Yesterday, I finally told my parents about the break-up. (Not that I'd let a squeak out of it here, for which, am I sorry? I don't know. No, I guess. On my own terms, in my own time, all that.) My father said he's proud of me for being able to make a decision. My mother said, are you sure? And then that he was a great guy and she liked him ("I'm sure she did too" -- my father said) and that we all have our weaker moments but to never look back. Promptly after which she had a panic attack: oh my god! so you aren't getting married? I told her to cool it, to give me a break for god's sake, and so we all had another drink, another toast to my brother, the big guy who sitting by some river in Pune apparently and singing strange drunken songs while and nursing hangovers, turned 28.
So, it's over. With the pianist. With the baker. With the boy. As of last month, my three-year-long this-is-the-man-I-will marry, this is he! thing is over. And I feel old. I also felt, past tense, tired and jaded and fed up with myself for being such an ass. I knew the things that wouldn't change. I knew the problems that wouldn't go away. And still I lingered. Wet paint. They tell you to not sit on the bench. I sat on the bench. I wish I had been stronger sooner. And not just sat there thinking, aaanh, fuck it, it's only a little paint. My butt will get stuck to the bench, sure, my trousers will be fucked, sure, but after a while, surely it'll dry and all that will be left is a yellow fossil of paint on my ass. That's not so bad, is it? I mean, at least it's not, like, cowdung or something. Because ha ha THAT would be bad! This was my reasoning. Till suddenly I guess I just didn't want the yellow fossil of paint on my ass anymore, not for the rest of my life. Paint better than cow dung but who needs either.
I feel bad that after a reasonably long time (3 years, come on, long enough) my analogies have slipped so low down the ladder. Paint and ass and all that. It used to be vanilla and harmonica and freshly baked bread -- no, sorry, bakery's a sore point -- and cinnamon and dew and bed hair and all that.
Fuck it. Band-aid had to be pulled.
And I'm okay. I'm happy. I'm distracted. I'm lighter. I'm smiling. I'm single. I'm working. I'm running. No one seems to believe this. I bought new shoes to run in. Pink. I look after myself. I slip into 28 waist jeans after so long. I'm back to loving my hair a whole lot and not wanting to go bald this year, grey or no grey. And since I have a problem with being a depressed type, I haven't been. Sometimes low, but that's about it. I'm glad I don't have friends who don't do the are you okay ?drama. It's more nuanced than that. Am I okay? Yes, I'm okay. Do I think about things? Less so, now. I'm at peace. Like I used to be at the beginning of that relationship. Now I feel older. But not in a cough-cough, I'm dying way. Happier older. I did the right thing older. Yea, that feels about right older. Finding comedy in tragedy older. Oh to be this wise this young older. Why the hell did I not sort my shit sooner older. But I learnt. No regret. If relationships, like jobs needed reccos from previous employers slash lovers, I'd give my, inhale, ex-boyfriend a ten-star gold rating. He was the best. It just took me three hundred years to become very sure that there is a difference in the best and the best for me.
So, it's over. With the pianist. With the baker. With the boy. As of last month, my three-year-long this-is-the-man-I-will marry, this is he! thing is over. And I feel old. I also felt, past tense, tired and jaded and fed up with myself for being such an ass. I knew the things that wouldn't change. I knew the problems that wouldn't go away. And still I lingered. Wet paint. They tell you to not sit on the bench. I sat on the bench. I wish I had been stronger sooner. And not just sat there thinking, aaanh, fuck it, it's only a little paint. My butt will get stuck to the bench, sure, my trousers will be fucked, sure, but after a while, surely it'll dry and all that will be left is a yellow fossil of paint on my ass. That's not so bad, is it? I mean, at least it's not, like, cowdung or something. Because ha ha THAT would be bad! This was my reasoning. Till suddenly I guess I just didn't want the yellow fossil of paint on my ass anymore, not for the rest of my life. Paint better than cow dung but who needs either.
I feel bad that after a reasonably long time (3 years, come on, long enough) my analogies have slipped so low down the ladder. Paint and ass and all that. It used to be vanilla and harmonica and freshly baked bread -- no, sorry, bakery's a sore point -- and cinnamon and dew and bed hair and all that.
Fuck it. Band-aid had to be pulled.
And I'm okay. I'm happy. I'm distracted. I'm lighter. I'm smiling. I'm single. I'm working. I'm running. No one seems to believe this. I bought new shoes to run in. Pink. I look after myself. I slip into 28 waist jeans after so long. I'm back to loving my hair a whole lot and not wanting to go bald this year, grey or no grey. And since I have a problem with being a depressed type, I haven't been. Sometimes low, but that's about it. I'm glad I don't have friends who don't do the are you okay ?drama. It's more nuanced than that. Am I okay? Yes, I'm okay. Do I think about things? Less so, now. I'm at peace. Like I used to be at the beginning of that relationship. Now I feel older. But not in a cough-cough, I'm dying way. Happier older. I did the right thing older. Yea, that feels about right older. Finding comedy in tragedy older. Oh to be this wise this young older. Why the hell did I not sort my shit sooner older. But I learnt. No regret. If relationships, like jobs needed reccos from previous employers slash lovers, I'd give my, inhale, ex-boyfriend a ten-star gold rating. He was the best. It just took me three hundred years to become very sure that there is a difference in the best and the best for me.
Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.1
31 comments:
Well that sucks
Seems like it was mutual, was it?
- k
Stage 1 then? Good luck :)
Sounds like you're in a good place. Very jealous of the 28 jeans. :)
Sounds like you're in a good place. Very jealous of the 28 jeans. :)
Poor Schroeder :(
Smart Chick! Am I allowed to call you a "chick" or you think it is a derogatory term like many of contemporaries because they do not wanna be objectified and yada yada yada! :-) But those were the only two words that came to my mind when I read your post. I would have probably gone into complete hibernation if I was going through a break up but the fact that you spoke about it said volumes. Take care.
K: You want to know who dumped whom? :) Aah. Yes, mutual enough.
Thanatos! Hey!:) Thank you. What's Stage 1? Denial? Oh, past that:)
HIF: Heh! Yep, 28= best feeling ever!
Kshitij: Yes, but poor Schroeder has his piano. Can't say that for poor Lucy.
Yo feminist!: We need you a shorter name, my love! Then you can go around declaring I'm a mush bag. xx :)
Utopia: Chick is fine. Smart is finer still. Danke!
Hadn't heard about him in quite a while, so I thought you guys must've broken up. Isn't it absolutely awesome when you give up something that you so enjoy but you know it's not good for you? It feels like you're the wisest person in the world. I'm 22 and I feel like old Dumbledore every time I get that feeling! :D
You're one relationship wiser and stronger now :)
Some years back the cat Seneca observed ..
"Nihil Perditi.. all my goods within me."
Running and pyrrhonian thoughts can optimize the waking hours on this planet ;)
..and women runners are *all* hot.
lurkStill
Hey N. Got to give you credit for having the guts to do what is right for you. Everything else will get better with time (not a cliche; been there, done that).
Take care.
hope it wasn't too sad, and hope you find a way to be friends.
hug.
also thankyou for the blogposts that you give and give away like prasad.
not that it's exactly relevant here, but I love this line by Junot Diaz, "Some relationships snap like bones; others go into long, byzantine declines."
from this piece - http://youreablackwoman.com/forsinglegirls/2010/05/23/summer-love-overheated-by-junot-diaz/
baked goods v girl, no contest.
Size 28 jeans! Wow! I really like the way you're dealing with the break-up, I am poles apart.
Profound Jack Higgins line comes to mind - Relationships are easy they work or dont - the minute you try you lost. Like they say down south in such situation get drink must and should
I do hope your analogies get back to what they were. (cowdung? moO!) :)
but dont forget to wear sunscreen!
Sucks.
Will I still get a discount if I buy cakes from him? No? OK.
Yes, well I'm sure things will work out for both of you in due time. Mizz Franklin is correct in that 28 is a very enviable age. From up here, that is. Ah, to be dating again in the age of the internet. What interesting options you have. And you don't seem like the depressive type to me at all. Have you been hiding your true self all this time?
NDel: Naah, wisest person in the world?? Really, you feel that? That's not very wise, you know :))
Lurkstill: Seneca for casual reading?? Are you serious? Shake it off! You made me google pyrrhonian. Ooh but now I DO feel wise. ;)
Yes, I am very hot. It's true. Even when I don't run. Hotter still. Humble bow.
Sanchari: Hey, love. Cliche or no cliche, accent on e or no accent on e, thank you, that was very sweet. xx :)
PM: I think I miss calling you El...
Don't be mean:). The prasad will become more frequent, just haven't felt like blogging in a while. I should take a leaf out of your book and upload some pics, like your pretty suburban apples.
Byzantine decline piece was lovely. I read and forwarded to one Junot Diaz freak I know who was damn zapped I was quoting such unlike-me lines:))
Anon: Elaborate. Leave name.
Mystic: Writing on the wall = shit happens.
Anon 2: Couldn't agree more with JH. Thank you for that. And ha ha! Drink must and should is happening all too often! Hic:)
Incognito: Hey you:) No sunscreen in the monsoon, you know that! I'm just standing in the rain getting soaked, taking advantage of people with my puppy dog expression. Soon the mood will pass, and people will see through me. Puppy dog bu-bye.
Naah. :D I'm fine. Will refine the analogies, okay. Just for you. :)
N: Heh. I like how you think. Give it a shot. He's no petty boy. :)
UB: You're not listening, not to me, not to Mizz Franklin! Age be damned, 28 is my waist, my WAIST!
All this time, indeed. I'm very sad, blue eyes. On the plus side, depression has filled out my jeans nicely! :D A basic catcall will do. Thank you. But don't be putting these shady Internet options in my head. It can get lonely. Lonely people do stupid things. You wouldn't want that for me.
Ps. Did'nt you counsel people about this stuff and a lot more? lol ive had a blast reading some of the responses at times. I could be wrong though..
no, no I wasn't being sarcastic, I was actually saying, thanks for sharing : )
I believe, therefore I am!
[I don't much care about humility when I'm anonymous;) ]
But I totally agree with you. The wisest is the one who admits he knows nothing:).
You're awesome. If you were a guy and a rockstar, I'd have been your groupie:D
And once again, coming here has moved me. Even the ass-paint-dung bit.
Proud of you.
*hug* (optional :P)
*high five* (cos I know you'll take that!)
I love the metaphor. I love the writing. I love your state of mind. Hurrah!
http://thebaniyaspeaks.blogspot.com/2011/08/rebuttal-of-sorts.html :)
Here's a hug for the sometimes-low times. And another one for feeling older but wiser and fitting into size 28 jeans.
And let me state here for the record that you look like a full item in the whistle-podu picture and the beer-in-Delhi pictures and there's some (loads of) joy to be derived from that, O tall, slender statuesque one :)
Oh Nimpipi!! I so much enjoyed reading about you and your guy… :( But I truly like your spirit in dealing with this situation… :) And by the way the size 28 jeans definitely rocks… :) High Five!!
You're not bloggin' anymore! You're being missed terribly! Unless you are writing a novel for all of us! :D
^ Ditto
Incog: Shut up, ya! :D No bloody time/ nothing to bloody blog about, but hello, backwards:
Miss M: Sweet, sweet, very sweet. You're new, no? :) Not the other mystic with a gender clarification?:P
Anon: I'm hoping all my pavement pounding journo escapades bring me to a 26 :D naah.. kidding. We don't do the anorexic woohoos.
Brown: Fuckles! Been meaning to mail you. Been meaning to flag you down. Been meaning to haul you up for a drink. Been meaning to tell you how I feel :D what's the line -- sajna aan milo!:D
Ellie: Love that you love, love! P.S: your holiday pics = much envy!
Sucheta: Hug over high five, HUG.OVER.HIGH FIVE:) Thank you, sweet.
NDel: Hello, groupie. :) Don't hold my girly spazness with a guitar against me, please? Thank you:)
PM: You come off coy there, you know that! :D Thanks for hanging around. <3
Incog: For I begin and end with you.. :) I was a professional agony aunt. Now I just moonlight in the..er..shadows or sumfink :P
No hon m the same ol' Mystic, as for gender clarification, I was born a man but I choose to be a woman... :)
^^ Ditto, that is what I meant professionally. Someone did make a mention of the agony aunt on HT and how she even blogged. Since then I have been on to your blog. And that is what I mean by: I've had a blast at times whenever i got to read the agony aunt column in HT(forgive me if I got the newspaper wrong).
Post a Comment