be true because, at the end of the day, it’s infinitely easier to define things in black and white rather than to try and dissect the mess that broken love truly is.  at the end of the day, or, rather, the relationship, there are almost always two broken hearts and two heartbreakers.  there are never easy explanations, sharpie lines, clear-cut answers.  there are, however, a million shades of grey, two hurting people, and seemingly no way out.  the only tangible thing is the pain, and it hurts.  a lot.

it’s more than hurt.  it’s hurt, drowning, burning, claustrophobia, pulling, pulsating, and, worst of all, it’s that goddamn awful feeling of being completely alone again.  at the end of another failed relationship, another failed attempt at true, lasting, be-all-end-all, fairy tale, ridiculous love, the only thing we have to curl up on the pillow beside us is that horrible, consuming, overwhelming feeling of being completely alone in the universe because the one person who was supposed to fully and unconditionally understand us is now completely and abruptly gone.

i’m not standing at the end of the cycle, heartbroken.  i’m at the beginning, staring at the cycle, wondering whether or not to set foot in because, like all the other times, i’m hoping that somehow, the path of the cycle changed, that i can make the path of the cycle change.  i’m hoping that, instead of a circle, there’s a line- a line straight to that love that everyone talks about, the kind that makes it impossible for other people to be around you because everything you do with each other is passionate and intimate.  i’m hoping for an end to the cycle.  i’m looking for a finish line.

the fact of the matter is, though, that there is no other path, and i’m not at the beginning of the circle, because circles have no beginnings or ends.  it’s either there or it’s not, and you’re either on it or you’re not.  and it doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself that you’re nearing a beginning or an end, or how many times you convince yourself that your circle will magically change shape, because at the end of the day, a circle is a circle and you standing on it certainly won’t make it change.

i’m running a circle, and i keep breaking, and i don’t know what to do anymore.  and the scariest part is that i think some sick part of me likes the broken part, because i’m still, still, still hoping that he’ll fix me.  but he won’t, because in relationships, fixing means breaking down and starting over, and you can’t start a circle over.

because there is no beginning, and there is definitely no end.

The Royal Pitches, UB's all-female acapella group, performing at UB's remembrance ceremony for the victims of the crash of Flight 3407. Photograph by Robert Kirkham- Buffalo News

Here on campus, I’m a cast member of a small musical, an alto in the University Chorus, and a member of the Royal Pitches- I’m almost never not singing at some point during my day.  However, the drudgery and monotony of rehearsals and meetings make it easy to forget why I sing, why I put my heart, voice, and GPA on the line day after day.  Performing at UB’s remembrance ceremony on Tuesday with the Royal Pitches reminded me why I sing and why, while the rest of my life has been constantly changing, music has always been there for me, and has remained, unchangingly, the principal love of my life.

The audience we sang for on Tuesday was entirely unique.  As much of an honor as it was to sing at the service, I hope I never have to perform for an audience like this again.  On nearly every occasion up until Tuesday, the audiences I’ve performed attended the event for entertainment, or perhaps, more accurately, obligation.  However, the audience we performed came to the service looking for comfort and healing.  Music has given me so much strength throughout my life, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying to attempt to comfort these devastated people in any small way that we could.  It felt as if, for that brief moment, we were holding their battered hearts in our hands, and so we did the only thing we could think to do- we sang.

Buffalo, like any place in the wake of a tragedy, is moving on.  Storefront signs have stopped stating their condolences and have started advertising their products once again.  Pieces of the plane are being moved off-site and soon (hopefully), residents near the crash site will be able to return to their homes.  Soon, flags will no longer fly at half-mast, and local news’ top story will change.  Buffalo will never forget, but it moves on, as life makes us all do.  And so, in the spirit of the ones we lost who were once very much alive, this blog will go back to being about my mundane life and joys, living every day with the knowledge that life is bearable and it goes on.

Thank you, Buffalo.  Thank You, God.

Usually, when I post on this blog, I am very vague and indirect concerning exactly what is going on.  I guess it’s a way for me to express my emotions about whatever’s happening in my life while still being detached.  However, I feel the need to share very directly and sincerely my reactions and condolences surrounding the tragic crash of Continental flight 3407.

I am not a native Buffaloian.  I am originally from Long Island and I’m currently attending the University at Buffalo as a freshman nursing major.  Although I can’t say I love the weather or the scenery up here, the people of Buffalo and Western New York are among the most sincerely kind people I have ever had the privilege of meeting.  Buffalo is a city of fraternity and simple kindness.  Living up here for the past six months has caused my faith in the goodness of people to increase exponentially.  While many communities only unite during times of tragedy, and even then only temporarily, Buffalo is a city that doesn’t just believe in extending a hand to neighbors, but lives by this philosophy everyday.  Although this way of life is truly beautiful and touching to witness, it makes a tragedy such as this one even more difficult to swallow because in this most difficult time for native Buffaloians, they are not reaching out to strangers within their community, but to people that they already consider to be neighbors and friends.  The heart of every Buffalo resident is broken to some degree today.

As much as I have grown to care for this community, I would never call myself a Buffalo resident; I have lived on Long Island for almost my entire life, and that is the place I consider home.  However, having grown up in the shadows of the fallen Twin Towers, I understand the feelings of bewilderment, helplessness, and grief that accompany senseless tragedies such as this one.  My prayers are with the grieving family members, loved ones, and neighbors of the victims of Flight 3407.

It is during times such as these that we realize how small our world is, and how connected we all are.  I hope that all of you who anonymously read this blog keep everyone touched by this tragedy in your thoughts and prayers.

-Christina.

for the new year, 1981

i have a small grain of hope=
one small crystal that gleams
clear colors out of transparency

i need more.

i break off a fragment
to send to you.

please take
this gain of a grain of hope
so that mine won’t shrink.

 please share your fragment
 so that yours will grow.

 only so, by division
 will hope increase.

 like a clump of irises, which will cease to flower
 unless you distribute
 the clustered roots, unlikely source-
 clumsy and earth-covered-
 of grace.

-denise levertor.