Something broke and I don’t yet understand what. It makes me hard to focus, keeps me watching my email for the one that says goodbye (for good) and I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again. Something broke that I cannot repair, as if the intricate, fragile mechanism that has been ticking for so long has built up some kind of tension and now it snapped and no longer works. I find myself fearful of the future, afraid of what will happen next and not caring about anything or anyone. Anyone except her, who seems never to answer and I’m too afraid to ask why, or when or how. I’m too afraid to tell what is the truth, that I’m worried and anxious about what is going on and that I need to be reassured that in fact everything is OK. I remember old times (two in particular that come to mind) when I felt similarly, in a situations where I had no control and was incapable of doing anything meaningful because all I could do was to wait. It’s a feeling of hopelessness and a form of anguish that eats one bit by bit, bite by bite until eventually only the shell of one remains. And nobody wants a shell. Not even someone who really cares, not even someone who is the most precious to us. Nobody. A shell is just a useless weight and without its own content it can only be filled up with that of someone else, which is not only boring but even more heavy and so burdensome. I must let the shell go or fill it up myself or else I’m in for a seemingly never-ending rough ride.

As I look in the mirror that I got after a long struggle with myself, I see myself falling apart. Her leaving has hit me harder that I thought, left a mark that I have trouble understanding and I cannot heal. I miss her response which seems never to arrive as I check my inbox so often for so long and it’s not there. I’m afraid she hates me, or much worse, that something has happened to her and I’m here, blaming myself for being stupid on that day for things that I shouldn’t. As I face my worst nightmare, the nightmare not of simple rejection but of worthlessness, I tempt to think there isn’t much to have here, that I’m trapped in this place where there is no escape except the obvious.I have thought about that before but as time goes by and people go by and I still feel alone and lonely, I see the escape hatch more vivid and bright, where finally I can be alone and be content about it, where I won’t have to face another day of worthlessness and self-contempt. I don’t think too many people would mind. I remember this thought I had (reminds me of a word she taught me, kopfkino) that if I had a funeral, the first person I would want to be there is her.

Fleeting but forceful , she enters and leaves but the time spent and the feelings felt stay. They linger on to change me into someone better, more open to happiness and pain, ready to experience all that is around without the tyranny of the walls we all build to protect but also estrange us. All the wonderful and painful things, people, places, the moments that we have and will have, come closer and I feel them warming me, gently touching me. I feel them around, encircling and making me happy to be here, alive, to live and have lived, make me want to stay and spend more time in this wonderful place where there is so much to lose and so much to gain.

The number of girls I’ve slept with, the euros I earn, the hours I sleep, the calories I eat, the kilometers I bike, the films I saw or books I read — and the number of times  I said ‘I love you’ and number of times I didn’t but should have.

Last night, at the corner where A left me in the middle of the night, the moment came back when I met S, a weird meeting where we talked in a café for some hours but nothing else and she left me at the same exact corner. I remembered that time, the questions that came to me, the doubts I had, the sadness and joy of the time spent, the emptiness I felt being left there on the corner, all by myself. I don’t hate that corner, it just hurts to see it, reminds me of some form of disconnect, the fine line of understanding (or pretending to understand) and utter disbelief, a line that can be crossed so suddenly.

I had strange dreams after this, of meeting S by accident at a bar, then being nicely told not to come again and then coming again by accident, meeting her, and seeing her being annoyed. It was really hurtful, but I learnt the lesson, and didn’t go back to that bar again. I don’t know what to make of this dream, but it certainly made me even more aware of that corner, of those times when things make no sense and you just have to accept your fate, whatever the reasons may be.

As days go by with A, I find myself surprised at how far we have come. It’s as if happiness slipped under between us and it’s here now. I haven’t even noticed as it sneakily entered into my life but now I’m surprised by it every time. It’s hard to find words because I have not been in this place, in this world, for such a long while. Not even sure if I have been here, ever. It doesn’t seem fleeting, acted out, or superficial. It’s steady and slow, like an ocean wave, hard to judge its power until it blows over and then it’s strong as an ox, hits you hard. That would be so frightening I’m afraid to even think about it. It’s strange how beautiful the time is with her, though. I feel free, at home, and I don’t even know how to tell her, or if I need to tell her at all. I’m not sure there are words for this, or if there are, I seemed to have overused them, or used them at the wrong time, at the wrong place, for the wrong things. Meanwhile I am floating on what we have built for ourselves, and I’m not afraid. It’s a strange feeling and a very new territory.

Some talk about the boredom of the everyday, but this ride, though was an everyday event, just biking around to see some galleries with A, was a good day. It was good sharing all the things with her, and I felt like a child. Excited and talkative, enjoying sharing a night with someone I like and enjoy the company of. It’s strange because I usually completely loose myself in concentrating on the other, but with A I get to be myself while enjoying her presence. It’s a good feeling, one of freedom and, strangely, of home, where I can be myself without the fear of being rejected. I don’t know if this is on purpose or just comes naturally to her, but I feel safe around her — I don’t fear that I am doing something wrong, that I could hurt her. I want to hold her and caress her, look into her eyes deeply while making love to her.

For a moment all came back, they were all here with me, I missed M and S. They were soft and warm, beautiful and understanding. I remembered holding them, touching them, just being near to them. I could almost feel the warmth of their touch, the way they looked at me. I remembered and I felt a bubble form in my throat, a sensation of true loss as tears started forming, but of course with me, didn’t actually form. They live in my mind, I see them, happy and sad, they come to me and I console them and myself. They then temporarily leave, only to come back later, with less clarity but more force.

I met A and we ended up in a bar that I like. We chatted about many things, some intellectual, some not, and I started touching her, kissing her. It made no sense at the time, but it felt good, and I liked holding her in my hands. The same night I wrote her a kind of letter that I haven’t written in a long while. I really don’t know why but I felt that there is something in her that draws me in. Then, no response for 3 days. It felt like eternity, as if I had given a piece of myself and was missing my part. We met up again, and we had a good time — though she was keeping distance. We met again today and now it’s over and I feel bad about it. I wish I knew why, but it’s too late now. I fear we won’t see each other again. Probably it’s better this way, but I feel a bit sad and, strangely, a bit ashamed.

I remember the time I was there, when things seemed overly complicated and I wasn’t sure that what I was doing was right. I looked in the mirror and saw a different person than what I was meant to be. What is right and what is wrong is not only a question of universal morality but of what we can do and cannot do. Sometime I feel like entangling myself in my own net of intrigue. It’s not because I don’t find my own life interesting enough, but I wish to project a different image.

It’s strange thing how our projected self-image changes our behaviour, instead of the other way around. I read the everyday sexism blog and wonder — how many times have I committed some form of sexism? How often do I look down on some women just because they look or act in a specific way? And how often do they look down on me just because the way I act or the way I look? Am I just reflecting on some of these women what they project on me? And if so, is that right? Should I try to explain, or is there nothing to explain, because really, it’s like telling someone without the correct vocalizations how to speak Chinese — if you are not familiar with the sounds, it’s not that you can’t pronounce them, it’s that you can’t even hear them. Are we miscommunicating because, in a sense, we don’t even hear what the other is saying even though we are trying to listen? And if so, should we instead try to go back to the basics, to words and syllables, explaining what each means? Maybe I am simply intellectualizing that I’m unable or unwilling to listen and change, instead trying to force my way through complicated situations using my intellect.

I met someone who told me: the fact that I didn’t want to intellectualize things frustrated her. I find this interesting, as I have been trying to intellectualize so many things that I feel like I have forgotten to understand instead and incorporate their meanings into my everyday life. I remember this film, where the question is asked: if we would meet ourselves, what would we say to ourselves? I wonder if I would enjoy my own company and whether I should change so that I would enjoy it more. I wonder if I would agree with my moral choices and if I would judge myself on them.