Being a hard ass

Imagine my surprise as I was getting ready to sit down and rattle off another weekly blogpost and realized that this post will be #300. How the fuck did that happen? I mean I really don’t keep track of this shit.

But WordPress keeps track for me and I usually ignore it because I’m not all that interested in those kinds of factoids. But here we are.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to prattle on about for this post but considering it’s #300, I think I have something that should be fitting for a small milestone.

On Saturday, I came across a poem by Indian-born Canadian poet Rupi Kaur. It’s called Selfish. And holy shit, it fucking blew my mind. I had heard her name before. It was mentioned in the same breath as British poet Nikita Gill. 93 Percent Stardust is my favourite poem from Gill. Hands down, she is my favourite poet.

I never purposefully sought out Kaur’s words upon hearing her name. But she was someone whose work I would eventually read whenever the moment struck me. And indeed, it struck. I came across Selfish by accident. Selfish encapsulates perfectly the myriad of reasons I remain single, why everyone around me has fallen in love at least once while I haven’t had that experience and why I believe I’ll remain single for the rest of my life. 

I know what love is. I see it. I feel it radiating off those who truly are in love. But to share it with someone in all its glorious intensity is something I haven’t experienced yet. Nor do I think I ever will. Yes, it sounds depressingly pessimistic of me to think that way. I prefer to think I’m being realistic given my track record in the romantic relationships department and given who I fundamentally am as a person. Got some significant strikes against me.

I only say I have strikes against me because I intuitively know what I want and it goes against what some folks think I am because I’m a person of colour and the stereotypes that come with being a POC. In the past, I’ve always written off the fact that I’m a POC as one of the reasons that all the dumbfucks I was involved with, ever initiated anything with me. I think back and I have to wonder if I was wrong in writing off the assumption. Can’t fix what happened in the past. But I sure as hell will do my damnedest to prevent it from happening again. Because if it happens again, there will be bloodshed.

Yeah, I’ve become a hard ass about relationships. If the intangible isn’t there, I refuse to humour anyone and waste my time on someone who doesn’t have most of their shit together. I can’t possibly explain what it is that I’m looking for in a partner. What I want, and importantly, what I need, go beyond words. So, I’m not going to bother explaining myself.

After failing miserably in all of my romantic relationships — none of which were ever healthy from the get-go anyway and I’ll take my share of the blame for the bad choices — I will not work to make that first good impression. Sometimes a good first impression can be false advertising. Think about it. Take me as I am or walk away. 

If you’re not honest with yourself about who you are and what you want, then don’t even fucking bother with me. Words don’t impress me when I can tell you’re lying. Saying anything and everything to get into my good graces doesn’t work. I heard the horse shit before and some of it is pathetic.

Kaur’s Selfish hit a very ugly and sore spot with me. She put into words everything I felt when a relationship went sideways. I’m not asking any of the exes to apologize. They’re too unenlightened and too chickenshit to own up to their transgressions. I wouldn’t believe them anyway.

In fact, I’m sure a couple of them want me to apologize. For what? Believing you had your shit together, asshole? Go fuck yourself.

I’m past wanting or needing apologies. Actually, I never wanted an apology from the beginning because forgiveness is such a foreign concept to me. And considering how things ended with each of the fuckers, the likelihood of any kind of apology rested at zero percent. I know how to pick ’em, don’t I?

Regardless, what’s done is done. Contrition doesn’t work on me. Like I said… I’m a hard ass about shit like this. Learned the hard way.

Reading Selfish cut me open again. But I don’t mind bleeding. I’m used to it. Kaur’s words told me that someone does understand the pain and disillusionment that comes with trusting someone who was ultimately untrustworthy. Everything laid bare, wanting to die and berating yourself for allowing yourself to be fooled because you wanted to know what it would be like to be loved, desired, cherished and to be treated as an equal.

What a fucking idiot I was.

A friend told me that there is someone for everyone. I do want to believe that. Honestly, I do. But I know men who are absolute assholes and women who are unbearable cunts, who have managed to find themselves a partner/spouse and I’m left wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I thought like that for a long time. It was time wasted. And now, I can’t be bothered to really think about it. We all have our roads to travel.

If there is someone for everyone, then it seems the older I get, the smaller that window becomes. That’s my perception of it.

Let’s be honest, we are taught to believe that love, desire and the pleasures of the flesh are for people in their twenties and thirties. They get to enjoy and revel in it. It’s kind of shallow when you think about it because looks eventually go away and you’re left with the essence of who you are. Your personhood.

For some folks, looks made up for the lack of essence. I can’t even make myself feel sorry for these people. No empathy here. I’ll save it for someone who deserves it. 

I’m battling stereotypes, conventional ideas of beauty and the ever-changing concept of commitment and what it means to truly love someone. It’s tiring. 

My energy is best saved for my ficitonal characters and their stories. They are deserving of that and deserving of my attention.

Fuck everyone else.

Quick rant and go

I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel — Maya Angelou

One of the many truths for me is I never forget how a person or a group of people made me feel about myself.

Obviously, those who have supported me, given me their friendship and accept me unconditionally, will always have a place in my life and my heart. Like-minded folks can be easy to find if you follow your instincts and do your own thing.

To those who have shamed me for not having enough lady-like manners, to those who didn’t know how to interact with me and decided to bully me, to those who regarded me as not being pretty enough or good enough to be seen publicly with them, to those who have thought I would be the docile one in the relationship, to those who thought I was good enough to fuck but not good enough to enter into a relationship with — FUCK YOU.

I still remember how all you fuckers made me feel, made me doubt my self-worth as a human being trying to fit in with society. I don’t care if you’ve become pillars of society or something else, you’re still dog shit in my books. And I have lots of pages in those books, people. Lots of pages.

Now, someone might suggest I should try forgiving them or give them another chance to show that they’re good people. My response: I’d rather give them a one-way ticket to their own personal hell.

In the department of romantic relationships (or maybe any kind of relationship, for that matter), why the hell should I figuratively set myself on fire just to make someone else happy? No one has ever done that for me, so why should I do it for them? Besides, that’s not how relationships are supposed to work anyway.

I don’t even know why I’m writing about this. It was probably something I needed to get off my chest. Well, it’s off my chest, for now.

Aside from that mini-rant, I am getting closer to sending my manuscript off to my editor. After next weekend, she will receive it. I have a couple of things on the go with regards to the book. Just lining up the ducks in a row.

I’m also finding myself a little restless. I know, how is that even possible? I have a ton of books I’d like to start reading but I find myself reading ‘other stuff.’ Not elaborating what I’m reading at the moment. I really should decide on a book and start reading. But then there are movies on Netflix I want to watch. Again, I don’t know where to start. I’m gonna have to go with whatever mood I’m in at that moment.

So, I have these options ready to be plucked and what do I do? Go back to refreshing the Spanish I’ve already learned and try to move a little further along with that. And if that didn’t keep me busy, I decide to learn Romanian. I know some French, I know some Spanish… why not throw in Romanian while I’m at it. I might be at my language learning capacity for now.

Don’t ask me why I want to learn Romanian. I haven’t figured out the true purpose of this desire yet. Although it could be for a future writing project that hasn’t yet fully revealed itself to me. There’s a tiny shiny nugget somewhere in my head.

I can feel it glowing.

Culling the herd

At least, once a year (or when I’m in a mood), I look through my list of Facebook friends and the list of folks I follow on Twitter and Instagram and do a little trimming here and there.

I cull the herd on Twitter and Instagram usually because my interests have shifted. I haven’t blocked anyone from those sites yet. I suppose there is always a first and it might happen eventually.

Facebook is a little different. Depending on the situation and/or how I feel about a particular individual, I won’t hesitate to unfriend them. If I’m feeling particularly sour or homicidal about the person, I’ll block them.

Sometimes, I have to think long and hard whether or not to cut certain individuals from my social media life and in some cases, from my life completely. And almost always, they get deep sixed. Yeah, I’ve been unfriended, too. All I can say is good riddance. Glad they made the first move. I sure as hell don’t miss them.

Recently, I culled one from the herd. To be honest, given our history, I shouldn’t have accepted his friend request. But I was feeling comfortable with where I am in my life and I thought, ok, enough time has passed, so let’s see if it’s possible to consciously move forward in a positive manner.

Well… that was a big fucking mistake. Let sleeping dogs. Don’t walk or drive through the neighbourhood. Stay away. For some things, second chances were never on the table.

So now, I have a few things I need to get off my chest…

First, if you’re asking me to participate in rebuilding our broken relationship, I (that would be me) get to control the pace on how quickly, or slowly, the rebuilding process runs, not you. I will not be coerced into something that is ultimately a falsehood for me, just to make you feel better.

Second, just because you seem eager to get the ball rolling, doesn’t mean I really want the ball to roll that fast. As it turns out, I never wanted the ball to roll in the first place. I didn’t realize that until I started feeling cornered, claustrophobic and expected to do something that would be normally considered, in certain circles, the right thing to do. The right thing, in this case, was absolutely wrong for me.

Third, I acknowledge and take responsibility for my choices and my actions. Nothing more, nothing less. DO NOT ask me to take on your responsibilities and own them. I will bury you. And that goes for all the other assholes, male and female, who have put the blame on me when things didn’t go their way in the relationship. You want a fucking doormat, go to the nearest hardware or home decor store and pick one up to wipe your feet with. Have a nice life, fuckers.

And fourth, I will not sacrifice my agency just to please someone or to keep that person in my life. In other words, I will not set myself on fire just to keep you warm.

So, yeah. Every once and awhile, I will cull the herd.