I have been watching Sex and the City kind of non stop and am now on Season 2. Somehow I never got into it before. Maybe I wasn’t quite feeling like a New Yorker enough. Didn’t have enough of a fashion sense yet. Didn’t understand the NYC dating scene quite thoroughly yet. I just finished the episode where Carrie goes out with the new Yankee guy and leaves him befuddled on the street corner because she’s so upset after seeing Big moments before. She cries in his mouth—the Yankee’s. And then you think she’s going to meet Big in a cafe but then you see it’s Miranda. Who just had her own freak out moment after seeing the love of her life with the woman he left her for. Two years ago. It got me thinking if I am really over my ex either.
My friend thinks I’m not. Not sure why exactly. I mean sure I know I’m not totally totally fine and over him. But it’s only been a few months. Well, six. Charlotte says (now I’m crazy because I actually talk like they’re my friends) it takes half the relationship length to get over an ex. So that would be one year for me. Or six more months. It seems kind of self-torturous. I don’t want to take another six months to be over it. I have a lot of pride. But I guess it doesn’t matter what I declare. It is what it will be.
He still contacts me. Here and there. Warning me about the hurricane. Sending me links for the blog or to tweet. I know he reads this. So here’s my letter to him:
Dear —–,
In my gut of guts I really didn’t want to talk with you for five years. I figured that was a safe amount of time. A safe estimate for when I wouldn’t feel gut-wrenches when trying to talk and hear your voice or read your words or nevermind seeing your face. How can I be still so broken up when I was the one that broke up with you?
I really really wanted to stuff all of this down and walk over it and have sex over it and and eat cookies and ice cream over it. But it’s still there.
I guess I feel especially badly because in many ways and times I thought you were the one:
- You were Chinese too and tall.
I loved that you were taller than me. I liked feeling like you were a big teddy bear when we hugged. I liked looking up at you. I liked your dorky glasses before you changed them for fancy ones. I liked being the tall Chinese couple. I liked talking about people in front of them in Mandarin. I loved watching Chinese shows on the couch together. I loved that I could share that side with you that I couldn’t with Americans here. I loved your British accent.
- I loved how goofy you were because I’m not.
You always made me laugh. We could talk on and on about whatever. I always joked with people that we had nothing in common. I love nature and you like comic stores. Or the little sculpture things and you felt dumb sharing it with me but I just felt touched. We could just hang out and talk and laugh and do nothing and have the best time.
- I could always come with you.
And you always put that first. You didn’t even care about coming. It meant a lot to me that it meant so much to you.
- You treated me and took me out though you were just as poor as I was.
If not poorer. But I didn’t feel that way when we were together. I always felt well taken care of. I didn’t feel alone in the world. And that made the biggest difference to me.
[crying]
And so when I first saw you scream at your parents I was just in shock. Of course I wasn’t going to break up with you. But what was I supposed to do? You were probably already living with me at that point.
And we worked on your temper together and you learned how to listen and do counseling sessions with me. And we did really really well by each other. And it still wasn’t enough. At least I couldn’t keep waiting for things to improve anymore.
—
I guess I’m a little discouraged at this point. You know there’s always someone in your past you always wonder about, if it had worked out. Or you’re still not sure exactly why it didn’t work out. I still wonder about X (another Asian dude). Wonder what it was about me why he never called me back. After we made such amazing memories.
And yes it makes me feel so discouraged to my core. Especially towards Asian men. I date white guys when I just want to have fun. But with Asian guys I just can’t help but take it seriously. It’s just much more personal to me. I can’t play around and feel fine with it.
Question: You know of all the exes there’s that one that you always think about in the back of your mind? What do you wish you could say to him/her right now?
Related Links:
I Don’t Know What True Love Is