WHY?

I had an interview today, for a job. There were three applicants there and one of them is this chatty woman who might have been older than me but not by much. She asked us what our ages are. Then she commented, “Marriageable age.” And that little comment pinched my heart, just a bit.

Then, she was called. And I was left with the young man. After several minutes she came out and told the young man that he’s next. It was a short interview. I chatted with the woman for a bit and she left.

After several more minutes, the man came out and it was my turn to be interviewed. It really wasn’t much of an interview since they, pretty much, had interviewed us in the exam. It was very lengthy.

Anyway, I went in and the woman started asking questions. And I was doing ok.

Then she asked for my age.

I gave it to her.

Then she asked for my status.

I told her I’m single.

And that was when she asked that one question I can’t even begin to fathom the answer for: WHY?

I told her the only answer I could think of: I DON'T KNOW.

I have spent many hours in the dark thinking “What went wrong?” or “Was it me?” or “Was there anything I could have done to save it?”and I still don’t have an answer for any of these questions.

Nine months and I am still coming up with a blank page.

Nine months and I am still grieving.

Nine months and there is still no light at the end of the tunnel.

So, please, don’t ask me why. It does more than just pinch my heart a bit.

Bittersweet

I stood there not knowing what to do. I wanted to blame myself for coming here. I wanted to blame him for coming here. I wanted to blame the little bimbo dangling on his arm for simply existing.

Okay.

So maybe she’s not a bimbo but coming to a reunion knowing that the still bitter, still in love ex-girlfriend of her current boyfriend makes her a bimbo in my list.

Okay.

So maybe she doesn’t know I’ll be here. Maybe she doesn’t even know that I’m an ex-girlfriend. Oh hell. Who am I kidding? She’s my ex’s coworker. And a month after I got dumped they already went public. Yes, I got dumped. Does that explain why I’m this bitter and confused? Yes. Does that explain why I want to set her tiny dress on fire, with her in it, and watch that smug smile disappear from her face? No.

So, I stood there and decided the only thing I can do was leave. I just can’t be in the same room with them. Not now and maybe not ever.

As I turned to look for our hostess, I felt him behind me. I knew it was him even before he spoke my name.

“Amie.” Yes, my mom named me love, only in French. And, guess what? It did not save me from wishing the ground would just swallow me whole right now.

I pretended not to hear him. I turned and went straight to the main door. I was just crossing the threshold when I felt his hand on my shoulder, “Amie, please.”

“Let me go, Nick. I can’t do this right now. Please, just, let me go.”

“Amie, please. I just wanted to know if you’re ok.”

Hearing that made me turn and look at him. I looked at him and saw, once more, what made me fall in love with him. I saw him and remembered everything, everything that made me happy, sad, desperate, and ecstatic. But it also brought back memories of the past couple of months and that made the most impact. I started to laugh, that hysterical laugh that bubbles up and forces its way out when you no longer know what to feel and what to think.

“You want to know if I’m ok. You, of all people?”

“Yes.” He replied with a confused look on his face.

And seeing the confused look on his face just made me shake with hysteria once again. Between shaking my head, laughing hysterically, and battling to breathe I managed to answer him, “You’ll never know how I’m doing, Nick. Not now. Not ever, again. You gave up that right when you left me.”

With that I left him standing by the door and walked as swiftly as my shaking body would allow me. I did not turn to look back at him because the hysteria is starting to turn into an entirely different kind. By the time I got to my car my vision was so blurred that I could hardly unlock the door.

But, I managed. I managed to unlock the door. I managed to get in my car. I managed to stop crying and wipe my face dry. And I managed to drive myself home.

I managed all of these and I know that I’ll manage to keep living my life one day at a time until I can find a new reason to live for.

Beware of Little Causes, They Pile Up

In a previous post I wrote about how one particular day ruined my life but after exchanging emails with a friend I realized that it didn't. What happened then was the effect of a lot of little causes I was just so blind to realize were there.

These little causes slowly chipped away at the trust that was supposed to be there. They gradually killed the love sown over months and years of devotion. Little causes were the ones that eventually ended what the big ones were not even able to put a dent on.

Beware of little causes because they can get through the littlest gaps. They sneak up on you, catch you unaware, and steal everything in the blink of an eye.

Beauty or Brains?

Beauty or Brains?

Do you ever wonder why people even have to ask this question? I mean, I do, because for me it’s a no brainer.

Who would want to be around someone like Joey Tribbiani (Friends) who’s brains, apparently, processes thoughts at half speed? But, if you’d want to have gas issues, then Joey is your man. ;)

And who wouldn’t want to be with someone like Dr. Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds) who’s basically a walking database of information and can read at an unimaginable speed? Again, a no brainer.




And, yes. Dr. Reid is currently my latest fixation. As the tag of “Big Bang Theory” goes, smart is the new sexy.

Idle Hands

As my current circumstances have changed, I now find myself having more than enough time to sit, think, and write. And this is why I decided to start a blog.

What is the point of having twisted, stimulating, and even troubling thoughts if one is to keep them to himself? Who would benefit from it if these thoughts are not shared? Certainly not the thinker since he already knows how his mind works and what thoughts are carried in it. Well, unless he has a split personality, or is a schizophrenic, but that would be an entirely different story.

But I digress, the point I’m trying to make is that anyone can be a writer or at least try to be one. All you have to do is sit, think, and let the words come. Topics are not important. What’s important is how you put your thoughts together. What’s imperative is how you situate certain words, phrases, and sentences together in one fluid article that would give the best impact on your readers.

A topic can be as superficial as a man’s sex appeal or as profound as the teachings of the Bible. It can even be both. All a writer has to do is find the best way to keep his readers captivated and enslaved.

Something that, most certainly, is not easy to do but rousing enough that it made me start this blog and this post. That and the fact that idle hands are pretty dangerous.

June 9, 2008

A date that I will forever despise.

A date that left my heart so broken it might take me a lifetime to patch together. That is, if it can still be fixed.

Time heals all wounds, right? It’s been nine months but mine is still so raw it’s still bleeding. So, I’m wondering who the heck came up with that saying? It has absolutely no basis, at all.

Then, I had an epiphany, if it can be called that. I have recently been fascinated by Criminal Minds, a series about a team of FBI profilers and the really twisted minds of “unsubs”, and each episode is ended by one of the profilers quoting a famous somebody in relevance to what the episode was all about. Season 2’s first episode ended with this saying: “It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it is never gone. – Rose Kennedy”.

Now, that is a lady who knows her sh*t. It makes so much more sense than “Time heals all wounds.” I mean, how can you expect time to heal a wound so deep you find yourself waking up crying? How can you expect time to heal a wound so big that there’s basically nothing left of your heart?

So, thanks for that Ms. Rose Kennedy. I just hope that my mind can protect itself fast enough and cover my wounds with scar tissue as soon as possible, before my very flimsy hold on my sanity is broken.

Thanks and Welcome!

I never really saw myself as a blogger but here I am, blogging away, or should I say, b*tching away. When I was in high school I found out that writing about my pain (and having strangers read my write-ups) is cathartic for me.

So, to those who are either kind enough to read my write-ups or bored enough to have the time to do so, thank you and welcome to my world.