Here's to a good memory.

(I should be concentrating on work, but I feel the need to capture this piece of history herstory before too much of the memory slips away.)

When you know a relationship can't be built, sometimes the next best thing you can do is to make it a good memory.

It ended well - he was due to fly back to New York today, and I don’t think we should ever interact again, save for cursory glances across the room at the occasional work party (but I'm sure he'll come up and try to talk to me). My heart doesn't pine for him, only because he never had ownership. I never let her hand go the entire time, as I gently admonished her that she should always be vigilant - be aware of the strangers, not the candy - our ages, family situations, language barriers, my own personal barriers, his own personal barriers. I was enamored by the tales of his life experiences, shocked at his expenditure levels being social classes above mine, intimidated by his brilliance, and frankly quite surprised he paid any so much attention to me in the first place. He, already a very impatient man, went through the month-long courtship exercise (harder when you live in different cities), and then it culminated with incredible frustration at me.

“I thought we could have dinner and get to know each other better”

“All these rules! You don’t act on your passion!”

“We are drinking wine. You impose your rules, I impose mine.”  

“Stop thinking. You’re thinking too much.”

“Life should be simple.”

We share the same core personality, crazy ENFPs as we are, yet from different periods of time and from cultures and backgrounds that made our differences as vast as the oceans that separate our birth countries. I was built to expect a lot more structure and reliability in my life, while he was the most anti-structure/detail person I’ve ever met, and seemed to be accustomed to a lifetime of having his way.

(We arrived at 10.30pm, half an hour late for our dinner reservation which he managed to book on the wrong day, and were told the kitchen was closed)
"Closed?! Well, can't you just open it?"

The city of Toronto has taught me 9.30pm means 9.30pm, there is actually a directional corner to specify when you meet at an intersection, your scheduler is your third arm, itineraries (and reservations where relevant) are to be expected, and thus spontaneity is so rare, because everyone is so efficiently busy all the time.  It’s hard to describe this, perhaps I feel it’s more European of a concept, but he....liberated my mind. He grabbed me by my shoulders, spun me in front of a mirror, and put my hand to feel the cocoon that I had built around myself, the cozy husk of routine and predictable outcomes I had crafted with leftover bandages from torn-apart relationships and disappointments, and a general fear of the unknown, the unexpected. He showed me how I was holding my heart's hand so tightly, constricting her blood flow, that she didn't know how to reach out and feel real emotions anymore. I know him because I know me, and in looking away from the mirror and at him I saw what I could be (perhaps it was what I could have been? Is it too late to change?).

But what happens when you keep acting on your impulses? You accumulate all these experiences and become the most interesting person in the room. Then what? You've shared yourself with so many people, you've spent your life chasing the assortment of brightest objects within your reach, was it all worth it in the end? What happens next?

Our time together (scant as it was - a date in Montreal, a date in Toronto, phone calls, texts, FaceTime) made him caring yet distant, but as a woman with a guarded heart I made sure to have no expectations and appreciated the little things as they came. How he bought me a Michael Kors purse for my birthday, how he called me my love, how love progressed from luv to love, how he kissed me on the forehead before going to sleep, belted out the lyrics of Happy Birthday to me on his way to work Saturday morning, how he would always grab the cheque and point at me and tell the waitress “she’s the client”, to which I’d respond with “Yes, he manages me”, the times he’d say “I’ll call you” and actually call back.

“Just finished” (business dinner)
“Do you want to meet?”

“It’s too cold and I am dead love”

“Ok good – I’ve actually been dead for the last hour haha. Good night then, safe flight”

“Thanks! Good night J”

His goal was to conquer me, and my goal was to make it as hard for him as I possibly could. One might think this to be a conflict of interests, but in practice, ours were very much aligned - victory tastes sweeter the more one feels like one has earned it, right? 

He made me remember a time when indeed, life was simple, I was bold, and I acted according to my heart’s desire, nothing less. I took great strides and leaps of faith because I listened to my own directional compass and societal backlash was far, far behind in the dust of my progress. I was fearless! The unknown was exciting! And more importantly, I was so goddamn carefree and happy. 

Mens sana in corpore sano.

One of the benefits of penning down your feelings, aside from retrospection, is that you always have advice waiting to welcome you with open arms upon your next return visit, which, is usually when you are looking for some direction in the first place.

But now I realize I only the time and heart for people who have the time and heart for kindness, smiles, positivity, coffee with 10% cream, honesty.
These past few days I grew a little. I chose to do the right thing for myself instead of the one that would've been the easy way out. One of those decisions I would've messed up on at a younger age, a year ago even. 

Well, the right thing remains hard to do - it somehow never manages to coincide with the easiest path, and I do wish a lot more people were more honest sometimes. It’s like exercise, you get back what you put in. It can also sour things up really quickly if your actions never sync up to your words. It’s all fun and games till one party feels deceived, and a little disrespected.

These days I’ve been really addicted to kickboxing. What started out as a feeling of dread one evening towards the end of August (one usually feels such when commencing a diet/exercise regimen....again) has turned into making it to the gym 4 times a week and trying really hard to stop myself from continuing at such a pace because of a foot injury and the beginnings of a cold. Who knew. I’ve also started perusing body building sites to get motivation and diet tips, not that I want to enter those competitions, but I’ve reached a level where I can start looking to sculpt certain parts of my body. Again, who knew?

I’m really grateful for the fact that kickboxing has always been there for me whenever I’ve turned to the sport, and has only given me benefits, both mental and physical, that have exceeded my expectations. They say mind over matter, but for me, mens sana in corpore sano – strength in body, clear in mind, lofty in ideals. While the right thing remains hard to do – the new-found discipline instilled in me through kickboxing has managed to keep me on the right path.