“Letting go means to come to the realization that some people are a part of your history, but not a part of your destiny.”
― Steve Maraboli
I watched the screen nervously, waiting for my video-cam to link with his. I checked my teeth again and fluffed my hair. It had been months since I last saw him. I hoped I looked better this time. I wished he thought I look better. The slow internet connection exacerbated the long wait for this reunion. Finally, we were face to face again. I searched his eyes intently looking for an answer and found nothing. My eyes smiled when he called me “love.” I exhaled. I had been holding my breath waiting for recognition from him.
We proceeded to talk about life and all its inconveniences. I tried to remain patient. I allowed him to ramble because he enjoyed talking but my question was burning my tongue. After making a few rounds around the block, he arrived at the topic that was slowly suffocating me- Us! At that moment, I wished the story of us was simple but it wasn’t. Nothing affiliated with me has ever been simple. I was once told that I had the benefit of being a recipient of an ancient curse: “May you live in interesting times.”
I am not one to believe in hexes and curses but life has been anything but boring for me and this moment continued it. But I digress, back to the story of us. Boy meets girl in a cafe in a city surrounded by ancient ruins. Boy stares at girl and girl asks boy out. 4 days later girl cried inconsolably as she realizes this is the closest she has been to finding a partner and now has to leave and return to her reality thousands of miles away. And boy did what he knew best when emotions got real, he walked away. He walked away from her and she was too proud to ask him to stay because she knew this was the part of the story where she held her breath until the tears stopped falling and her chest stopped heaving. This was the part where she picked herself up and walked back into the world and hid the hurt in another compartment of her. It will be dealt with another day. There wasn’t time to fall apart yet. Not this time. Maybe next time, I can let go.
He said he made a mistake and felt he was possibly missing out on something with me. My heart jumped. He was so close to where I wanted him to be. I was so close to hearing him say the right words. And then he said “maybe.” This wasn’t just any maybe, it was a maybe associated directly with me. It was the maybe that showed me once again that I wasn’t going to get chosen. It was the word that suddenly made me feel inadequate. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know all of my past. Baggage some may call it, I call it my roots. He didn’t know that when he began to not chose me, it took me back to when I was a little girl, watching my father walk away like I meant nothing, or perhaps the moment when my ex walked away without looking back. He didn’t know my roots, and had somehow joined them symbiotically. I wanted him to say something to fix the moment. Say something before I couldn’t excuse his indecision anymore.
I fought back the tears and swore to myself that he would not see me cry again. It was hard, I was barely breathing at this point. A part of me wanted to beg him to stay but the whole of me knew I had to let him go. My hands and my voice trembled as I told him I couldn’t be his “maybe.” A “Sex in the City” episode screamed in my head. The moment when Carrie begged Mr. Big to choose her. The difference was I chose me. I spoke to him as eloquently as I could until we said a shallow good bye. I would have run to him if I could but I chose me.
As soon as the video-cam turned off, I stood in front of my mirror as a river of tears streamed down my face and I looked myself dead in the eyes and repeated “I choose you.” My chest hurt. My heart felt like she was dying again. I had no more compartments to hide things away in. My safe deposit box was full and it was time to make a withdrawal. I sunk to the floor and held myself. My sobs became louder. There was almost no consolation except I knew I was left with me. Albeit broken but it was me. It was the first honest moment I had had with myself in a long time. It was uncomfortable but it felt right. The pain in my chest felt slightly eased and I adjusted to the complexities that were a part of my world. My roots were exposed and raw but I couldn’t bury them again. I picked myself up and looked at myself in the mirror again. The person who stared at me wasn’t smiling but there was a fire behind her eyes that reassured me that the next step was welcomed.
