An Attempt at Eloquence

So, it’s been a while, a long while. It’s rather difficult to start writing again once you’ve stopped – there’s just so many things one could write about; and it’s always the case that I want my posts to be perfectly balanced – a little truth, a little fiction, with a pinch of unsolicited wisdom. Perhaps that’s not so well balanced, and more than a little pretentious, but that is who I am. In any case, I am writing again. Before I start on what a wonderful winter break I’ve had enjoying summer in London and central Europe, I’d like to make some confessions – or rather, I want to own up to some of myself that I’ve been trying to ignore by not writing.

Recently, I came out of a roller-coaster of a long distance relationship, and I’ve had a lot of space and time to reflect on the person I was this past year, and the person I was in that relationship. It has mostly resulted in disappointment and frustration with my decisions – or rather non-decisions. A lot of my previous posts were about decisions, or at least questions I was facing, and my thoughts and confusions. However, in this past year, I stopped asking questions. I was afraid of the answers. I let decisions make themselves. Why? Because I hate being wrong, even if being “right” is meaningless.

I am stubborn by nature; and while some might call it persistence, what I have has a touch too much naivety and wilful ignorance to be called that. I stayed in a relationship that consumed my heart and soul, all my time and energy, and gave me little in return, simply because I hated the idea of giving up. Not only that, but part of me want to prove that I could do it, that I could hold together something that was constantly on the verge of falling apart – I wanted to prove something completely meaningless. Of course, my experience is not all that uncommon, but it’s particularly frustrating for me because I hate wilful ignorance. I loathe that part of us that insists on unknowing some truth inside of us just because it is easier, because we are afraid of inconvenient truths.

I started blogging to expose these demons and fight them off. I did it so that I could love those around me more fully, so that fear held less of myself hostage, and so that I would have more to give. But I stopped writing – I shared nothing of our relationship but polite pleasantries, and generic platitudes, about the wonderful state of bliss I insisted I was in. It was enough to keep the relationship somehow afloat, and enough for me to believe that we were headed for smooth sailing – at least in the undetermined future. I had nothing to say about the state of limbo I was holding myself in. Even my decisions to go to the London School of Economics this July for summer school, to visit Central Europe, to spend the rest of the year in Bangkok, received no more importance than as fuzzy background thoughts while I was trying to stay afloat. What truths could I attempt to write when so much of myself was pretense?

In hindsight, I was rather unhappy, but at least it’s strangely liberating to acknowledge that slightly delusion version of myself. It’s helping me to get back to who I want to be. The very last questionable non-decision I should own up to is the one I am experiencing right now – travelling with my ex-boyfriend. We are amicable, but I really wish I hadn’t so vehemently insisted that everything would be fine. I wish I could have just been human for one moment in my life, thrown the whole damn thing out the window; in fear, or in anger, or anything; and started on a plan B. Turns out though, I’m really bad at the whole plan B thing – horrendously bad actually. My stubbornness often manifests as borderline idiotic self-confidence and belief in the omnipotence of the kind of logic that resides in my mind. I’d much rather insist that things will be great, than admit to any kind of apprehension or uncertainty – Cynthia is always in control.

Here ends my attempt at an eloquent reproach of a former self I’d like to leave behind. I won’t say I have no regrets, but this relationship has taught me a lot about the uglier side of myself, and those lessons lessen the sting a little. At least I still have my friends and family. I am infinitely grateful, and acutely aware, of how fortunate I am to have so much love and affection surrounding me. Until next time, thank you for reading, and for being the sounding board to my soul.

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