A Scent to Call Your Own

When your memory fades, scent is the last to go, if at all. But with him, scent was the first to go…

I know he smells of “cigarette and cologne” but I can no longer remember the exact combination that made the scent unique to him. They’re vague words that I use singularly and combined; they create generic scents but I can’t remember the version that is his. I can no longer pull it up as I pull up a file in my memory like when I think of dove soap, imagine the smell and remember the time I buried my nose in his neck and inhaled that intoxicating I-have-just-showered-and-put-on-a-freshly-laundered-shirt smell. OR when my best friend tells me her scent is Ralph Lauren Romance, and I laugh because I swear I can smell him (“Junior and Jolie’s dad”) right there and then. Just as real as the first time I pulled the bottle off the dresser, sprayed it mid air and he watched me dance under the falling mist.

If my subconscious could speak, it’s probably telling me, “I’m keeping the ones I  like, doing away with the ones that break, burn, and end.” and I would probably reply, “Patience, I think we’re almost there.”

 

 

You’re so skinny…

Yes, I was skinny; but for all the wrong reasons… in fact, I was more like skin and bones.

My relationship with him made me ill – physically that I was perpetually sick. The mental taxation of our being together manifested in my appearance and on my skin. So why did I not let go?

I thought I was fighting for something. But what was I fighting for? To prove that I wasn’t wrong or that I could hold on? All that fighting made one thing clear, I had a lot of fight in me but I had no reason to fight for someone who wouldn’t fight for me. Until then… I will fight for myself and all that deserve my love…

Thank you, Rachel Platten for putting it so nicely into something I can share.

Here is my fight song; take back my life song; prove that I’m right song…

It’s not that easy

Cheating.

I tell myself, it’s one of the most disgusting things a person can do to their significant other.

There’s something so inherently ugly in the word itself, like trying to get away with more than you deserve. Than what is due to you. You’re trying to double the benefits, while weaseling out of the work.

And yet, when it happened, I felt nothing other than a deep, profound sadness, doused with disappointment. There was anger, but that was momentary. It was a side thought to the awning black hole of feelings of grief and loss that were building up in me.

Like when you’re playing Monopoly, 3 hours in, and an opponent flips the board out of anger. Chance cards and Community Chest cards littered about, metallic dogs and hats strewn on the floor, Property cards everywhere. There’s no fixing that, you can’t just put all the pieces back on the board. There were so many cards, tiles, pieces that went into that game, even if you tried to restore everything by memory, something will always be missing, and you’ll realize that it takes little for that situation to happen again.

Who knows what could have happened in our future? Now I’ll never know. It’s not fair that someone decided to end the game for me before I was ready.

During a normal breakup, reasons come up – you weren’t good enough; I don’t love you any more. I would have preferred that. At least I would know he was no longer invested. But he couldn’t tell me why he did it. He wouldn’t even tell me he didn’t love me anymore.

They all wanted me to be mad, angry, furious. Even he was surprised I wasn’t yelling at him all the time.

I couldn’t see the point, and I still don’t. It wouldn’t make me feel better.

He wanted me to give him another chance, to move past it. That was inconceivable to me. How could I take back someone who didn’t hold sacred the same things as me?

As if a person in shock, I wandered around for a while, not able to understand why people were telling me the things they were. Like a victim of a natural disaster who has been rescued, dazed and confused, people tell you to do things, and a lot of the times, they don’t make sense to you. It might seem natural to someone who hasn’t just had their entire world flipped upside-down, but to the person who’s just gone through it, it’s all just background noise.

The part I’m still trying to get past, is how people couldn’t understand how much I still cared about him, even in the weeks that followed. You don’t just go from loving someone to hating their guts in one day (unless of course there’s physical abuse). You are angry with them, disappointed, furious, but you can’t just stop loving them. Not immediately, at least.

I guess though, I still don’t hate him. I pity him. And apparently, that’s one of the worst things you can do to a person.

This is my vow…

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“I can’t hear their vows,” I hushed him. “Well these are their vows to each other, what does it matter to you?” he replied.

He’s right I suppose. You see the thing is I really wanted to hear what they had to say. I was on a mission to figure out if the vows themselves had anything to do with a lasting marriage. This year, I’ve seen too many make promises they couldn’t keep or spew so much hatred because they’re trying to keep their vows. So I wonder, what’s the point? if you don’t make a promise about something, you’re not breaking any promises – right?

“I promise to make you breakfast every morning,” Groom says… I think of eggs benedict and then my thoughts drift to the time HE made Mother’s Day brunch and HIM promising to teach our kids how to make eggs benedict for me. Junior was to be the name of our eldest.

“I promise to hold you and cherish you,” Bride says and I can almost imagine myself saying, “Come home without the cake for Jolie’s first birthday and you see how I’ll HOLD YOU down and CHERISH every moment of giving YOU a piece of my mind.” I chuckle…

And slowly I see myself standing up there telling HIM, “I heard a story about a bride and groom. On their wedding day, the bride asked the groom if she could marry him in her next life. The groom laughed and told his bride, silly, that is what you asked me in our previous life. I want infinite life times with you but if that is not possible I will settle with just this lifetime. The time we have together will be our eternity. I don’t believe in an almighty God but if there is such a thing as a higher power… I ask that IT gives me all the luck from this life, life’s past and if I should have other lives after this, I ask that IT gives me all the luck for me to be the best person I can for you. And if that is not enough, I’m asking all our friends and family that is with us here and in spirit to give us your best wishes… just a minuscule is enough… ”

I want you to be with me in the dark, to hold me, to keep loving me, to help me when I get scared, to go right to the edge and see what’s there… (Tessa Scott, Now is Good)

“You girls are always so sentimental,” he says as a matter of factually next to me. His voice snaps me back into reality as I turn my head to see him. I take a breath to give myself a second to formulate an explanation that this piece of “nonchalant posture, too cool to go to a wedding and utter lack of desire for love” would understand.

“Their words were beautiful.” I say instead as I drift back into my own thoughts.

I vow to put you on a see-food diet, blow dandelions in your face, drag you to calla lily and lavender fields, argue about nothing important, too many Thanksgivings in our big kitchen, a joint bank account, listen to your jokes and snoring for years and years, to go to our parent’s evening and knowing our children are geniuses – Junior and Jolie -, being with you, being with you, being with you. Just being with you. 

Aggressive.

I’ve always considered myself the strong, independent type… the no-nonsense-get-in-the-guy’s-face-if-he-crosses-the-line kinda girl. I think because of this demeanor I’ve been pretty fearless when it comes to guys who I have deemed ‘aggressive’ and I’ve always been able to hold my own when they say inappropriate things or manhandle me, like the time I punched a guy when he grabbed my ass one too many times.

What I didn’t realise though is that those kinds of boys don’t really mean any harm. Idiocy and alcohol were key factors in their inappropriate behaviour.

I never thought to bring this up because I’m still shaken by it when I think about what could have happened, but I suppose I feel the need to write things out for closure.

Last fall, a guy I had been on a few dates with insisted on picking me up from the airport. He had been a perfect gentleman for the most part save for a few unsavoury, tasteless jokes about women that I had brushed off but he hadn’t done anything that raised any immediate red flags. I thought it was sweet that he had wanted to pick me up but now that I think about it, it was strange how he had continued to insist despite my telling him he didn’t have to.

When he picked me up, he gave me a hug, grabbed my suitcase and we made our way back to the city. Halfway through the ride, I realised that he was going in the opposite direction from my neighbourhood.

‘I just need to swing by home for a minute,’ he said.

‘Actually, would you be able to drop me off? I’m really tired from the flight and I’d like to go to my place,’ I told him.

‘It won’t be too long, I promise,’ he insisted.

After a few minutes of my insisting that he just take me home, he pulled the car over in the middle of a deserted street and jumped on me, pressing his lips against mine while I struggled to push him away. I screamed at him to get off and kept pushing and pushing until he moved away in sheer frustrating. He then called me a tease and asked what was the point in him picking me up if he wasn’t going to get any.

I jumped out of the car and demanded that I get my suitcase back.

‘Fine,’ he sneered, grabbing my suitcase from the back and sped off.

Twenty minutes later, I was able to flag a cab down and silently made my way back home. I threw away the blouse he had torn, the skirt that was pretty much unwearable and stayed under the hot shower for an hour trying to wash away his presence.

When a guy decides to become truly aggressive, there isn’t a whole lot that a girl can do. If I hadn’t fought back as I had or if he had chosen to disregard the fact that I had been fighting back and had forced himself on me, I don’t think there is much I could have done.

Stay safe ladies. I know there are good people in the world but there are some horrible excuses for human beings around too.

Parisienne Style

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It’s always a little strange when a guy who isn’t gay or your personal shopper tells you what to wear… My friend C is perpetually trying to get me to evolve my style to suit his tastes. I’d just like him to shave off that irritating goatee of his.

I err on the side of simple. Classic lines, monochrome palette and none of the bells, whistles and froufrou. C on the other hand has really been trying to get me to dress in a certain way: ankle length trousers, striped shirts,  flats and no makeup. Sir, you have to look like Marion Cotillard to pull off that look, I tell him, but he has very consistently and insistently attempted to brainwash me into thinking this is the way to go.

He recently sent me a photo of a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo flats that I own as heels and suggested that I break the heel off. Are you kidding me? I have always admired how French girls are just able to throw things together in a haphazard way and look amazing but you don’t ruin a pair of perfectly good pumps in the name of fashion.  There are some things that a girl just can’t pull off ya know? And how to be Parisienne chic is probably something on that list.