“No one who loves you would expect you to neglect your own needs to serve theirs.”
https://liveboldandbloom.com/04/relationships/sacrifice-in-relationship
Men are such fragile creatures.
In order to get Chicken and Boljak to pee and poop in bathroom, I would give them their favorite treat after they had successfully done so. Eventually, the two of them caught on and they would take turns peeing and pooping. This way they both get treats 4 times each. At some point, Chicken maybe thought it was the act of going inside the bathroom that was getting rewarded. She went inside with me one morning, and after washing my face, I saw her outside the bathroom door doing her happy dance. Nothing on her doggy pad, but this little thing was happily anticipating a treat.
My husband and I had a dog named Chicken. She died a couple of days ago, 3 months shy of what would have been her 12th birthday, and 2 weeks almost to the second after I had a miscarriage. Chicken was a gift from my husband on our 2nd Christmas together back in 2008. She was with me throughout my tumultuous 20s up to my early 30s, and except for the two years we were oceans apart, was my constant companion while I navigated early adulthood, figured out my life, and searched for my voice in a foreign country. We did a lot of growing up together. She was like me in a lot of ways and one day when my heart can handle the grief of losing her a little better, I will tell the world all about her.
There was once a dog named Chicken, and the world is better because she left her paw prints all over.
I think I was born in the wrong decade.
Even now in this pandemic, one issue has remained constant: the apartment needs to stay clean and organized for my sanity. I cannot fathom why it’s so hard for him to do that. I deal with people’s mess all day long. I am carrying his weight by being in the work force full time. What is it about keeping the apartment spiffy that is so hard to do?
When this is over, I will take you with me, far away from this wretched place. We will have two children, a boy and a girl, and as many dogs as you’d like. I don’t care if we travel a lot or if we travel through books. I long for the day when I don’t have to cry every time I have to go to work. We are far from perfect and we’ve hurt each other countless times over the years. None of that matters now. I am yours, and you are mine.
My home is in your arms.
Because we can’t rewind.
I realize I have been unkind. But his touch no longer elicits what it used to. Years ago, when we used to fight almost everyday, I wrote a short story about how one day the girl (me) just got tired, and the couple (us) ended up as mere roommates. I never understood how one can be so close to another person and yet feel so far, so alone, until now.
living alone.
So I read a message thread between my husband (when he was still my boyfriend) and this other girl. The last exchange was in August of 2012, when he left for the US the first time. When this girl asked him how's the house he left behind, my husband (boyfriend) answered, "Oh, it's okay, my sister is there to manage it."
Thing is, when other people asked the same question, he answered truthfully: that he'll be leaving the house with me.
Funny how I was never mentioned in a message exchange that spanned 4 years.
***
I have not forgiven him for his past (repeated) indiscretions. I don't think I can. I try to, God knows I am still trying. But I know this feeling. I recognize this type of resolve from my past break-ups, when something in me just dies and no tears or any amount of apologies can change my mind. It's not a forced decision. It's just a sudden feeling of not caring anymore, the sudden inability to feel sympathy or affection or love.
I wish I felt this before I married him.
***
It used to be the other way around, me running after him, and him having me as a main dish but with many others on the side. I would often wonder then, when would he quit those other girls, and what would it be like to have the tables turned.
***
We're moving to a new place. I hope it helps get the feeling back. I'm kind of in limbo. I feel it in my heart, that I don't love him anymore. He's been asking for forgiveness for two long years, but all I could think of is how hot it would be to have sex with somebody else. I'm not happy in this marriage.
I find myself turning to prayer, more and more these days. I was a product of sin, conceived out of wedlock, but spent my whole life in Catholic schools. I see my parents as blind followers, perhaps as a product of the culture we were a part of, not necessarily because of a strong belief in a higher being. I don't know how, but early on, I found the balance between faith and science. I married a Zen Catholic, and we currently live with his parents who play out a mass recording every-fucking-day. No matter how many times older people have taught me how to pray properly. I could never sit through any of it - novena, mass, charismatic BS.
I view religion as a means to instill fear, to discipline people, to exploit the many. But in my own quiet time, in prayer, in what is commonly regarded as an expression of religion, the very thing I abhor, I find my peace. Sometimes, I think, we only need someone to listen to our ramblings about our everyday worries. When we don't have that someone, we turn to ourselves, and we call it prayer to avoid being called insane.
I only write when I'm sad. Notice how I only have 1 entry in 2013 but have several for October 2014. I'm not a great writer. I even think it's pretentious to call myself a writer. But the ones I manage to publish and post turn out okay, and I do get asked why I don't write that often.
I only write when I'm sad. And sadness is a feeling I've been trying to escape my whole life.
