Storytelling is something that I always felt was an integral part of my being. From a young age, I loved books and always wanted to be a writer in some way, shape or form. The irony is that it was definitely not something I inherited. There was a no cultural imperative to share the stories of our families and our families’ traditions, which I thought was unusual as the first born of immigrant parents. Maybe it was because they were from two different countries with very different cultures, but it was very rare for my parents to talk about anything. They did not share their experiences growing up in any concrete or cohesive way that I could then share with others. They never really talked about their lives before our family was formed. They barely talked about the times when our family was young, especially after they separated. We had no extended family around, except for one of my mom’s brothers and later our maternal grandmother. They didn’t talk about their siblings – if they had any, how many, if their siblings had children. My family’s story is a puzzle with a thousand pieces. Some of those pieces I discovered through other people. So many pieces are now lost with those who have passed on, or are morphed and misshapen by my parents with the passing of time. My story is one that I put together from the pieces I found and the pieces I have had to create to form a whole picture of me.
This entry is the first for a new story I might want to tell, not autobiographical, mind you, but a story nonetheless…
It’s the eve of the full moon in Aries. I am sitting out on my covered balcony, talking to the moon, my soulmate and confidante. The moon soothes me. The clouds clear a path to her, and her strong, yet gentle glow envelope me. I thought about all of the secrets she holds for me and anyone else who happens to whisper in the night. All of my fears and insecurities, she holds safe as I sleep, ready to give them back to me just before dawn.
I spent another evening alone. I turned down an offer to go out for dinner with friends and made dinner at home for me and a partner that did not come home until late. I got the message that he wasn’t going to be there after I had finished cooking and cleaned up the kitchen. He was sorry. He and the rest of the team were going out for dinner and drinks. I should come out and join them, if I wanted. He knew I would say no. He said he was going to finish the project and he would have more time to spend together, but there was always a new project. I pretended to be asleep when he finally stumbled into bed. He usually had a shower first, but this time he didn’t bother. He kissed my cheek and whispered “love you.”He smelled like toothpaste, sweat and alcohol. Almost instantly, once his head nestled in his pillow, he was asleep and snoring.
I got out of bed and walked to the hallway closet to get a coat. I pulled my parka out of the closet and over my pjs before opening the sliding door to our deck and stepping outside. I picked up the small lacquered box that I placed on the table set in between the chairs and took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. A habit that I never really kicked, it was a guilty pleasure that I know Sean secretly disapproved of. I held the cigarette between my fingers, and looked at the warning printed on it before I put brought it to my mouth and lit it. Slowly and blissfully, I inhaled the nicotine plus all of the other dreadful chemicals, then slowly exhaled. I put the the pack back in with a sealed plastic baggie of pre-rolled joints. Sean and I got that together, or rather he got the weed and I rolled the joints. We occasionally shared a joint. When I thought about it, those had been sitting in the box for months. He didn’t make time to sit out on the deck with me anymore. What happened to us? How did we start out with so many dreams together and now it felt like we were dreaming apart. I knew that he loved me. I just think he forgot to cultivate that feeling. Like a seedling we planted together, we wanted it to grow and we took a lot of care in making sure it had all the right conditions for that to happen. Then one day, before we even realized, it was fully grown and bloomed so brightly. We were so happy. We stopped taking the time to care for it. Now that feeling that was so new and exciting has matured, parts of it withered or gone, and I am the only one looking at it for what it is now. I wonder if Sean still sees it as beautifully in bloom, or if he sees it as I do, love that is aging and faded with neglect.