In a brief moment of despair at not being in love for far too long, I summoned up my favorite lover from my memory. After dancing the softness of his skin and reliving the sparkling spot in my soul where his memorizing eyes met mine, I finally remembered what it felt like to be in love again. For a brief second the portal between us opened again, long enough for me to whisper “but i love you…” Swooning once again in a state of ecstasy, he awoke from my spell, “Mareks…Mareks, darling are you still there?” said a sweet voice over the phone. “Hm, hmm, yes yes, uh blue, blue is a great color for the guest bedroom, look I’ve got to go, I’ll call you back when I’m on my way home” he replied….”Love you too….cheers….bye”. He nervously stood up and looked out the window over Sydney Harbour. He remembered too.
My words are ink blots, designed to play upon the very essence of what my readers want to hear. Sadly, I have neither granted wisdom beyond what they already knew, nor I have provided them with insight beyond what pieces they had already put together. Whatever it is that they seek they will not find here. But what of me you ask? What do I see in it all? in every word I see his bright blue eyes peering down at me in first sights spark, I feel his arms toss me into the sky only to catch me in his bed of roses, I hear his foreign voice resonate through my mind in a harsh language spoken so sweet, I see that smile that was only for me that night he took me to watch the Emerald City’s lights, and I feel my heart start pounding again like it did when he put his palm to my chest and astonishingly said, “you have a pulse.” In the divine, star-crossed madness of it all, I have to catch my breath and smile because I can still feel him pulsing through my veins.
I sat outside the Sydney Airport, scanning the rather empty parking lot for the shuttle to the city that seemed to have forgotten about me, when a old Australian man struck up a conversation with me.
“Got a light?” he asked,
“no, sorry, sir, but that man on his cell phone over there just finished smoking, he probably has one,” I replied while motioning in a direction off to my right.
The man got a light and returned to the bench where I sat.
“American or Canadian?” He asked me while blowing his smoke the opposite direction of me.
“American,” I said as cheerfully as I could having just been deep in thought about how I just landed half way around the world alone, “I’ve never been to Australia before, I’m excited.”
The man looked around as if he too was in a brand new world, “yeah, change is in the air.”
At first I thought he was being sarcastic in a way that I just didn’t understand, but in that moment I realized he was really being contemplative, basing his words off some sort of wisdom that I had yet to acquire.
I looked around not feeling change being in the air because my arrival was the result of a natural progression of events for me, and said, “well, everything seems normal around here, like, I’m sure this is how this place normally operates.” My voice cracked midway as I spoke as the emotion of realizing that I had really flown here alone hit me again, it came in waves.
“But you’re here,” the man said, “that’s a pretty big change, and not just for you, I tell you change is in the air, I can feel it.”
Just then the man’s ride pulled up. He put out his cigarette and a woman, who looked to be his daughter, helped him load his luggage into the car.
“You take care of yourself, and enjoy Oz,” he said to me with a grim as he got into the car.
“I will!, thank you!”I responded just before he closed the door and the car drove off.
I sat there for a few minutes thinking, “I have really done this.”
There I was sitting in Victoria Park in Sydney with my Saturday friend. We were sitting on the hill just above the city pool intermittently people watching as he taught me how to read tarot cards. We had been in the habit of hanging out every Saturday, just killing time either at the park, the mall, just walking the streets, or watching cool concept movies at my place.
Conversation, as usual, was flowing smoothly and lead down fascinating roads, but in the back of my mind I was thinking about something else. I was thinking about how I often spent time with people because another person, who I was hoping to spend time with, was busy or didn’t want to spend time with me. Seems to be a reoccurring predicament, one that keeps me from fully enjoying the present because I still was halfway pulled away by some other longing for something that was completely out of my grasp.
In this case something different happened, my Saturday friend has now become someone I wish I could spend time with, not because he does not want to spend time with me, but just simply because of distance and I’m okay with that reason.
I sat on the balcony of a cafe next to my work in Sydney gazing out at the puffy clouds in the sky to the west. It was lunch time, well, the end of lunchtime, I was in the habit of taking lunches later to make the rest of the work day go by quicker. I had tunnel vision, meaning I didn’t care to look around and see if anyone I knew was sitting nearby; all I could think of was how horrible it was to be in this situation.
I just wanted to cry but I was tired of crying, I cried for three days after every phone call because I couldn’t stop habitually ruminated over every detail of the call. He wanted to pretend like nothing was wrong; wanted to call me as if I was happy he dumped me and was now off doing what he thought was what I wanted to do all along. I couldn’t do it anymore. There was no reassurance, no mention that the problem existed other than a Freudian slip followed by a nervous laugh when he accidentally said April 4th (the day he dumped me in a smokey bar) instead of August 4th (the day he was planning some sort of backpacking trip). Regardless of him making such a big deal about leaving me behind for some life experience that he couldn’t do tied to some girl back home, he still insisted on calling me every few days to tell me of his adventures and listen to what I was doing.
It was that day, 4 months later that I realized he dumped me after 7 years to go on vacation.
So there I sat, plagued by cyclical emotions. The current emotion I was in was rather analytical and dry of energy. I realized that the only reason my mind was sick was because this voice kept creeping into my life from far away offering nothing more than a hint that it might come visit. The thought of which only filled me with dread.
Then the phone rang again, as if on cue. There it was again, apparently sitting in some cafe in Tibet or some country near there, expecting to get what it wanted out of me for the time being without leaving me with something of value in return. I was mad at it, but I didn’t know how to get rid of it. So I just started talking about all the boys that I’ve encountered to make him jealous (because I knew it would work regardless of how he denied ever being jealous). I went into detail about how the boys all loved me and complimented me on the strangest things and how they were all so different and all such good friends even though I had only known them for the few months I’d been in Sydney, and how I was really fascinated by one in particular.
Then I just came out with it and asked, “Why are you calling me?”
There wasn’t much of an answer, so I just kept talking, “I don’t understand why you are calling me, you were so mean to me, you said such horrible things, and now you want to call me like none of it ever happened, you just want to go on as if nothing happened.”
Somehow the subject of another girl came up, who I knew he had a crush on because he hadn’t stopped talking about her for an entire year. Then he said, “you always get in a such a rage when [girl] is mentioned, you know you’re just going to have to get used to her and I being friends.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t because I don’t want to talk to you anymore, this whole situation is driving me crazy and I don’t want to deal with it anymore.”
“Whoa…. What!?!” he responded almost with a slight laugh over me saying I was being driven crazy because he always called me crazy for having normal female emotions, “But [girl] and I were going to come visit you!”
“What the fuck do I care about seeing [girl], why the fuck does she have anything to do with this?” I said.
It was at that point someone (the fascinating one in particular, of all people) walked by and tapped me on the head with a rolled up newspaper, as if to say what specifically I am not sure, but I perceived as if, to say “hey I’m here and take it easy.”
“Great,” I thought, “I tried to keep all this away from new people, I tried as much as I could to not be broken, but I’ve failed by being stuck in this tunnel vision of a fog all because the phone happened to ring when someone I knew was nearby.” If I wasn’t pissed off at my situation before I definitely was now. And I wasn’t going to put up with this shit any longer.
“But I’ve been carrying gifts for you for three weeks until I could get to a post office, what am I supposed to do with them now?” the voice pleaded.
“Throw them away, I don’t care, I don’t want them anymore, give them to [girl] sounds like she’ll appreciate them,” I snapped back.
“Well okay,” he said, “If you’re going to be like that then I guess this is goodbye.”
“I guess so!” I retorted.
“Okay, then, bye.” were the last words from the voice I’ve ever heard.
Then sometime later… the phone rang back in Huntington Beach, California.
It was the voice on a train to his next city, calling a friend back at home.
“Friend! It’s [the voice],” came a solemnly desperate voice
“Hey man, What’s up?” asked the friend.
“Stephanie,” sob, “said she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore,” he cried.
Just as the friend was about to respond the call was dropped and there was silence.
True, I am one to often believe that wenching and complaining is quite necessary and a good way of simply expressing frustration over issues beyond ones control. But honestly, I can’t listen to the same stuff every occurrence. How is it possible that people forgot how to grow? No, Once you hit 21 you’re not necessarily set in your ways, you do not have to be the way you are forever, unless, of course, you are lazy or just in need of habits to use as a source of identity and a feeling of value for oneself.
I met a guy in Australia, old guy, name is John; I loved walking by my local pub and sitting down for a beer and a chat with John under the heat lamps. Like most guys, John had other women, same as me, who stopped by for a beer and a chat with him. I didn’t mind that I was just one of many, I felt honored actually. You see, John wanted to be known as: “John, you know, the guy always sitting out, drinking a beer at the Quarrymans Hotel.” That was John sole purpose… to be ‘that’ guy out side of a pub the the locals knew about and would remember (Keep in mind this was Sydney, not BFE).
I bring up this story because it has to do with controlling which niches one places oneself in. Being a creature of intense habit, I can detect- all to well- when someone needs a new habit adjustment, including myself. There comes that point when one is still playing the old program simply for the sake of being in the habit of filling a redundant scene in ones life with something and not getting anywhere, because ‘I just don’t know what else to do with myself.’ I.E. Holidays, yawning in conversations when you’re not tired, constantly making your life difficult so you don’t have to focus on other things, (insert annoying habit here), etc………
From this point one can go in basically two directions:
1. Don’t let on that the habit was ever there and change it so subtlety that no one notices until the change has fully been made, and then act as though the new part of you was there all the time, you just pulled it out of your sleeve all breezy-like. Brilliant. Wow. Stand up and clap for yourself.
2. Make a big deal out of your change and tell the whole world how you’ve wasted so much time and now these are all the things you’re gonna do and all the things you’re gonna accomplish. Not my style because it is only brilliant if you actually pull it off… and if you take this approach… I (or someone else) will steal your ideas (if I like them) and pull them off before you just to see if I can or steal the glory. As the Godfather said: “Trust people, but also be wary of them. Don’t let them know what you are thinking too much.”
Where does wenching fit into all of this? Wenching is one thing ones does when one is aware of a habit, but fears not being able to pull off a remedy for this little hole you’ve dug yourself. That is why I prefer option 1, from above, given a choice, because I have an annoying habit of fearing failure and don’t like others to see where I’ve failed- assuming they know what constitutes failure to me. Avoiding option 2 to also avoids compound failure and constant changing of plans, which makes one look weak and a bit delusional.
Most importantly, redundant wenching also is a result of hoping others will clean up your messes for you. This lazy luxury is not only for people who believe they are superior to the problem at hand and so feel they have the ‘right’ to wench about it, but also the ability to make it someone else’s problem. Tact, in this case, is definitely something that should be taught better on TV. Or maybe it is just me who has a hard time handling people swimming though dirty laundry while trying to have a conversation…. heaven forbid a tide come in.
Day time in Sydney can be so boring without a job since everyone is working! So I’ve found/remembered/thought of some ideas to pass the time:
Eat lychee Hi-Chew
Make up stories about people who are passing by
Find people who look like people I know
Follow blue-eyed guys with sexy walks around Darling Harbour and imagine what it would be like to take them home with me
Rent a car and cruise, though I forgot to get a map so I’m so far limited to roads I already know
Call all my friends even though I have called them 10 times already and they haven’t answered, luckily a few have stalked me before so for us stalking is a sign of love and appreciation… as for everyone else, whoopps….
Chuckle to myself at some of the 80s clothing that people wear around this town
Try not to laugh out loud while walking down the street alone
Lay out on the beach…
Imagine how my life would be different if some events had or had not happened
Sort though my day dreams
Read philosophy books and get wowed by these many interesting ways of looking at the same thing
Scheme about my future and try to figure out how to get some key ‘wants’ into it…. then get frustrated because much of it is out of my control, or if it is in my control, I seem to have messed it up by just being myself… then relax because it is better to be myself and perhaps I didn’t mess anything up. Then remind myself that what will happen, will happen, hopefully my way!
Try to live in the present after the long debacle above.
Okay I’m gonna go cruising again. Bye bye!
We were just getting ready to leave the restaurant in Bondi, at the time I didn’t really know where Bondi was, other than it was outside of Sydney and obviously on the coast because it was actually called Bondi Beach, pronounced “bond eye”.
At the moment, I can’t remember much of what we were talking about in detail aside from the fact that it was the basic things I guess people would talk about on a date, though I wouldn’t know if that is accurate because the last actual formal date I had been on was when I was 16, and that doesn’t really count because I had already known that guy for a long time.
I do remember listening to something more awesome sounding than music music, an accent. I wasn’t really nervous, because I tend not to take serious situations seriously sometimes unless they get super serious. I could tell he was a bit nervous at times (or maybe I can say that later because he told me that he was nervous at some point in time way later).
Okay fine I do remember something we talked about that I’d just like to forget him asking me about, “So where is your boyfriend? Why are you traveling alone?”
Stab to the heart, I didn’t want to talk about it, the rule I read someplace is “Don’t talk about the ex to new guys, especially on dates.” Oh well, the lightest answer I could come up with was, “he abandoned me, we were supposed to move someplace together, but I was busy and he didn’t want to wait so he left, then I came here.” After saying it I realized from the look on his face that it wasn’t a very light answer, but at that point it was a sunk cost I had to deal with and people were going to know, I just wanted to avoid the excess emotions attached to it and enjoy the night.
We left the restaurant and took the long way back to the car by walking the board walk. He told me about the place and pointed out a romantic spot where he used to dance with his ex girlfriend.
“At least I’m not the only one bringing up the ex, must not be such a general rule,” I thought to myself. I also thought, “why don’t we dance there now?” but didn’t say it out loud because I figured he’d ask me if he wanted to and he didn’t so I wasn’t going to change his plans.
From there we drove up the hill to a park that over looked the Sydney skyline. I was going to sit down on the grass, but he told me to wait while he took off his jacket and started putting it on the ground for me to sit on. I told him is wasn’t necessary, but he insisted that it was leather and that it was fine.
So there I was, watching the city lights….falling in love again.