This Kandinsky Love of Mine: From The Diary of My friend Ada

An excerpt from her diary
– January 28, 2016 

An emotional gate has opened up. I was alone when it happened this last time. I actually prefer for it to always be like that. But I want there to be someone waiting outside my door, waiting for it all to be over. Once I’ve calmed down and have almost numbed myself from the storm that rages inside of me during that time, I want someone one to open the door and come inside and hold me. Wipe my tears away and tell me that everything will be okay. That what I did was not something bad. That it’s okay because I too will be okay in time.

There’s so much going on.
I tried so hard to suppress the feelings and the thoughts and the memories of everything but I just could not do it this last time. Something much stronger than myself came through me. That was almost a week ago today, and I am still emotionally reeling from the way that I felt. The loneliness. The lack of understanding and the lack of support from the one person who has repeatedly said to me that would be there. Where were you? Why do you cause me to cry myself to sleep?
I hold on to this as much as I can because he is such a big part of me that I wouldn’t know where to stand if he were to disappear from my life suddenly. I tell him this but not always to his face. Because I don’t want him to believe that he is in control.
The truth is that he is. He is in control of my heart.
I want to be with him all the time.

My life is like movie. This part of my life, I like to close my eyes to and listen to a specific song: The Cinematic Orchestra’s “Arrival of the Birds.” I like to start from the first time that I saw him. His smile. His eyes. His voice. Everything about him so captivating. I like to imagine that part of my life playing out to this song. Pictures of us. Moments that can only be described as magical. Everything about this time that I have spent with you so far.
The first time we had our first conversation. That first night, laughing and drinking with friends and talking and you. So different. So real. The day after that first night and the way that I felt when I woke up and I realized that I wanted you. I know that I was still invisible for a while and did not make myself noticeable until I decided to give you tiny hints of what went through my mind exactly. Then that first time when it was just you and me and on the ride in your car, back to my dorm, you held my hand. And I thought out loud, “I really want to kiss you but…” and suddenly you swooped in, and kissed me. And my dream had come true. You said to me, “We’ll be okay.”
Getting the chance to go into the job that I love and seeing you there. It never once felt like a mistake, like this was wrong. Never. Not then and not today.
The first time we made love in the back seat of your car.
Dressing up for you, waiting for you at that bar. Looking at you come inside. You told me I looked cute and kissed me, right there, in front of people, like I had never been.
I asked you if you wanted to stay over and you said yes. And we fell asleep together and we woke up together. And when we woke up we talked for hours. Then I said goodbye to you but not for long because we would then see each other again soon, like we always do.
The way you held me when my grandmother died and the moment I realized that I loved you.
I felt it. And every time I tell you that I love you, I go back to that wonderful first moment. It is a moment that stands so apart from anything else I had ever experienced with another human being.
Then came the first time you let me down. You say it was not your fault, and in the haze of my love for you, I ignored the obvious hurt and said, “Don’t worry about it.”
Then the next one and the next one.
The time when you walked me into your home and walked me towards your mother. Having the honor to stand in front of and finally meet the woman responsible for the birth of the love of my life. I said hello, feeling so important. You then said to me that she said I was cute. So she liked me. I could not wait any longer for the most important woman in my life to meet you, either. I video called her. She had just gotten back from work, and as tired as she was, you still said she was so beautiful. She was so shy but so happy that I finally showed her who Josh was.
I went away for a while to go back home for Christmas and I could not believe how much we missed each other’s presence. It was crazy. I could not help but imagine that you had gone home with me. That we both had made our way through the front door of my home and that I introduced you to my father, telling him, “Dad, this is my boyfriend. And I never told you until just now.” Just like his dream predicted I would do. I did not want you to be alone then, or ever. You let me know that you were finally realizing just how much I really meant to you. My heart melted and my head spun at the thought of never being missed by someone like that. Everyone else before you were just not the right people. But every day I realize that you are worth so much more.
New year’s day came along and although we couldn’t touch each other at the end of the count down, we looked into each other’s eyes as the final seconds of a very long year came to a closing end. “Three, Two, One…HAPPY NEW YEAR!” We both whispered I love you to the wind and space that stood between us. When we got home, as we laid there from a long day of work, we recreated the count down and this time we kissed. It was the first time I had ever kissed anyone ringing in a new year. A new start.
The time we went ice skating, and how you took care of me, making sure that I would not fall down. And you never did let me go. Every meal I eat with you- I want to take care of you.
And then we finally came to a time when you were feeling so vulnerable against everything and everyone around you. I could not immediately come to your rescue, since I was unaware of what exactly was going on. But I did come to you as soon as I figured that you could not be alone. And I never want you to feel like that. Never in the life, for as long as I am alive. So I came to you and I held you. Although you stand so much taller than I, I still managed to take you I the bosom of my chest and cradle you like a child. I wanted to make you feel wanted and understood and safe.
I opened up to you as well, letting you know that now that you have me, that you will never be alone, again. You have someone whom you have to be able to trust and open up to. You have someone who genuinely cares about your well-being. And most importantly, that you have someone who will not desert you because of who you are and everything that makes you, you.
The other night when we went to dinner and a concert, another in our list of concerts from the past and those we are yet to go experience together. It was so cold. But just like that we made our way through downtown Dallas. We ate, then went to the Reunion tower. It was bad weather but it was a great time with you.
You held me the entire wait outside before the concert began. You held me in your arms. You tied my hair up in a ponytail, the best that you could. You did a good job. You held me the entire time we were inside. We enjoyed the live music. The essence of happiness and joyfulness, not just ours but everyone else’s contributed to the great time we had. I was so tired and was about to tumble a few times, but I stuck through it for you. Because I know how much you wanted to be there. I would do anything for you.
Then came the darkness that crept over me like a hovering cloud of rain, hiding the sun from me.
It happened about a week ago. Exactly a week ago in a couple of hours.
I got home from work. I got home from a great day at my favorite job and being with you.
I walked into an empty dorm room, my roommate wasn’t there. I was glad she wasn’t because that helped when it all started. I was so tired. I was feeling so unwanted by everything and everyone around me. I did not know what to do exactly when it began.
I began feeling worthless, degrading myself. Feeling guilty for everything that I had not done for my grandmother, for not seeing her one last time. Looking at myself in the mirror only made it worse. I could not stand the image of the person staring back at me. How fat she looked and then I wondered how someone like you could be with someone like me. I do not want to disappoint my parents, and I made damn sure I reminded myself of what could happen if I fuck up. I tried hurting myself. Just a little. Just enough to feel something and pair it together with the way that I was abusing myself mentally.
Later on that night I messaged you, telling you, “I never ask you for anything, but right now I need you to tell my how you feel about me. Reassure me of this.” You replied to me with your sweet words that I try to think of even right now, a week later, to remind me that everything is okay between us. Because truth be told, fear creeps into my mind. The fear of losing you.

Days went by and the communication between us was not satisfying to me. You didn’t say much. All I needed you to do was maybe call me, ask me how I was doing. But nothing happened. I wanted to pull my hair out. I cried so much. I cried myself to sleep thinking of the disappointment my heart felt at not having you there with me, in both an emotional sense and the physical.
I could not take the quiet of the days without a word from you, so I caved in. Because I had promised myself that I would not be the one to go to you. That I would wait for you to come to me. For you to call me and tell me to go outside because you were waiting for me. But nothing. So I decided to go to you. There I was, going against my own word.
You opened the door to your home, the place that you tell me is also my home.
And we talked, but we went in circles. You told me you love me so many times. Sometimes I feel like that’s all you can do: tell me to remind me or just tell me to shut me up and make me feel at ease. I don’t know.
I tried to hide the fact that I wanted to raise my voice at you and be more assertive and be more demanding. So instead I asked you how your day went. We played around. We kissed. But I lied to you, because I was pretending to be happy and okay when I really wasn’t. We made love and we came together. It was explosive and so wonderful. When we finished you laid on top of me, your heart was racing and breathlessly you said to me, “I love you,” like you tend to do when we have both satisfied our sexual needs. After it all, I went back to feeling the same way that I felt when I stood outside your front door, just a few hours before. I laid on your chest as you watched Master of None. I had already seen the entire season. You had not, so all I did was lay there, looking up at you laughing at the jokes of Aziz Ansari. I scratched your beard and slowly let the sleep come over me.
A gate has opened and I don’t know how to close it. My mind is running in circles. Where is it? I need my mother’s embrace and advice. I need your love and your warmth. But I don’t get it. I don’t know how else to ask for it from you and make you see that I really am in need of it. I am not the kind of person that ever expect anything in return for what I have given. But it would be nice to know that you are the person outside my door, waiting for my episode to be over so you can come inside and hold me and tell me that although you don’t understand completely, that everything will be okay. I wish I didn’t have to speak to paid strangers to listen to me and pretend like they care. I might be wrong. They might actually really care but I don’t want strangers to be the people that I hug after a long, intimate talk. I want that person to be you.
Where are you?
In this movie of my life, I always want the part where you come in to have the prettiest music. The love I have for you and the many memories and moments that we have created out of this opportunity to be with one another deserves to be played out for us to see with the best music, I believe.
There is much more ahead of us.
There is much more for us to see and feel and talk about and cry about.
And there will be time. Time for you and time for me. There will be time. Time for us both.
I close my eyes and I am looking at you from the passenger seat. We’re listening to music on this car ride. It’s a nice evening. There are many trees around us. There is a little bit of fog, preventing us from seeing what lays ahead. And I don’t know where we’re going. But that’s okay because I’m with you.



Better off this way

Often, I recall a memory deep in the vault of my childhood history. Its a good memory.
Its probably the one and only time in my life when I have been praised and genuinely congratulated by people above me for doing a good job.
The year was 2002, and third grade and the war on Iraq were both in full swing when the first anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks was being remembered. I think back on third grade as being the time when kids do as they are told, especially back then. Nowadays, kids are the fucking worst. Any who, on the day of remembrance, we were given the assignment of drawing a huge american flag on a standard white sheet of copy paper. Many, if not all, of Mr. A’s class took this time as “free time.” And I mean, why not, right? The television that hung on the top corner of the class where the chalk board and the supply closet intersected was turned to CNN; that ribbon of information that runs at the bottom of the screen is undeniably a trademark. I can’t say I remember very clearly what was being said in the newscast. What I am certain of is that it was all about “new evidence” of Bin Laden’s incrimination and Al Qaeda’s motive and you know, all that good stuff that resurfaces after a year or so.

A year prior to that day, I remember arriving at school wearing this cool little jacket that resembled the Texas flag. I got off the bus and headed straight to homeroom with Mrs. T. I placed my jacket on the back of the red desk chairs and was excited to begin another great school day. After reciting the mandatory Pledge of Allegiance and Star Spangled Banner, we waited for Mrs. T to come back into the classroom to instruct us to get our vocabulary books so we could begin the lesson for the day. Mrs. T finally made her way back into the class, and immediately turned on the TV. I can speak for my ex-classmates when I say that we all thought we were going to have a free day. The TV was on, but we couldn’t quite understand what was going on; the cartoons were not on. Instead, the news were on and Mrs. T shifted quickly from the hallway to the classroom, to Ms. L’s class across the hallway, back to our class. Maybe it was my precociousness that noticed anxiety and anguish in my teacher as she made her way without letting us know what was going on. Maybe it was just that. She finally entered the classroom, for what seemed would be for good this time and shut the door behind her. She said to us, “Kids, listen. Do you see what’s going on right now? Its a terrorist attack on the World Trade Center in New York City. Its bad people hurting our country.” And then we saw the second tower get hit by the second plane.
It really is weird and is still so absurd to me how it is that I remember all this. That morning, her actions, her words and my reaction and how I felt.

So the year after all that, remembering everything from that day was easy and that assignment was nothing, really. But I decided I wanted to do something else and not follow what the typical activity was. I was aware that every single student in that class room was going to do the same: A drawing of an American Flag, with crooked stripes and an incomplete number of stars because their box was either too small to fit all fifty or simply because they were stupid or lazy enough to do it right. No. I was thinking outside the box when the the rush of sensory memory came over me. I was on a fucking roll, and I was going to do something that I thought really represented what I thought of that day and what it meant to me.
So on that standard white sheet of copy paper, I drew two men. One of these men was wearing a black robe and a turban, the other wore the uniform of a soldier. I still didn’t identify who these men were or what their actions towards each other might of been. It wasn’t until I drew hands on them, one centered in the middle, extended towards each other, the other at their side. The Soldier held the Iraqi flag and the Muslim held the American flag, as they shared a little flower as a symbol of peace between them. I colored everything in, but then realized that wasn’t the assignment and because nervous at the thought of getting a bad grade. I took my drawing over to Mr. A hoping for the best, but really expecting the worst. He looked at me in surprise. He said to me, “Wait for me here.” He walked out of the class and didn’t come back for a while. In the mean time, the little shitheads working on their flags kept teasing me saying, “Ooh, he’s gonna go get the principal,” “You’re in trouble!” I have to admit, their words got to me and so did the urge to piss my undies.
Mr. A came back and with him were the rest of the teachers from down the hallway. “Who is she?!” They asked, as if I was being incriminated of a wrongdoing. “This is her. This is Gabriela.” My heart sank and a gulp of saliva made its way down my trachea…ever…so….slowly.
“CONGRATULATIONS!” “Its very good!” “Good job!” “How did you think of this?” “Who taught you this?”….the questions and compliments came from all of those adults standing above me like skyscrapers. All I could do was smile. But looking back, I think of how sad/cool it was that teachers didn’t think third grade students had it in them to think outside the box and deviate from a mundane assignment to make it their own and make it different.

Every time I think of this time in my life, I realize that this has been the only time since then that someone with authority has said to me, “Good job!” and really meant it. I don’t get that a lot nowadays. I’d hate to think that my third grade achievement in drawing a mirage of a nonexistent reality is as far as I’ll ever get. That drawing happened 13 years ago. That drawing has since then disappeared or was misplaced or something. Maybe its not in my life to look at anymore so I won’t be reminded that that is as far as I can go. Because, let’s face it, if I had the chance to draw that all over again, I’d totally make my 9 year old self’s drawing look like an inferior piece of shit.

I don't have a picture of my drawing, but this is the little girl who drew it.
I don’t have a picture of my drawing, but this is the little girl who drew it. Its easy to see why my parents didn’t bother buying the picture. Look at those pony stickers on ma shirt.