She died on my birthday.

My mother said that maybe she and I were connected.

My mind can't remember much -  a few memories - it wasn't as if we talked about our hopes and fears (all she ever asked me was pretty much if I wanted to eat), but it's almost as if my body remembers all those times she bathed my infant body, the birthday cake she fed me as breakfast for weeks on end (she couldn't let food go to waste) until I got sick of it, the wad of money she tried to slip in my hand as a send-off to university, so I end up in sudden fits of tears, gasping, my emotions heaving themselves to the surface, but I can't quite comprehend why. It's almost like a gut reaction.

Cachinga.

This week was a combination of getting my period, being sick, and getting dumped (after approximately three weeks of seeing each other) by some jerk via text. Well ok, after a bit of reflection I realize I can't quite consider myself the benchmark of saintliness, having casually dated three other guys while seeing him (oops) and then visiting my ex while I was out of town (double oops), amongst other misdeeds. If anything, I probably win the asshole race by a mile. But amidst the mess, I couldn't stop myself from having the tiniest bit of hope that we would be together. And when I saw what he wrote to me, I ran for the covers, curled up, and cried a little. Oh, hormones.

And he wasn't a jerk. He was just weak of mind, texting a girl supposedly scant in emotion.

ISTP after all.

I met his aunts; his family, the people that were important to him. By chance I had opened the door and they were there, and they were happy to have met the girl in his life. He had a party in his (and his roommate's) house that night, and when we had the room to ourselves, we cuddled. It was as if all the sensuality in the world resided in the bed we lay on, and we were enveloped in it.

When I woke up, I was back in the world where our lives no longer intersect.

I cared deeply for him, and I know his affection for me was genuine, but at the same time I couldn't be with someone who found it so easy to isolate himself from the world, isolating himself from me, and who ran for the hills at the first hint of commitment.

20150214

Dear god,

It's exactly 9.30pm. He has two and a half hours to write to me, my last ultimatum before I give up on all the effort I've invested in trying to make things work. If he doesn't write to me today, and if he's gone online, that's it. He's already fulfilled the second condition. I'm just waiting on number one.

Maybe this is a learning experience from you to me. If so, I'll embrace it. I'm not afraid anymore. I've already cried in bed once, thinking everything was over. I can do it again and then never look back. I deserve better.







He replied at 10. Why have you introduced him into my life? His presence pries open the cracks of my inhibitions. Do I follow him into ether or is this a test of resolution against whispering temptations?

Dreams.

I was running at night, running with someone, but I can't remember who. At one point I was on a bus with my brother, and in an unfamiliar city with a group of friends, but that was before this. Here I was, running along a straight and narrow and moderately lit dirt path, both sides veering down into the darkness, and I suddenly look down and realize I am looking at my bare feet. I must've forgotten my shoes somewhere. A while back, the road was muddy, and we had to slow down and job with a little more care. Maybe it was there I took my shoes off? Maybe I took them off passing through a gym. I remember the gym was very nice with foam floors. I told my friend that I would catch up with her later, and began to retrace my steps.

Running alone, everything was so quiet now, so late at night, I was adjusting to this solo journey that I suddenly had to embark on. I didn't even know how far I have to go to find my shoes, I had no recollection of taking them off. The uncertainty made me feel a bit afraid. I kept running, eyes alert and on the lookout.

Running alone, I stared off into the darkness, then stared in front of the long path - there was a tractor working late at night, kicking up dust. I closed my eyes and held my breath.

Suddenly I looked down, and I was wearing shoes. A pair of dusty, but still white, running shoes.

ISFJ.

Our first date and he made my head spin. I couldn't think straight for an entire week, such was the degree of my infatuation. He confused me with his lack of initiation, I felt like I always had to push to get him to set dates. Maybe he wasn't that into me? Maybe all that sweet talking was shared between me and every other girl he could find? And then just when my heart and I would close up a bit, just when we'd finish a crying session in bed on a Friday night, he'd draw us out with his wonderful acts of care: making me breakfast tray of PB and honey sandwich, cut up apples, and lemonade at 5am - I told him I couldn't sleep because I was hungry, filling up my near-empty soap dispenser with water and shaking it, purposely losing in billiards (something he was really good at) like a gentleman, grinning at me from across the table because I knew he was doing it on purpose.

Slowly I realized he acted that way because he was shy. So I opened my heart up to him, ready to accept him unconditionally, despite the obvious risk. Soon he was calling me after my texts.