The next day we went to an art gallery. We sat at a greenhouse in the gallery drinking coffee talking art and music. The art we eventually saw was beautiful. That was just the beginning. It lead to us taking his dog for a walk around town. Then cake at his place. Followed by a late night movie and finally beer at his place. He never for a moment lead me to believe he might be remotely interested in me.  He then opened his portfolio of sketches. They were sketches of nude women. Drawn very tastefully. They were beautiful. Women from his past he said. Then he started naming them.

He took me out for breakfast. We spoke about the oceans, deep sea diving and the life down under. I was fascinated with his life. It was not your everyday mundane routine. He was adventurous. I was completely lured by the danger and freedom in his life. I had never felt so caught up in someone before. Captivated by every word that came out of his parting lips.

We went out for drinks to a couple of bars one night. I was drunk in a couple of hours. He took me to the right bars. Bars that gave a stage for aspiring musicians no one cares to listen. We drove to the river. It was cold. The river was covered with ice. There was complete calm and quiet. It was peaceful. We rolled a joint and smoked it by the river. The stereo was playing Bob Dylan. We climbed out of the car and down to the river. The air was cold. No wind. We made our way back into the car. He jumped into the backseat. I jumped there too. I sat a little away from him. I was scared. What if he wasn’t interested in me? He said, “Come here”. I edged towards his lap. He pushed my hair behind my ears. “You have the most beautiful eyes”, he said. I could not speak. I could not breathe. He held my face in his hands and kissed me. It was long. Intense. Passionate. I’m not one to remember a kiss. This was a kiss to remember.

“My friend we met the other night also said you have the most beautiful eyes”, he said.

I still could not speak. Had a nervous smile on my face. He played with my hair while locking his eyes with mine for a long period of time. We said nothing. I was counting how many times I breathed in and out. I could barely breathe.

“Why don’t you come to my place for a bit?”, he asked.

” I have my period”, I stuttered. I WHAT!?!?! How did I manage to blurt that out! It took me three seconds to realize what I just said. Could not do much damage control.

“Who said anything about anything”, he smiled.

We got into the front-seat and drove to his place. It was already past 2 in the morning. We stepped into his house. His beautiful dog was there waiting for us. I spent sometime petting the dog. We eventually got on the couch.  We spoke for a bit before I stuck my tongue back in his mouth. I unclipped my bra. He made his way down to my breasts. Perfect he said. He turned the lamp on to take a look at them. Audioslave’s ‘Like a Stone’ was playing in the background. It’s that song that makes that moment perfect. Its that song that can take me back to that moment and remember in great detail exacting how I felt. Exactly how the room and his hair smelt. The song is always very important.

“Perfect”, he said again. He studied my breasts like an artist would study the object he intended to draw.

I asked him if I could undo his pants. He hesitated. I could tell the intoxication from the many beers and weed allowed him to say a ‘yes’. I took him in my mouth. He completely unleashed himself. There were no inhibitions. I could tell the magnitude of his pleasure with his movements. I had never felt more gratified giving anyone a blow-job.  He came in my mouth. He never asked if he could come in my mouth. Most men would ask. I didn’t have a problem. I wanted to take a part of him inside me.

“You should go home”, he said. “I’ll get you a taxi”.

“I can get myself a taxi”, I said a little hurt and confused.

He eventually dropped me home a couple hours later.

We spent days and nights together in fancy restaurant drinking expensive wine. He opened doors for me. He helped me into my chair. I was with a gentleman. I wanted him inside me.  No surprise.

It was late. We took his dog for a walk.  I stepped into his house. Only the night lamp was on. It gave the house a reddish effect. “Rusty Cage” by Soundgarden was on the stereo. Then we made love. We made passionate intense love. Not sex. Love. He was a giver. I was a giver. It was the perfect combination. I’m not a moaner. I was definitely moaning that night. Very vocal. The way he needed to feel every inch of my skin. Take every inch of me in eyes and with his tongue. I couldn’t get enough of him. I needed more. I needed to capture the moment. I needed to study it and remember all of it. I let myself GO for the first time. I let myself FEEL. I let the situation take control of me. I lost control. And it felt amazing. He was like the coated sugar on the chocolate cake that made the difference. I was tantalized.

His days didn’t revolve around me. I knew I wasn’t significantly important. I was just there and he was enjoying me. He swept me away but I didn’t show it. I knew better. Maybe he knew better.

Then it happened. We were standing outside his house one night for a smoke.

“You’re addictive”, I said.

“So are you”, he replied, “So are you.

Thats when I realized how similar we were in terms of commitment. We let ourselves feel but don’t let the other person know it. We believe in experience, in love and in happiness. But there is a correction – it’s not OUR love or OUR happiness. Just MY love and MY happiness. I’ve realized some people are born this way. To care about themselves more than anyone else. To be inconsiderate and put myself first in a relationship. To never compromise. To let the world revolve ME. That was ME and that was HIM. We were perfect for each other. We were both self-centered and stubborn.

I looked over towards him at a Leonard Cohen concert. He smiled. He was wearing white. His wavy blond hair looked so beautiful on him.

Leonard Cohen said, “I bless you with family and friends. And for those who are alone, I bless you with eternal happiness and peace”.

Thats what he gave me. He gave me happiness and peace. Thats what I needed. Thats what I want.

Intoxicating intense passion is an endowment to us. It can suck the air out of your lungs. You get caught in it’s tornado and never want it to let you slip away. Tornadoes are always fleeting. My tornado disappeared into the dust before I knew it.

All I have left is writings on this wall and albums in my closet to take me back 4 months to the ecstatic days that I wish to relive everyday.

“Don’t you know when you’re loving anybody, baby,
You’re taking a gamble on a little sorrow,
But then who cares, baby,
’cause we may not be here tomorrow, no.
And if anybody should come along,
He gonna give you any love and affection,
I’d say get it while you can, yeah!”

- Janis Joplin

I was then asked the strangest question, “Who do you like more, your dad or your ma?”. Who asks such a dumb question?!? When I heard this question a knot formed in my stomach. I was involuntarily thrown down memory lane. I was seven years old. My parent’s friends were staying over for the weekend. Dinner was to be served, so my mother told me to go upstairs to my dad’s room and call the men for dinner. As I walked up the stairs I could smell smoke and alcohol. I knocked on my dad’s room. I was told to come inside. The smoke smelt different. Not like cigarettes. The room went silent. My Dad asked me, “Who do you love more, me or ma?”, I didn’t know what to say, there were too many eyes on me. “Dinner is served downstairs”, I said. I didn’t answer the question. “Who do you like more?”, I was asked again. I said, “ma”. My dad gave me a very disappointed look. I don’t why I said ma. The right answer was I love you both. Why did I say ma?!?

Then the vicious cycle began. I was ten years old. It was Christmas Eve. We had my dad’s friend’s family over for dinner. My mother made a very simple dinner. Everyone seemed happy with it. Hugs and kisses were exchanged and they left. My dad became silent. I knew things were not going to be good. He was drunk. My ma lay down on the bed to sleep, I was lying next to her. My dad went into the toilet. He was there for a couple of minutes.  He came out in a rage, grabbed my ma by the neck, through her on the floor and beat her. I watched from the bed. He then dragged her to the living room, and took one of his Glenfiddich bottles and beat her with it. I was petrified. I ran to my sister’s room. She was sleeping, my ma’s screams and cries did not wake her up. I woke her up. She told me to go back to bed and there was nothing we could do to stop what was happening in the next room. The door swung open, my dad stood there with my ma in his hands, she was bruised and her clothes were ripped. He looked at us, “Do you want her?”. I was ten. My sister fifteen. My sister did not reply. “We want both of you”, I said. I knew I could not make the same mistake twice. He let her fall to the floor. She picked herself up, came running to me, looked at him, and said, “I’m taking her with me, you can have her”, pointing to my sister. When I replay the incident in my head, I realize my sister must have felt devastated at that moment though she did not show it. My dad then came to me, grabbed me and looked at my ma and said, “You can’t have her, she’s mine”. Then next day, I woke up scared. I went to the living room, my parents were ready to go to church together as a family, like nothing ever happened the previous nights. I saw the smiles on their faces, I don’t think I’ll ever know if it was real. I could not bring myself to smile.

The shouting, screaming, crying and beating continued for the next couple of years. I did not tell anyone. My sister pretended that nothing was wrong or at least thats what I thought. She took her anger out on my ma. She screamed at her, got into a fit, slapped her and locked her up in her room. I was still quite small, I was scared to intrude, on the days that I did come in between their fights, my sister beat the crap out of me. My dad would come home in the night and we would pretend we had the most perfect day, my ma was the one who had to deal with more screaming from my dad in the night.

My parents were talking about getting a divorce. Nobody else knew about it. Some of my friend’s parents were also getting divorced. I did not know whether I was supposed to be okay with it or not. I just did not like staying at home in the nights, so I would sleepover at my friend’s place on most days of the week. I was practicing the piano one day, my ma called me to the dinning table, she told me my dad was disappointed when I was born because,

a) I was a girl

b) I was not fair/light skinned like my sister.

Why did she have to tell me that? I was a bit taken aback. I was twelve. I was working as hard as I could on my music, sports and studies to impress my parents but it was not enough. I then realized the hypocrisy of the situation. My sister had the skin color of my parent’s choice but unfortunately for her, she was overweight. So in the evenings my dad made my sister exercise in front of him. If she  even slacked a little she got whipped with his belt. I stood and watched from a distance.

My sister was a very angry girl. I initially thought it was unacceptable for her to treat my ma and me the way she did, but I was wrong. She had every reason to be angry, she got beaten for no reason at all by my dad. So she beat my ma and me up during the day for no reason. I was just sad because my ma got more beatings than was required. During this whole family decimation process, the dog trainer, who came home everyday, got into the habit of molesting me. I knew exactly what he was doing, I knew it was wrong. I also thought it was wrong to disturb my family with this information. So the molestation and fingering outside my panties continued for the next three years. I became a very angry, defenseless, scared girl.  I was then rescued by the album ‘Bury the Hatchet’ by the cranberries.

My sister left for University when I was thirteen. The situation at home improved. My dad’s drinking problem got better, I did not hear the words “Divorce” or “You’re after my money”. So yes, things were better. But the screaming and crying did not cease. My ma and me came back home late one day, my dad was angry. I thought it was up to me the alleviate the situation, so I took a poem that I wrote to my dad, he took the poem crushed it and gave it back to me. A couple of days after that incident, my ma was hysterical when my dad came back home, I was sketching in the living room. The fight then moved to the living room. I think they liked an audience. My dad looked at my ma, “I will fuck whoever I want and do whatever I want.” I didn’t look up, I stopped caring.

When I was fourteen I had to give my sixth grade piano examination, Trinity College, London. I was my parent’s pride and joy. I was told by my previous examiner that I was one of the most promising students in my country. Everyone had such high expectations. I went into the examination room, started playing and stopped in the middle. I don’t know why I stopped. I wanted to stop. I wanted to fail the examination. I don’t know why. I probably wanted attention from my parents. I did fail that examination, the only attention I got was my dad not speaking to me for several weeks. I told myself he was too busy.

Today, I know my parents were not ready for parenthood. My sister and I were both planned mistakes. They had already planned two perfect kids and we were not them. My sister and I don’t have much to talk about anymore. I blame it on me, she takes the effort, I’ve stopped pretending. I love my parents and my sister more than anything in this world, I’m eternally grateful for what they’ve done for me, I will take a bullet for them if neccessary, but I do think a big part of who I am today is because of what happened in the past. I know it was not my fault. I’ve learnt to love and give myself importance. I’ve learned to be selfish. I might not be a very nice person, but I know exactly who I am.

I used to belive in debauchery, overindulgence and self-gratification. I can’t remember when I stopped. I’ve realised that I’m my own masochist, I dig myself my own grave, and I don’t know how to stop. Today, I had nothing to dream about, or hope for in the future. It’s not exciting for me that my future is unpredictable. While I was driving my car back home, I realised how alone in the world I am. No one existed except for me. The things that mattered to me, my art and music, all of a sudden didn’t matter anymore. I had never felt so alone. I hate that feeling of vacuum in my head, where my voices keep sucking me inside to be heard. No one needs to hear those voices. I’ve come to a point where I see myself as an extremely selfish, spoilt and self-centered person. I never was this way before. When did it start? Can I bring about a change? Or do I like the sensation of loneliness and do I thirst for more pain? I don’t know. But I do know I’m walking down a downward spiral.

A couple of months ago, I ended things with someone I deeply love and respect. We had been through a lot together, there were a few good days and many bad days. It would be wrong for me to use the word ‘ended’, sometimes things are never said, just mutually understood. Each time I took the phone to pick up his calls, I felt what I felt when I was with him. There was more spark in us when we had nothing going on than there was when we had something with each other. I can’t really say if we ever ‘ended’ our relationship. He just left one day as he wanted to tour around my country.

So after that we lived off long distance phone calls and I told myself things were over between us. A part of me wanted him to leave the country and go back home where he had come from, to make things easier for both of us. We were not together, nor were we out of love. I can’t speak for him, he never told me that he loved me, nor did I. We preferred not speaking about ‘us’, or giving what we had a label. I think what we had thrived off mostly was sex. But then there was also the heated arguments we used to have on music. He thought I took music too seriously. “It’s really simple”, he said, “Some ass writes some song when he is drunk or stoned and poor little naive you thinks he is writing the story of your life”. It is true,  I do take music very seriously. I think most of my feelings are recorded on albums. We spent hours listening to Beethoven’s symphonies followed by Pantera, we just listened and never said a word. There was something about the silence. I felt I communicated more with him in silence than I did with words.

A couple of weeks ago he left the country. I kept myself busy when he left, I knew there would be no more phone calls. I know soon the emails would stop too. And we will become strangers. As Bob Dylan said in ‘Just like a woman’,

” I just can’t fit, Yes, I believe it’s time for us to quit, When we meet again, Introduced as friends, Please don’t let on that you knew me when I was hungry and it was your world.”

Today I feel no pain, I feel hollow, I spent my day sitting on the bathroom floor, with no tears in my eyes nor hope left in my heart. What I miss most is the silence that existed between us, now the words in my head leaves me empty. I have always jumped into love without thinking twice about the consequences, I have believed that it’s important to feel happiness and pain to gain human experiences. I get into relationships that I know would one day end. I believed that if that fleeting happiness lasts me a couple of months or a week I’ll take it. Then comes the pain. The pain of loss. I take that too. Today I’ve lost hope. I never believed in fairy tales or that love would last me a lifetime, but I think I’ve dealt with more pain than happiness. What saddens me is that people around me allow love to embrace them for years, for me its always a momentary happiness. Alfred Tennyson once said, “It’s better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all”.

I have always thought that the love that bound a couple together into marriage would eventually fade away. I don’t think I’m right anymore. I don’t think love is ever fleeting. I don’t think you can ever truly stop loving someone. I envy couples who have stuck together for years and depend on each other for their happiness. I never let ‘love’ define my happiness. I don’t know what defined my happiness. But I do know today Bob Dylan defines my sadness,

“Ah, you fake just like a woman,
You make love just like a woman,
Then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little girl.”

So we smoked a joint….and I was pretty stoned. So Mr.V and Mr.S decided to play Fifa, I sat and watched them play. I wasn’t even bored. Mr.S decides he’s going to go for a shower, so Mr.V and me are left alone. Okay I need to get you up to date with Mr.V’s illegitimate activities. Here goes, Mr.V enters the female market on a daily basis to decide who and how many to fuck for that day. Let me continue to enlighten you of the situation, Mr.V can be considered good looking among most females, very charming and yes he is a millionaire. I have been on top of Mr.V’s list ever since he told me he was interested in me and I told him, ‘he was not my type’. I was not trying to play hard to get. And the cock always wants what it can’t have. Oh…before I forget, Mr.V has had a steady girlfriend for the last 3 years, and she has no clue why her boyfriend gets better and better in the sack day by day!

Come what may, I considered Mr.V a very good friend of mine. So once Mr.S disappeared for his shower, Mr.V holds me close ,starts nibbling on my neck and says ” I know you want me”. Thoughts were shifting quite rapidly in my head at that moment:

- Mr.V is throwing a party for me.

- How can I say no to a friend?? (how can I say no to a friend ?!?!?! I am the biggest, might I also add weakest fucking moron in this planet)

- Where the fuck is Mr.S!??

- Maybe if I give in once Mr.V will stop bothering me.

- Now really how long can Mr.S take in the shower??!!?

So before I knew it, his cock was in my mouth….and the door bell rang. It was his girlfriend.

Later on we went out to a club (I hate clubs….very pretentious!). I had a couple of drinks and returned to Mr.V’s place to start the party by 12. So this was how the night went, there must have been 30 people or more at Mr.V’s place. I spent most of my night on the balcony smoking, smoking up, and gulping down vodka shots. My best friend, lets call her Miss A, finds me to tell me Miss R is missing and so is Mr.V . I didn’t know whether to react surprised or shocked or to even care. I thought the best reaction was to not care. But I did care.

At that point, I felt alone, used and also like I got what I deserved. How could I have got entangled in this mess of a web? How did I come to this point? How could I have been so dumb and irresponsible? To make things worse, I blurted out to Miss A and Mr.S the happenings of Mr.V and me. I guess that was too much for Miss.A to take in at the moment.

Mr.V is very famous for dragging girls into bed with him, but I never thought that I would be one of his victims. Okay victim is too strong a word. All I saw in front of me was a demon, not a friend, someone who took our friendship and turned it into something neither of us can label. It does take two to tango, I should have said a very strong NO. That’s one of my biggest problems, when I know someone quite well it gets difficult for me to say no. I try to handle the situation as mature as I possibly can, but I always fuck up. I’ve always thought it good to make mistakes and learn from them, so that I can deal with situations better or differently when needed. And yes I do learn from my mistakes. But in my case I always make new mistakes, and I make a lot of them. Now a days I surprise myself with my capabilities. My morals are definitely rolling down the hill at the moment. I know its not possible to stop making mistakes altogether. But I wish I can atleast reduce the number of mistakes I make. Its strange in some ways because today I tell myself I’m not capable of doing certain things, but tomorrow they become my mistakes that I again need to learn from. We all have demons we need to face but why do I feel like I’m only surrounded by demons? I don’t see the same demon twice, but there seem to be an infinite number of demons who are targeting me. So what was the lesson I learned today….? There is a difference between the way girls are looked at and guys are looked at by the world, they can do the same things and the girl is labeled a slut but the guy gets away without a tag attached to him.

Miss.R and Mr.V had disappeared for more than an hour that night. The next day, when I returned home on the train, ‘Hello’ by Oasis kept running in my head.

” Nobody ever mentions the weather can make or break your day, Nobody ever seems to remember life is a game we play. We live in the shadows and we had the chance and threw it away. And it’s never gonna be the same, Cos the years are falling by like the rain and it’s never gonna be the same.”

So now we had for a year got away with ‘withdrawal’. We both were happy. At the end of every month I would take a pregnancy test, the result would be negative (*note: I was always late). Then on one Friday I took a pregnancy test and it read negative, so I was happy waiting for my period to arrive (it was already a month late, but this was not uncommon with me, I’ve been 3 months late a couple of times [I know! I know!] ) and then I took the test on the following Monday, there was a faint pink line seen, very faint I accentuate. Might still be negative. So in three hours I took it again. The faint line appeared again. I lost it!

The first thing I did was I called the guy I was involved with and informed him. Doctor that he was, wanted to see the ‘faint pink line’ for himself, because I might have imagined seeing the pink lines twice! A million thoughts were running through my head,

First: I was late for class at my university

Second: Fuck, what the fuck was I thinking!! I live in India!

Third: My parents are going to kill me. (they think I’m a virgin)

Fourth: Get this thing out of me!!

Okay, not a million, but my head was swarming. So this guy I was involved with decided it’s time for a blood test. I live in the tiniest town in India, were everybody knows everybody. GOSSIP is the native language.

So we planned to drive out of town, on the highway we stopped at an emergency hospital, and had my blood test done. And then I rushed to my university. Through out the day, at my university, I wanted to shoot the people around me. I was very cantankerous. And I excused myself for it. The results came the next day, and yes I was pregnant, my HCG levels were fair enough for me to be pregnant. But the guy who I was involved with, did not want to rule out the chance of it being a molar pregnancy. So after a second blood test, which revealed my HCG levels were on the rise, I had to think of were I could get this abortion done. So the first place we called was Apollo hospital (a chain of well-regarded hospitals in India) and their response was why do you want this abortion? My response – ah…ah because ….yeah they hung up on me. That got me thinking…. is abortion illegal in India? Sometimes it’s hard to keep track with what is legal and illegal? [I didn't realize ganga was illegal until recently]. So I read-up online and found out with the male’s consent, it is legal, if the child has an in-correctable physical defect. But laws were different for each state. And I then read-up that the state in which I lived, had the most strict laws on abortion…..and also the most corruption [I know it's an irrelevant detail].

I made around four more phone calls…..all ended the same way. Then I called ‘Family Planning’, and they were most helpful [could also be because the guy who I was involved with did most of the talking....India just loves the Male-fucking-Species, oh and I forgot he also has an Australian accent... yes there is discrimination seen in India, between the Indian and Non-Indian, the Non-Indians get treated like fucking Maha Rajas].

The Family Planning Center insisted that I get an ‘Intra-vaginal scan’. So the next item on my agenda was to get this scan done. So this guy I’m involved with, lets call him Mr.X for the rest of my entry, talks to the lady at the reception of the scan center and gets me ahead of the queue [a) because he's a PHYSICIAN b) because he's a MALE PHYSICIAN c) because he's an AUSTRALIAN MALE PHYSICIAN ....damm that's 3 strikes]. On our way to the scan center, he had told me to drink a lot of water, so I was all tanked up when we arrived at the center. My bladder had to be full for them to perform an ultrasound first, followed by an intra-vaginal scan. The lady who took my scan, was very garrulous. “Oh…you’re so young, it’s very nice to see such young brides these days… all these girls now running off to start of their careers, where’s the time to start the family!??”. I so needed that! Mr.X wanted to accompany me through this scan, so we agreed to play fake Mr. and Mrs.X for this imbroglio. So for my ‘intra-vaginal scan’ they inserted a probe into my vagina, VERY uncomfortable.

The report said I was 3 weeks pregnant, no molar pregnancy or ectopic pregnancy, just a normal pregnancy. So after the report arrived, we proceeded to the Family Planning center, when we arrived, we were told that there was only one doctor, and she was busy at home, and will be busy for the next five days. This was after she told Mr.X that she would be waiting for his arrival that day. So because Mr.X was an MALE AUSTRALIAN PHYSICIAN he was allowed to call her at home, and a drug, ‘misoprostal’ was given to me without a doctor’s prescription. While this was happening, I was seated next to the receptionist, looking down at the floor like a good bride should, “When do you plan on getting married?” she asks. “Oh, I’m married, the wedding was a month ago, very romantic”, I added. After a while, she throws her head back in laughter and looks at me, “you’re not married are you? nor are you planning on getting married to him”. Nosy bitch.

So that night at 8, I took the pill, and waited. It was then that the RIGHT and WRONG issue slowly started floating in my head. I do know that life had not been given to the child as yet, but it could have been given until I cut off it’s air supply. [*Note: I refer to the child as it]. In two days time, I started bleeding, bleeding the fetus out.

I’ve told myself, that what happened was a warning for me not to be irresponsible, I do strongly believe that what I did was wrong, and I don’t defend myself for it. What’s done is done, I hope I never have to do what I did again.

It was easy. No complications. There was no pretendance. I was very comfortable. I admired his art and knowledge. He was a gentleman. The first night he took me out for a couple of drinks, I was completely mesmerized. It’s like that feeling you get when you’re driving your car on the highway and your listening to a song you’ve never heard before and it makes sense, it does not need to grow on you, and you’ve been waiting for a song like this to be played for a long long time. I did not get to listen to the end of the song.

Then there were bike rides, holding hands, listening to music and late night phone conversations. I did not want to be the one to make the first move, wanted to take things a bit slow, I liked him. But I did want to fuck him/very horny around him. So one night while listening to ACDC – The Honey Roll, he got on top of me and started kissing me——-etc etc etc. We got naked, condom went on, and ————– nothing. I wasn’t disappointed. It was not about the sex. It was more about hope and that feeling that everything is going to be one day alright with people like him around. Today I was thinking, it was not a malfunction, it might not have had something to do with me either, it was probably a lack of intimacy. We barely knew each other. I don’t regret not having slept with him—— when and if I do get to “make love to him” (not fuck him) someday, it would be beautiful. He never once fell short of perfection. He deserves to be written about, cause he did rub off on me, and I felt like I was at home each time I saw him. I did not want it to end.

I’m writing this three months late. I wish I wrote it earlier so my memory could be more vivid. Each time I smell smoke, I remember, I remember how it felt to feel connected to someone you barely know. I wish I spent more time with him, we would have been perfect together. A friend of mine once told me “it’s all about timing”, it is all about timing, he was the Ace of Spades in my hand, and I did not have the right time to play him. I hope with all my heart that we cross paths again. I would never cease to look around for someone like him, a philospher, an artist and a extrovert. I was wounded before I met him, he never knew how well he healed me. Today things are not perfect for me, the day I left, while sitting in the train I was listening to Green Day’s Nimrod, had never listened to the album before, I’m not much of a Green Day fan. I came across this song “Time of your life”, each time I listen to that song, I will remember exactly how it felt. I’m listening to “Time of your life” right now, and I know that period of time I spent with him, was one of the most perfect times in my life, and I hope I get that period of time with him or someone else one day. I could have loved him uncondionally.

“Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test, and don’t ask why.
It’s not a question, but a lesson learned in time.
It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right.
I hope you had the time of your life.
So take the photographs, and still-frames in your mind.
Hang it on the shelf of good health and good time.
Tattoo’s of memories and dead skin on trial.
For what it’s worth, it was worth all the while.”

Both of them are very different from me- in terms of personality. They are both so vivacious and full of life. Then there is me, sitting there with all the life sucked out of me. It’s like the two Queen of Hearts, Queen of diamonds and the Jack of Spades sitting together. The Jack of Spades always has nothing to say, and even if he does, he never says it, cause they are never going to understand or will contradict. I sometimes wonder why I keep seeing my life through the eyes of a male, it’s times like these when I realize, some of my friends who are girls are way to “pink” for me. I’m a shade of grey. Dull, jading, lifeless. I’m the living Slyvia Plath. I remember sitting there and thinking, how the fuck did we become friends? What do I have in common with them. Nothing.

So right before I went for my interview, the three of us held hands and said a prayer. I don’t know whether it was a prayer of faith or a prayer of hope. For me it was a prayer of hope, in that moment I felt peace, in that moment I felt like what is meant to written will be written. It was not the prayer that made the difference, it was the fact that we three held hands and I felt that peace. I felt that unity. And my prayer to whom so ever it may concern was very simple. I prayed that we remain together, and I prayed for the best for the two people who’s hands I was holding. In that moment, I had forgotten my existence. I had forgotten to say that prayer for myself.

An hour later we were driving back home, I was the only one without a smile on my face. I don’t clearly understand what happened that day or what exactly I felt. I just realized that moments like those that I felt when I was holding my friends hands aren’t real, they are transient moments that are not meant to last and never will last. I’m not upset that I didn’t get the job, I’m upset that the feeling I had in that particular moment which I had wanted to last had vanished. I’m happy for both my friends and I will always extract happiness from their success. Today I’m living off that moment when I had three cards in my hands, two have been played, and the jack of spades is the only one left.

Then he came home. On the night of the first day, he told me “so-called dark secrets” he had never told anyone. It’s written in the book, first step you always take is, tell a secret (make one up of you don’t have one) and then she would immediately trust you. It works like a charm.

So then it happened, I was under “the spell”, smiling like a fucking 13 year old each time his name was mentioned. He was on the steering wheel and I took the back seat. He was always “right” in my eyes, why? Simple, he was ten years elder to me, so I was charmed, mesmerized, in awe at his knowledge and shoulders (both important commodities). So we started our clandestine relationship (had to be kept a secret, because according to him, no one would approve….sshhh!). I can’t put a label to the relationship we had, (*hint-you can do that and let me know).

So, it all started one night at around 3:30 (or early morning, I am the ultimate insomniac), I was lying next to him, we were not talking, just staring at the ceiling, and he smelt yummy(it was important). So that day, we had gone climbing with our “equipment”, just him and me, watching the sunset on some steep hill (my first time doing strenuous climbing so I didn’t give a fuck about the sunset). So while lying down in bed together, I told him my back was killing me. Opportunity was at his door step, so he volunteered to massage my back, (must add- setting was perfect, the lights were dimmed only a lamp was lit at the corner of the room, everything just seemed “perfect”). I was wearing my green Scottish skirt (very cute) and some top I can’t remember, and my top came off for the massage (whatever….) He started moving his hands on my upper back, moved to the lower back and then to my butt. He knew what he was doing, cause I DID NOT feel my skirt go up or my panties come down, then things got fucking good! His hands were VERY experienced (doctor’s hands..), he was better than any guy I had been with, BUT I did not get an orgasm!

So for the next 6 months, we stayed together, knowing that he had to go back home one day (oh by the way I forgot to mention, he lives in a different continent, he is only here to travel around this country of mine….he is going to remember this country because of my “so-called 10/10 blowjobs”. He was probably just flattering cause he wanted more). So during this whole “process”, I slowly starting following in love, (I completely believe in the whole Janis Joplin philosophy of “get it while you can…”) and he really seemed like a “good guy”. We did everything together. For those couple of months, I was caught in this storm, not wanting to leave, and not knowing whats happening outside of it. Each time I looked into his eyes, I had that warm feeling in my heart, knowing that his eyes said he was looking at someone flawless and beautiful on the inside and outside. He made me feel special, he had that ability to make me feel loved and needed. “Him-Me”, that was my world. And then he left. He said he had to see the rest of the country, and he did. I was fine with it, until he came back. That fucked me up, cause thats when I realized how much I missed him, and how fucking great the sex was (without an orgasm I add….I kept getting close every time, especially when I was stoned, BUT……).

He told me his visa was expiring and he was going to pay another 2000 dollars to re-new his visa and stay with me. My first reaction, very typical…..”No one has ever done anything so sweet for me…!!”. I had the usual “stars” in my eyes when I saw him, and got that “funny feeling” in my stomach each time we kissed. He kept his word and stayed.  And then things got ugly, he entered that “comfort zone”, that zone where we start criticizing each other. Once you enter this zone there is no going back.

Right now, I’m at this point, where I still look up to him, cause I know he is this great guy whom I’ve got to know the last one year. But again, like many relationships, this MIGHT be a one-sided relationship. I always seem so imperfect in his eyes, everything I say he tries to refute it. He doesn’t stay with me anymore, and he hasn’t left the country as yet, each time he calls, I pick up the phone thinking that I’m going to have this wonderful conversation with him, but no. There is no point having a conversation with him anymore. I can’t help but wonder, what this “relationship” was about for him……”me” or “my blowjobs”. I know exactly what it was for me. I started this “relationship”, knowing that its going to end one day (….”enjoy the music while it lasts”). I think the music stopped today. I wish I can sit on my bathroom floor and cry my heart out, but I can’t. It wasn’t an “un-expected” end for me to do that. I don’t know how to mourn. That is the worst form of sadness, not knowing how to let it out. Ben Harper said, “…..when it’s good, its good. When its gone, its gone…….”.