A heart never forgets

In 1996, when I first arrived at Stanford, I was young, an idealist, and a hedonistic idiot. Regardless, on my first day to class, my eyes rested on a handsome, young man who was obviously from Canada (flag on back pack, predictable and a sure sign). He had an immediate effect on me, like a punch in the stomach, butterflies in the chest, and too much champagne in the head.

Forget the fact that he was two heads shorter than me, every time I saw him heading for that classroom door, my breath stopped and I was ready to pass out. Really... I am not talking about infatuation (ok, actually I am!!!), but an immediate, involuntary physical response to that boy.

Days dragged on into weeks. I do not recall how it was that we finally spoke to each other, or even what was said. My memory conveniently skips from those gut wrenching moments of anonymity, to the lonely craving and wishing, and the constant self restraint when spending time with him, for as you may guess, he had a girlfriend back home.

All that changed, with one stolen (or perhaps more accurately, tempted) kiss. We, a group of 6, were watching a movie in his room. My memory, still vague on the details, remembers 4 people climbing up on the bunk above. Me and him on his bed, below, watching a movie. Somehow, I was lying next to him and he had his arm around me.

I remember struggling for breath from his proximity. I was too scared to move, lest he let go, or move away, trying to control my body from shivering... Somehow, i had turned, and he leaned forward. Our lips met, not in some hot fiery french kiss, but in the sweetest, most memorable 'kiss' i have ever had. As if just passing by, our lips fluttered onto each other, barely feeling the others. It was as sensation much like a memory, so light, so tender, that one wonders if it ever happened. But his lips did not move away, they tickled and relaxed into a warm, tender embrace of mine. I was paralyzed, both in sensory overload, in fear of it stopping, in disbelief of it happening.

Alas, the things that burn the hottest and brightest, burn out the fastest. "We need to talk" he said and pulled me off the bed and outside. The other 4 people in his room wondered what had happened...

Outside, on the fence by his dorm, he sat facing me, holding my hand. "You know this can't happen again, right?" He asked. The girlfriend, and his ethics would not permit it. I don't remember if I was able to hold my tears back.  I know I cried for many days after that. We could have had something amazing.

I moved pretty fast after that. I had decided to never give my heart away again. It was logic that would drive me. I met a guy from a local frat and within 2 weeks we were a couple. As long I was with that frat boy, no one could break my heart (as it did not belong to anyone, i thought). I remember a couple of months later at a party, I saw the Canadian. He approached me as if wanting to talk to me... then frat boy came by from the other side... "Meet my boyfriend!" i had said flippantly. I saw his face change, he politely said good bye.

A few months later i found out he stopped out of college to pursue an acting career. The next time I saw him was not until 2000, when I was already married, and working in a local coffee house. He stopped by, excited to have seen me. He noticed my ring and said (with hidden disappointment), are you engaged? No, I told him, flippantly like before, I am married. One more bad decision, where my heart had not been involved.

By pure accident, through a FB friend's pictures I fell upon a current picture of the Canadian today. Instantly, as if time had not passed, i felt my gut clench, my chest hurt, my head swim. Hot tears rolled in my eyes, and I remembered the sweetness of that kiss. My heart never forgot him.

I played it safe. I added him to my linkedin account where there are no pictures showing the decline of my body, the weight, the wrinkles of marriage. He accepted immediately with a warm, sweet message.

So now, I struggle... I feel unattractive, unworthy, but want to see him, hear him talk, catch up... I want to ask him out to lunch, but am scared, scared of putting myself out there, scared of rejection (he is single, but i am certainly not what I looked like the last time I saw him!), scared I might fall in love with him, again, scared I might discover he is not perfect (inevitable!). 

I am scared of letting my heart live again. 

   

POOP!!!! (be forewarned!)

My life rotates around poop. Although for me that can be quite frustrating, I can appreciate its comical nature from outside.

I wake up at 2.00 a.m. every morning (Ungodly hour!) thinking of: poop. I jump out of bed, half awake, throw on a big sweatshirt, leash the dog and walk him, in eager anticipation of said poop. Its manifestation signifies a quick withdrawal back into the warmth of my home, and into the still warm pillows and blankets of my bed. I drift off back into deep slumber, realizing, that the full poop bag was accidentally placed in my sweatshirt pocket instead of the thrash can. That's what I get for sleepwalking the dog. I rise, resentfully and dig the bag out of the sweatshirt pocket and go back outside into the cold, to drop the sleep offering into the street garbage can. YUK. 

Relieved, I retire to my bed, and drift off to sleep.

Mornings, at 6, I repeat the ritual, this time much more alert and happy. Occasionally, when our 2 a.m. walks are especially productive, i stop at the fenced dog park and let the dog off leash, stimulating him to take care of business. It does not always work. 

I then return home, shower and wake up the little kid, Breakfast is usually followed by patient story times while waiting for him to... POOP on the potty. 

Scoop the kitty box, take out the trash, head to school/work. 

Depending on how our 6 a.m. walk went, I am thinking about Poop all morning at work. I HATE poop in my house. So at lunch, resentful, i drive home, and take the pup out again. Usually this time, the end result is plentiful. 

Back at work, i am relieved, that the pup is relieved. I focus on work, and planning the usual dog play dates in the evenings. 

After work I pick up the kid, make sure he poops before we go, and head to the dog park, where 6 out of 10 times, the kid steps in, rolls in and somehow gets into.. well.. you guessed it - POOP. The pup in the other hand likes to hold out, awaiting his 2.00 a.m. walk. Argh!

Washing dog poop off sneakers is fun. First off you need the right tools. A skewer stick, a bristle brush, and something to plug up your nose. You use the stick to scrape the poop stuck in the grooves of the souls, and the brush to brush out the rest. Poop on clothing requires special care too. Poop in hair is tricky, since washing it can often get it all over the tub, and sometimes, when the kid is especially wiggly in his face. GOOD LORD, I am POOPED out by then!

Now, the pup is actually Lab mix. Those knowing Labs are already nodding knowingly. When you have a Lab puppy, you basically assume everything in your house is edible. Socks, undies are delicacies. Leather bound books, shoes and pillows are great chew toys. Wiring electronics and cell phones, are pure destruction. 

Having a Lab means, that in addition to walking, playing chewing and eating, I also have this duty I call POOP WATCH. Basically, after particularly destructive chewing episodes, I have to observe and note poop consistency, color, and speed of manifestation, to assure no blockage. Also, when picking up said poop, I have to squish it (I use a bag!!!!_) around in the bag to ascertain content - be it a whole sock, or partial elastic band from kids undies. 

The other day, while on poop watch, i was performing my duties in the park, when i noticed what looked like a folded bill. Now my kid folds money like that all the time, and leaves it around. His grandpa gives him $100 bills every so often (don't get me started!). So seeing a folded bill in the puppy poop presented me with a dilemma... How much money would the bill have to be for me not to pull it out? Well i did have to break up the poop,  and pull the folded bill out (still whole) and unfold it. DOllar bill - Damn! I threw it in the garbage with the poop, only to realize that a family with their two pre-teens were sitting across from me. Their faces told the story of not having ever owned a dog...  

So, here is to my daily life of poop. I love it as it is. I love my kid, I love my dog, and would not change it for anything. But if I ever win the lottery. . . I am hiring a dog walker and a poop watcher. Amen!

Feeling Better Now

 From our Russian River Canoeing trip this weekend

I have been trying to focus on me. I am exhausted of whining about the past and really feel the need to move forward.  I also have noticed that posting things here about M, has actually not been as therapeutic as I had hoped. Instead, my posts have been giving more power to the frustration, sadness and loneliness that I have been feeling. 

So going forward I am focusing on the future, on me now, and on the past pre-M. My post On Looking Good (Feeling Better) on my weight loss blog 100lbs of discovery (which is pretty rough and relatively new) is my latest update of that journey.

Golden Gate Bridge at dusk. Our trip to Tomales Bay from 2 weeks ago.

I have really been better about looking forward lately, which perhaps has been part of the reason for the drop off of posts on this blog. Regardless, I do intend to do a brief retrospective on "Previous Lives". I need to go back and remember what life was like before M came into my life. I do recall being happy and excited and full of hope and dreams! The "Previous Lives" task has been overwhelming and I have been working on compartmentalizing it before posting. After all, our vision when looking forward is often affected by where we have been...

Stay positive, strong, and optimistic!

Russian River trip - the best pic on my camera :)

Making friends

Men are such simple creatures. Women so complex. That is the very reason that most of the social leaders in the past have been men. It is easier to gain power by clubbing your opponent on the head then by guilting, loving and shaming them into submission.

I have always been one of those women who found common ground with men, much easier than women. There is something much more genuine, simple and powerful in the initial bonding process of guys. I have never been good at making friends with women, because the process has always seemed so strenuous, strained, and simulated. 

After a long stagnation, I have found that making friend, in general, is not easy anymore. And at times, on a night off, I have found no one to spend time with. This is so sad, but also motivating. It is time to leave to comfort of existing friendships and start some new ones... If only, in our age of technology, there was a way that spelled out how to do that. 

Life moves on

                                           My little guy who makes everything a joy!


I am ready for a new beginning. I can taste it.... smell it, sometimes I wake up and I feel it. A bright new day, a life of joy, and peace. It does not seem so far away.

The ties that held me back over the last few years have loosened up. People have passed, people have moved on, people have let go. I have let go of most of it. Now, to look forward.

The hardest thing for me has always been identifying what I want. Even with the fullest conviction at one moment, my goals change the next. Short term, I see them clearly, along with the hurdles needed to overcome to achieve them. The long term, still remains cloudy. I know with complete certainty that i can not stay where I am now (in every aspect of life: finances, education, work). But which direction to take?

I often forget I am almost 33. I still feel like I have all the time in the world. People will say that is true. After all 33 is not that old. But it IS old, considering the life experiences I have been through, the obligations I have taken on, and the responsibilities I have chosen and committed myself to. 10 years of inactivity is also hard to overcome.

So there... I am contemplating change. Its but the first step in a positive direction. Being aware of your wishes, of what is holding you back and being able to look at these objectively. The hardest step is step 2: Taking action. I am planning action. Is it the right action? That remains for time to test and approve.

Still optimistic, till next time.

Change

I am again, committing to change. 

0n May 25th, 2010 my dad passed away.

Long time no post -- On why my mind is in total disarray

I know I am going through some kind of special trial by fire. I am certain I will emerge on the other end, stronger, wiser . . . older.

In the last two months

• M attempted suicide
• Somehow I was the only one authorized to deal with medical and health decisions for him
• The hospital discharged him after a few days without notifying any family members - chaos ensued.
• Then, I had a long conversation with his ex"room-mate" - It turned  my perception of the last 10 years, upside down. 
• I came to the sudden realization M is really really sick.
• I determined to cut off all contact.
• My mom called - Dad's cancer had spread - he had 6-8 weeks to go - max
• My parents have made no plans for his death what so ever (after 9 years of sickness)
• A week later their house was sold by the land lord. They had 60 days notice in a market where rents had doubled in rental price. 
• M's fury about being isolated and me talking to his girlfriend of 2 years was unleashed
• Dad's chemo did not help. Dad admitted in hospital on palliative care
• Mom in complete despair, alone a world away

Leaving me... looking for housing for her, applying for my citizenship, prepping immigration paperwork to bring her here, figuring out the next steps for her once dad passes...

All this wile still struggling wiht my complete isolation from adult company.

I keep breathing, and reminding myself: This too shall pass...

On why I hate romantic movies

                                                                                                                Image borrowed from HERE



I rarely watch romantic movies. They leave such a bitter sweet taste in my mouth! Part of the issue is that the characters are always (BJ's diaries is the only one I can think of where that is not necessarily the case) so polished, physically perfect, glowing, and in some way adorable. Up on the silver screen they have no BO, they dress perfectly and their personal quirks are usually what is glorified. None of them pick their noses while driving, and even when working out they personify an unattainable image.

The plot lines are even more irksome. Some perfect 10 is single and struggling to find companionship. They meet another perfect 10 and go through some trial and upheaval only to have the universe bring them back together. Come on! I used to be a perfect 10 (trust me, I was! I did travel through many a continent modeling as a teenager after all!) I was never single, and never had issues meeting a mate. Romance was around every corner. Those days are gone now.

I look at these movies and always leave depressed, feeling alone and hopeless. The thoughts of "I am never eating again" and "Fat girls never get the guy" only ever pass through my head when viewing a romantic flick. I go through a day of moodiness and self pity.

Horror movies on the other hand cheer me up. They are so obviously removed from reality that should they cause any type of self reflection I should probably be seeking psychiatric help.

So there! Life would be so much easier as a perfect 10. Luckily in my case i need to focus on substance over looks. I am a better person for it, I know.

TRAUMA

Trauma: This is what the evaluation specialist determined the issue was. After the last 2 weeks I decided to see if I can go back into therapy. I had to get evaluated in order to determine the type of counseling I needed. The determination was Trauma. I realize now that this is probably a correct evaluation.

I have spent the last few years made up a million excuses as to why M was like this. I now realize that I was in part blaming myself.

Last week M’s ex-“roommate” called me. She wanted to talk to me. She had questions. I had wondered if I was about his attempted suicide 4 days earlier. She barely touched on that. She wanted to know about the past. The questions shocked me. They were basic and came from a place of complete delusion about the facts. I found out more from these questions than I could have ever imagined. Apparently I am a bloodthirsty lawyer who earns $300,000 a year. I own a gorgeous mansion in the hills but harass him for large amounts of money to support lil’ A. I am a terrible mother and neglectful. I don’t help him with anything and I have been ‘chasing him’ all these years.

I also found out that he was dating her long before he asked for a second chance, before he even moved back in with me two years ago, and all the late night calls he was doing while walking the dog when he lived with me were to her. I already knew that but was surprised to find out he had told her he was living with his pastor at that time. The number of lies was so sheer, so imaginative, so detailed that I was entirely overwhelmed.

In August when he moved out they had already agreed on living together. Meanwhile he had me posting ads for roommates well into September. She admitted he was her first ‘real’ boyfriend and she had lost her virginity to him. This was while we were still living together (but luckily I had cut him off physically long before).

The lies to her spoke louder than anything about the lies he told me about her and his relationship with her. I did not ask her any questions. I did not have to. She shared with me the birthday celebrations he made for her (an exact repetition of mine), and the ‘special’ activities he had done with her (I had no heart to tell her they are but a part of standard repertoire.)

Before she left she sat there, holding back her tears. She the voiced the one thing that I had been asking myself over the years: “What did I do wrong to deserve this type of treatment? Why did he do this to me?” Her pain, he blame of herself, her reaction shredded me on the inside.

I think I was in shock for most of that day. The next morning I woke up numb. I realized my whole life, my whole reality, my whole understanding of the last 10 years was a lie. And then the final punch: He is sick, this is sick, this is a serious psychiatric issue. I am full of anger. I am full of blame for what she is going through. I am full of confusion, my view of the last 10 years turned completely on its head.

Trauma. Certainly.

Discovery after 10 years: It is not my fault - Part 1

Image borrowed from HERE

About M. I am angry but relieved. I am uncomfortable dealing with the pain of the last week or so right now... so I will seep out the life-altering event a little at a time as I am ready.

BTW, I named M as in (Manipulator). It fits him well.

Here are some reflections on the past. The headings I borrowed from an article on Sociopaths.

THE LAST 10 Years.

The Superficiality of Image

Image was the most important thing to him. He drove a race car and dressed "European". He was often called a metro-sexual. He always had the funds to get the latest Bekham like haircut (but not to see a movie with me or take A anywhere). In public he was the doting husband, while in private berating me for not dressing well enough, for my hair, my make-up for anything out of place to the stranger's eyes. He exaggerated every fact of anything material that he had. Even when we bought a new car, a 2005 Land Rover, he told the world we got a 2006 Range Rover. Nothing real was ever good enough and appearance of affluence and perfection was expected. The celebrations of occasions, always in public, were always intricate and flamboyant.



The Absence of Feelings


One of the first things I had noticed about him after we married was that he was unable to have any empathy for people or animals. Sympathy was but an act. It took the smallest thing to provoke him into anger. A passive, mean, cruel anger. He was vengeful, and would often have temper tantrums like a child. There was no conversation. Everything was turned on me, and no matter what happened it seems I was the one apologizing at the end. He hated conflict, avoiding it by walking away, hanging up, leaving the house and turning his phone off. I learned to bottle everything up and walk on egg shells. He manipulated every situation to get what he wanted and used me to do so.

The Relentlessness of Deception

He lied to me. All the time. A pink daisy often became a huge red rose.

One missed call became, i called you like 30 times! There were lies about nothing of consequence. Lies about grandeur that did not exist, exaggerations of the smallest detail of daily life, and fanciful stories where ever you looked. Those bothered me beyond belief. They were no white lies. They were needless lies. Then there were the lies about the past. It took all 10 years to dig the truthful grain that his 'history' was built from. And the BIG lies. The whats, whens and whos that covered up for the cyclical need to have romantic encounters with whoever was the latest accessory of the month (mostly co-workers). Caught out in one lie, he would turn it on me and make me feel like I was crazy, unstable, controlling and jealous. When some truth was gleamed out, his indiscretions were always my fault somehow. I did not dress right, I was too skinny (and later too fat) etc.



With time I became obsessed in gathering all the lies and finding a way to confront him so that he would have no choice but to come clean. To this day, I have not succeeded.

The Impulsiveness of Action

He never planned ahead. Everything was immediate, on a whim, and unexpected. It was impossible to have him commit to anything: A dinner with friends, a movie, a ride back home from the abortion I had the 2nd year we were married. He would say he'll call me and disappear for hours. Each offense to me, each act, was blown off, was explained away, was broken into bits of additional lies. The most extraordinary stories were backed by intricate details and the conviction of truth. Every promise made was broken and I was always the crazy one for feeling so. He lived so in the moment that I remember spending many a night alone peeking out the window at every car passing by to see if he was home and doing so 3 nights in a row. His phone was, conveniently, out of battery. And then, I was the crazy controlling wife, for worrying about what I believed was my partner. He was always superior and his actions always justified in his head. The fault always mine.

No More Whinging

I serve a purpose. I am needed. I love those who need me.

I am powerful. I make my own choices. I own my choices.

I am determined. I will do what is necessary. I will achieve.

I am giving. I will share my joys. I will pour out everything I have.

I am worth it. I am happy. I am.

 

Image taken by me Sat, March 6,2010 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I draw strength from the words above, written in a different blog by me less than a month ago. I hold the knowledge I can be and I can do anything I put my mind to it. It is a knowledge I am determined to pass onto my son.

I have been re prioritizing much of the junk in my head lately. I have determined it is time to do what makes us (A and I ) happy. I have built a list of the little things that make our lives better. The ocean, once again, is the top of that list.

We had not been to the coast in a while. We had dropped our summer custom of driving there on a whim, running through the sand, falling in the waves, stopping at the Princeton Company for a cup of hot clam chowder and "camalari" (Lil A's favorite!), and then driving home, drenched, wind blown, the sea air and sand stuck in our hair, warmed up by the blankets in the car. The silence in the car as I navigate the windy HWY 92, reflects the sweet, satisfied sleep Lil'A usually melts into. We get home, drained, exhausted and completely satisfied.

Happiness is a dog on the beach; Chil playing 3.7.10

Saturday, almost as warm as a summer day, was the perfect opportunity to renew this summer ritual. We drove to Montara state beach, me, Lil'A and Chil (our dog). The anticipation grew as we got closer. The sun was out and the weather was truly perfect. Four hours flew by as if in a moment. We rolled in the sand, A wrote his name on the sand and watched the waves erase it, eliciting many giggles form him. Chil chased invisible toys along the sand, dog and ran and hopped like a bunny. I re-discovered how much I love photography.

Montara state beach is conveniently tucked away, making it rarely visited. Its serenity, wildness and moodiness overpower you in such a way the t you forget your daily worries and become a purely sensory being. The wind, the smell, the birds hanging in the air without movement held there just by the wind, the huge breath taking waves, the feeling as if you are completely alone there, make this spot so special!

My little guy 3.6.10

Our lease expires in November. I promised A and Chil (who panted, drooled and plopped down on seat in the car to nap, in approval) that we are moving to a little 2 br house in Montara at the end of this year. Knowing that it is possible gives me a feeling that i can only call pure elation!

Yesterday we went back. It was completely different. Windy, cold, cloudy, grumpy. We drove away after a few hours of running in the cold drizzle on the beach, my resolve to move there now strengthened. I have never found so much peace and purpose concentrated in once place.

Image taken by me 3.7.10, Montara State Beach

  

Destination: Known; Rout: Undetermined

I have been so busy! Who knew that a puppy would be so much work? We have out first training session on Sunday with a trainer who came highly recommended. Link to follow the full report. 
Pup is getting fixed in a couple of weeks too (God, please let that calm him down just a bit!). Meanwhile, the little potato we had less than 4 months ago is now a 50lb ball of muscled energy. I foresee myself looking for a single family home in November when my lease expires. My place is just too small for the three of us. Especially if the dog keeps going like this... I'll be lucky if he stays at 70-80 lbs when he is fully grown.. my guess is ... probably more. I love me a big hammy pooch!

In other news, I have been mulling over the concept of finding direction in life again. This meant re-evaluation my goals (I should say, re-establishing as I think I had lost complete sight of them till now). I had to sit down and seriously evaluate where I am now, and how I saw my future. I do not mean my personal situation as much as career wise. For once, I had to break out of the MOTHER box and think about ME.

I am a glorified secretary. Executive Assistant. Ha! I never intended to be that. Never thought in a million years when I graduated from my Ivy League school with my BA i would fall into this particular area of work. The thought of being 40, or 50 and still doing this, makes my head spin. It makes me dizzy, weak at the knees and utterly hopeless. I am so far from where I should be!

Of coarse, If i am to ever move forward I need to know where i should be. I need to establish a positive destination.

Thinking back on my loves, likes and dreams in college, I realize I cannot really align myself with them today. I am a very different person now. There is one thing only that persists. It is the fever, passion, love and need for interaction with all things African.

The happiest year in college was the year I finally managed to gather the courage to focus on something outside of what my parents had expected me to do. Post Colonial African Literature (for my English Major) and African Art (for my Art History Minor). That one year, while in Oxford, I was in education heaven, despite the fact that while I was supposed to be studying James Joyce (as my dad was led to believe), I was deeply immersed in Ngugi wa Thiong'o.

There was something about the fact that all of his books touched on the need for identity, the confusion of identity via colonialism and the loss and corruption of cultural identity that really resonated for me. These were themes that, although not of tribal background, and not necessarily affected by colonialism, I felt I was dealing with myself. Ngugi was but a gateway into a variety of deeply engaging, rarely studied in the west, African voices who kindled my passion for Africa even more.

So here I am, 10 years later, stumbling back and forth, wanting to find meaning and passion in my work life and a purpose to "skip to work". The closest I have come to that is indirectly. My company currently works to make a difference in many developing countries. India and more recently Africa (yes I know Africa is not a country! Identifying the region more narrowly would give up too much at this point).

I support people who are constantly traveling back and forth between these continents -- people who bring forward many fascinating ideas and solutions that are deeply needed to the issues. My only resentment about my job is that I want to be an active part of this, I want to be in the field seeing the need and knowing I am contributing to the solution, I want the high touch interaction. Living vicariously through the co-workers I support is just not enough for me.

 Photo by my good friend Alexandra Huddleston

So here I am. Destination found, via business school. BUT, rout unclear. Sure I know the relevant steps. Study hard, take the MCAT, apply, and study, graduate, and then re-evaluate direction to destination. The map is clear. But how does one get there, when they are unable to walk? I have carried the books for the MCAT prep class in my bag for days. I keep wistfully pulling them out, petting them, craving the time to go through them. They are like a long distance lover. There, comforting, in my head, but far from tangible and reachable physically. After two weeks of planning to study, i have found a total of 30 minutes. That is ridiculous. And not for lack of trying.

So now I am mapping out the steps to learn to walk so I can start the journey to my destination.

Dog training, check. Adjusting kid/dog schedule. Getting kid to bed at a decent hour ( ahh here is the rub of it... If i can get this done, i can make 2 hours in my day. Good lord, that's a battle with the kid!).

Next steps, start seeing what my work network can accommodate for me in terms of getting more business experience.  The loong trip ahead seems so glorious. Please think of me, and give me strength to take these first steps. Once I start walking, I can push through the obstacles in the way. It is the start, that defines the journey. As long a sI am sitting here, I am not going anywhere.