Last Friday Mom and I went to a concert while others bailed. I wanted to go for the sake of going out to a cultural event, not just to visit family or a social event that requires me to participate. Although they only perform Arabic music, I was still eager. Lately I’ve been making an effort to get back in touch with my first language more, one of the ways was to listen to the music and musicals my parents used to put on when we were younger. I discovered a new appreciation for it and it opened compartments in my imagination that I didn’t know needed opening. Granted, it’s not that new as it’s a process that’s been going on for a few months now.
As I read through the programme I found that I recognise the musicians and composers the ensemble was paying homage to. The music began and the room filled with a choir of amazing voices that got me a little choked up even. They all looked so refreshingly ordinary; people with normal day jobs who meet and are funded and supported to play amazing music. It was clear everyone missed this sort of event as well. After a long year of dealing with isolation and the threat of the pandemic, it was such a joyous occasion for everyone to be able to enjoy such a thing as live music.
After getting over the initial thrill, I started to sink into the rhythm of things as the songs played, sinking in my seat, and thinking of things like culture and the arts in general until I came to a realisation that maybe I got it all wrong by trying to find someone who is willing to step into my world. I saw it as the highest virtue, the union between two minds and two souls, more than the primitive physical attraction. That attraction, for me, was always a side effect to a deeper bond forming rather than the other way around. Maybe I’m wrong though, maybe I’m expecting too much. Maybe I’m wrong to desire to know someone so intimately and get to know whatever inner world a person has built. Or maybe I assume too much by assuming a person I could love would have such an intricate and unique thing. It occurred to me that maybe certain things should remain closed to other people, that the right way about it is to put the inner workings of me under siege and to project outward what people would expect the most; entertainment. No, I’m exaggerating there, because what’s intimacy and love if it’s not exclusive trust and understanding with someone?
Well… what do I know anyway?
I couldn’t help but remember when I sent a song to C once. “Woman in Love” by Barbara Streisand. First thing he did was send me a different version of the song sung by an singer with a more high pitched and less mature sounding voice and said it was better, then he continued to rip the lyrics apart, interpreting it as the woman intending to trap the man. What a piece of shit of a conversation that was, huh? I thought he was parodying the whole thing. I wouldn’t want to think my inner world is a trap. It’s a refuge I worked hard on, a home, a place of comfort and imagination, and those who do enter it should consider it a privilege. I don’t take it so lightly. I wouldn’t burden anyone to walk through it. I only hope that whoever is exposed to my vulnerability appreciates that it’s not an easy thing to do. As much I know that, I know that it also won’t be an easy thing to do for someone like me, and so I’d cherish it just the same.
That was way off course. Truthfully, C came to mind that night as I noticed his absence not just during the day but in my mind as well. I’m making an effort not to think about him, not to wonder or question. The nights are daunting though, and while I’m starting to tell myself with conviction that it’s over, I’m still just hurt and angry that it ended this way. Speaking of my inner world, it’s there that I need to find an outlet. I recognise the process of grieving. I started this online diary with it. It’s possible I may be going through it again, and Anger is getting closer and closer by the day.
Nonetheless, I don’t want to end up hating him. It’s not my intention to be so hostile because it’ll just ruin me from the inside out. Instead I’ll simply accept that whatever we had simply didn’t work. I just hope he’s reaching out to friends and family. I don’t care if he’s slandering me to them and in turn then say he’s better off or whatever. I don’t care if I’m called needy or clingy or a bitch or unappreciative. I just hope he gets his contentment and peace of mind. That’s the only thing he ever wanted anyway.
I want to be an artist and a writer. I want to create beauty and make money and travel. My god, I want to travel, and gather experiences and write to have something to give back to the world. It’s okay if I don’t have children and it’s okay if I don’t get married. Maybe I’m just supposed to lead a different life. I take pride in that, and there isn’t an ounce of fear to go along with it.