When change hurts

It has been a journey to say the least. The last few months have been a wonderful whirlwind of ups, downs and important lessons and realizations. I think the one lesson that I didn’t expect to learn after all this is that despite being able to adapt to my surroundings extremely well -how much my bearings are affected if I don’t have a proper place to sleep.

For the last three months I have been sleeping on my Ikea love-seat because I couldn’t sleep on my bed1 until three nights ago. Depending on what way you look at it, you could say it cost me a lot but I don’t think placing blame on circumstance does me any good so it just is what it was: a learning experience. Heck, it didn’t kill me right?

30 years. As of some time in the late evening on November 7th, the cells and whatever spirit that make up this girl right here would have been alive for 30 years. I’ll admit there is a part of me that feels like a bit of a disappointment but then there’s another part of me that knows that my life is only just beginning so long as I allow myself the chance at said beginning.

Live each day as if it were your last. Someone great said that to me recently as we were walking the 6.5kms to my new home2 at 4am. By the way, don’t let the knowledge of this act taint your image of bohunkCA; he was the perfect jerk as always – and yes ladies, he was totally topless the whole way there 😉

I want to make an art out of living life, where I find joy in every little moment of every day – regardless of what is going on at the time. Growing up, I had never really paid much attention to the things that really made my heart soar. I knew the obvious things like music3, food, love, and sex… all those self-indulgent sort of things. But now I’m paying more attention to how happy it makes me to be around people like my family and closest friends4.

I know I have lot of work to do up ahead of me but I do think I am up to the task. It feels strange to say that I have never really felt this ready before but I guess I’m just done being afraid. I’m still in the process of getting my life back but I have no doubt that whatever is coming next is going to be amazing. It’s been amazing even when it should have been horrible so how could it not?!

I want to know though: did you love or hate turning 30?

Footnotes:
  1. I really don’t want to say it, don’t make me say it: I had bed bugs[]
  2. it was so old school I couldn’t resist but agree to walk home with him[]
  3. specifically singing[]
  4. the ones who have stuck by me no matter what fucked up shit I’ve done – you know who you are[]

It hasn’t left

I’ve written about death a lot in the past month and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. I’m not complaining, because it’s a fact of life but I do hope there are happier times ahead for everyone involved. An old friend from high school passed away earlier this month and I’ve been given the morning off so I can attend the mass being held for her tomorrow morning.

I was going to go to the funeral home today, but I chickened out. For one reason or another I didn’t feel like I belonged there. In hindsight, I’m sure the family would have appreciated my being there… but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m afraid to go to the mass tomorrow but I will be going to that. I don’t know anyone else that is going to be there, but it doesn’t matter.

It’ll be extra weird because this is the first time I will be stepping foot in that church in almost 3 years. I used to sing with the choir and I hear that the choir master who I studied under is no longer there. I’ve decided not to wear mascara in case I start bawling my eyes out. I don’t know how to feel about her death… it has been quite some time since we drifted apart but I remember her vividly and it’s a horrible loss for the world to be without such a caring soul1.

Please take a moment to wish her soul well, to help her and her beloved rest in the peace that they deserve.

Footnotes:
  1. I can’t imagine she would have changed from the person I knew in high school, and from what I hear the changes were amazing[]

Is it the beginning, or the end?

I don’t remember it all that clearly, and there could be a number of explanations for this1 but that is neither here nor there. I remember meeting him for the first time and thinking how cute he was. I had just begun to make friends at my new High School2 and things were going well. He was a good friend of Kevin’s3. Kevin was an old friend from Dubai who had moved here before my family so I trusted him.

We hit it off and were in love before I could even say ‘Jump’. He would spend long bus and subway trips just to come downtown to be with me. We would fight quite a lot, but I always thought it was because we were both so passionate. Eventually, I took his virginity and, if it was possible, we fell even deeper in love. The school year was coming to an end and I was feeling like a change4. When I was younger, the easiest thing to change was my hair… so without warning, I chopped it all off. A few days later, after yet another heated argument over the phone he broke up with me. Saying that he couldn’t take fighting with me anymore. I knew he was lying, but I also knew it was useless to fight it.

I was devastated. School was out and I had no one to turn to. At least I didn’t think I had anyone to turn to. In retrospect, if I had only called someone… anyone of my friends from school to hang out I’m sure they would have. I remember calling one of his friends who had become my friend through our relationship crying sometimes. Shane3 was a really sweet guy and probably just couldn’t say no to me whenever I called but I’m sure the last thing he wanted was to listen to his friend’s ex crying over the phone. I soon got tired of bothering Shane and must have decided to turn my attention elsewhere.

Or I may have already been dabbling in online journaling when we were together. This is actually the part that I don’t remember that clearly. It’s as if I’ve always been doing this, but we all know that I couldn’t have been. That summer, I also found out about a chat room on mIRC called #4165 where all ‘the cool kids’ hung out. I started going and mainly lurked for the first little while. Slowly, as people started recognising my handle and that I had been coming in every day some of the other regulars started chatting with me, “A/S/L?” Oh god – the horror!

Regardless of the perils6 of mIRC, I was able to meet people who were also interested in web design and online journaling7. Their interest in it all fed my interest and so began my obsession with airing out my dirty laundry for all to see. Of course, I have a lot more readers now than I ever did back then and I tend to censor8 my writing because of it, but I don’t think I would have traded the experience for anything else in the world.

This story was brought to you in celebration of my 500th post in this life of fragileheart’s journal9.

How did you start blogging? Are you glad you did?

Footnotes:
  1. repression or ‘things’ I’ve done since that have altered my memory.. hehe[]
  2. Oakwood C.I. for those who remember from my 100 things[]
  3. name has been changed to protect the innocent[][]
  4. I’m sure we all get that sometimes[]
  5. the area code for Toronto[]
  6. or lameness[]
  7. I’m calling it this because in 1997, it wasn’t called ‘Blogging’ yet[]
  8. and actually edit[]
  9. I’m sure the number is actually higher if I could all the archives that are offline[]

The New Year

New Year’s eve arrived way too quickly for my liking as I hadn’t seen anyone that I had planned on seeing during my visit. Also, the evening didn’t seem to hold the same excitement as it had in the past, but I was hopeful it would turn around. In previous years, a group of about 30 or so would travel to another part of Ireland, rent holiday homes and celebrate New Year’s in a big way – together. This year, the groups’ couples were split doing various things and it felt strange. Of course in the end none of that mattered, I was just glad to be celebrating yet another New Year’s with him. The blur that was that night leads me to believe that my hope wasn’t wasted and that the evening did turn around. I also like to think that further proof of this was the hangover I was nursing the next day… *smirk*

While we may have wasted the 1st of January sitting around watching TV1 and looking at apartments in Toronto that we may or may not be able to live in, I think we made up for it the next day. We got up early2 and headed back to the shops. We did better that the last time but still managed to run out of time so we planned to go back in another day3 After a quick dinner back at his parents’ house, we headed off to the Leinster match against Connacht. Oh, how I miss Rugby. Sitting in the cold, freezing your buns off, yelling at the top of your lungs and trying to keep an eye on the ball while its under a pile of large men. All the while knowing that something great could be about to happen right in front of your eyes.

The next night was another exciting one for me, we had planned to have dinner with two other couples who consist of some very dear friends. One especially is someone I have mentioned before, and someone I hope to call my bestfriend. In fact one of my resolutions is to try and call her at least twice a month so we can chat on the phone and catch up properly. The evening started off a big rocky as I took too long to get ready and we had our only fight of the entire holiday, but it quickly dissolved as we had great conversation with our dear friends over drinks before dinner. The dinner was delicious and extremely affordable4 and to end my evening off well, we all shared a delicious vanilla orange crÚme brûlée as we enjoyed or espresso based beverages.

Another short walk and we were in one of our favourite haunts, Rush5, and for the first time it was practically empty. The end of the night came too quickly, but I just assured myself I would be back again soon. Of course, I was drunk and gullible so I believed myself quite easily and hopped into the taxi he hailed for us.

Posts in this series:
Part 1: The holiday.
Part 2: The gift.
Part 3: The New Year6.
Part 4: Flickr Friday: The never-ending journey.
Part 5: Even the never-ending journey has to end sometime.

Footnotes:
  1. actually, I packed most of things back into my suitcases that day[]
  2. he will fight me on this because it was later than he wanted to get up hehe[]
  3. or was that my plan all along?[]
  4. considering Dublin’s extraordinarily high prices[]
  5. the nightclub, not the town[]
  6. you are here[]