October 6, 2013

• atlanta

  It don't run in our blood.
  That kind of lux just ain't for us;
  we crave a different kind of buzz.

  - Lorde, Royals

  -+-

  I wiggle away from his playful assault.  He had just finished tormenting me by putting feathers up my nose, making me sneeze uncontrollably.

  I pout, “I hate you!”

  He grins, rolling away from me, “You love me.”

  I can’t decide whether he’s fishing for the depth of my feelings, or if he had a slip of the tongue and is hoping that I don’t notice.  After some hesitation, I decide that if I pursue the latter, there’s less damage to be done if I’m wrong.  If I choose the first in error, it could easily turn this romantic vacation into a very long week.

  “I do like you very much,” I mumble as I nuzzle into the familiar nook of his arm.

  I realize then that if he did intend the first, I may have let an opportunity slip from my hands.  I force myself to take that loss in stride.  Truth and circumstance are two entirely different beasts.  I have to focus on taming one at a time, lest I recklessly let both roam free.

  If the theory of alternate universes is true, where two worlds diverge each time we make a decision, I realize that just then, a new universe just budded off, growing into a blossom that I’ll never know.

  …

  Later, lying in his arms and blinking away tears, I would find myself thinking, ‘…Okay. I made the right call.’

  As far as universes go, it was clear that I chose the lesser of two evils.

  I can only imagine what hell Alternate Christa must be going through.

  -+-

  I am writing this from Atlanta, Georgia.

  The state is beautiful so far, and the people have been incredible examples of Southern Hospitality.  The moment after touching down at the Atlanta International Airport, people left and right started asking me where I’m from, asking me if I needed help finding where I was going.

  Of course, it was all quickly overshadowed by seeing his handsome mug in the flesh, as he laughed, “Hey, dumbass.”

  I immediately hit his arm, my voice shrill and flustered, “WHAT? THAT’S THE FIRST THING YOU SAY TO ME?”

  Then he smiles and gives me that look.   I giggle, my knees weak.  As my emotions are quickly displaced by gratitude and excitement, I wrap my arms around him, lost in laughter.  It was so surreal.  I absorb the sensations of his fuzzy beard against my cheek, his arms around my waist, his scent of fresh laundry and Old Spice – things that I’ve missed ever since he left San Diego over a month ago.

  -+-

  Over the course of the week, we would have our ups and downs – admittedly, most of this rollercoaster was on my side, on a personal and internal level.

  Our summer infatuation became as summer infatuations do.  After the seasons begin to shift, we became forced to sober ourselves with distance, with the realization that at some point, we need to let ourselves become bound to move on.  Initially, we spent the summer with the plans to become friends after summer – that’s that.  It was supposed to die the day he flew away.  We’re two rational people that fully know that summer relationships tend to not yield much, especially when it’s between two people that are fated to be across the nation from each other.  But as the summer came to a close and we grew so sentimental and attached to each other, we decided that we couldn’t just instantly become “just friends.”  Instead, we decided that despite the distance, we wouldn’t deny ourselves a romantic connection with each other.  However, we would draw the line at where the distance caused our chemistry to grow forced and artificial.  We would give ourselves space to care for each other, but to also have the freedom to move on with our lives.  At the end of the line, we would become close friends.  This way, that transition would feel more natural and organic. At face value, this seemed like an excellent, well-thought plan.

  So I knew this arrangement and this end goal, but I ruined it when I still put myself in a position to become overly vulnerable.  After emotionally guarding myself for a few weeks after we met, I realized that this, what we had… this was worth going all-in for, no matter how or when it’ll end.  This has truly been the best thing I’ve had since my time with Phuc two years ago; he had similar sentiments, telling me, “This has been the best relationship I’ve ever had. How are we so compatible?”  While it was incredible, it was also a terrible note to end the summer on -- instead of preparing me to let go, it primed me to hold on even tighter. Because as much as I agreed to becoming just friends, it was so heartbreakingly obvious that we both wanted more.  I started looking up jobs in Atlanta, and when none of them went through in time for my job acceptance deadline in San Diego, I cried for hours on end, realizing that I wouldn’t end up near him.

  So I don’t know why I was shocked that the conversation hurt.  That it hurt to receive the talk where he reassures me, “When you start your new job, you’ll be too busy to miss me,” and, “Don’t worry, we’ll always be close friends.”

  I wiped away my tears with the back of my hands, and rested my palms against my forehead.  I tried to regain my composure, and told him, “I can’t believe that you’re giving me advice on getting over you.”

  He looked on, apologetically.

  Getting the words out of my mouth took more struggle than I would like.  I’m a big girl.  I can do this.  “I know we said we’re going to just let our spark run out naturally, but I’m realizing now it might not happen that smoothly.  There’s a lot of potential for one of us to get hurt.”

  He nodded, not making eye contact with me.  He didn’t need a call from Captain Obvious to know that I meant myself.

  I continued, “At the rate this is going, I just don’t think the spark is going to just run out for me.”

  He explained, with bittersweet optimism, that this would get a lot easier when I’m at my new job and I’m at my new house.  That I’ll forget about him once I stop going through the same motions alone that we used to do together.

  This reminded me of my ex-boyfriend breaking up with me just a few days before my first research internship, how I was always bitter at him for his choice timing.  Is that the logic that ran through Phuc’s head when he decided on his timing to break up with me?  But more importantly, these fresh ideas reminded me of days even further in the past – unrequited crushes that each easily lasted for at least two years.  It reminded me of my unwavering affection for Phuc despite the distance, clinging to our relationship despite knowing for years that we were falling apart.  Looking at my history, it was clear that my truest affections tend to grow resilient, with incredible stamina.

  Despite his sincere hopefulness that it would be easy for me to move on, it was clear to me that if this was going to die, it’s not a flame that would just run out of fuel on its own.  At least not for me.  I would have to snuff it out myself.  If I were to wait for this to end by natural causes, surely I'm bound to let history repeat itself. After all, just a day before this conversation, I had to work so hard to deny myself from saying, “I love you.”  A concept I have never even began to touch with anyone since two years ago.  I was going to move to Atlanta with no hesitation.  I flew two thousand miles with a weeks’ notice to see him.  I spent months, years, recognizing foolishness in young romance, and here I was, completely head-over-heels -- I became Juliet chasing after Romeo.

  However, my muted proclamation of adoration was meant for the version of that boy that I knew during summer.  The one that was even crazier about me than I was about him.  The one that couldn’t take his eyes off me as I fell asleep, amazed by how beautiful he found me.  The one that couldn’t keep his hands off of me, whose arm always found itself wrapped around my waist.  The one that would embrace me with so much warmth and sincerity, constantly elated that he was mine, and that I was his.

  The boy that I visited in Georgia is still an incredible person, and always will be.  But as the week went on, it was clear that he’s not that same boy anymore.  Now he’s someone that insists that I’ll find someone else, who politely requests that my feelings don’t grow any deeper, that it’d be foolish, reckless, naïve.  He’s the boy that lets go of my hand as we walk around his college campus, breaking my heart a little every single time I felt his fingers break away.

  It wasn’t long before I realized that my love was no longer for him, but for the idea of him.  For the memory of lying next to him and hearing his heartbeat, slow and steady against my ear, as I was overcome with awe and gratitude that this heart – it belonged to me.

  My heart still longs for him, and it pangs with pain as I increasingly realize that the boy I love doesn’t exist anymore.  At least, if I'm going to let go, I can't let him exist anymore. I need him to become a myth and a memory.  Because by the end of my week in Georgia, when I rested my head against his chest and listened, I heard the familiar ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.  Yet it was nothing more than a simple heartbeat, nothing more than the sound of blood flowing through his chest.  I don’t know who or what I am to him anymore.  If I were the girl I was a few years ago, maybe even a few months ago, maybe I wouldn’t have cared and would have unapologetically let myself stay attached, no matter the consequence.  Yet, he was the very person that truly taught me to recognize whenever I’m receiving less than what I deserve, who taught me to find strength when it’s necessary to walk away.  I realized that, in some sort of cruel irony, he was now the very person that he himself warned me against.

  So I prepared to leave this behind, in that little dorm room in Georgia.  I prepared to start letting these emotions and attachments go.

  Of course, if only things were so easy.

  I have a long journey ahead of me.

  • 10:39 pm
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