This post isn't going to be shared on social media; it doesn't concern me whether 3 or 3000 people read it, just as long as it reaches those that I've written it for.
The guy that I'm currently seeing is the first in his position to have told me that respectfully he doesn't wish to read my blog- he doesn't even know what it's called or what I write about. In his hipster fashion, he doesn't want to have an unfair advantage in inorganically getting to know the way I think, or what it takes to get to me, without me being afforded the same luxury. Instead, he would rather get to know me as things unfold naturally. Initially I was going to tell him that I had consciously made a rule not to write about my personal life with other people, and that most of my writing is introspective, but I have now come to value this newfound freedom that will allow me to be a little more candid with certain subject matters.
This past long weekend I fibbed and told him that I was going on a road trip with my girl friends. Instead, I took some time out to think [Layal styles, À la duck pond in the rain]. Truth be told, I'm in the process of getting over someone, and my progress has further been complicated by having to process the framing of me as "the bad guy" by said person.
In my typical basic bitch fashion of drawing aphorisms from Tumblr, I'm going to try once more to explain;
To Person X, I know that what I did seems really shitty. And I understand why I'm being met with unrelenting rancor. In all fairness, he is the most handsome, clever, reflective/pensive, athletic, and hard working person I have ever met. Pretty much as if he had stepped out of a fairy tale- the kind of guy that pulls you aside to waltz to no music, remembers your perfume, meets your friends, and chivalrous to a tee: letting you wait under a tree while he runs through the rain to get the car so that you don't get wet; always leaving you the last bite of dessert. Add in some modern day shit like putting up with my instagram teenage meme spams.
But that's the thing..look behind the cute alacricity and it feels too two dimensional; like a fairy tale bereft of any experience or growth together. Rather than partners on the same team, I felt like we were anodynic trophies to one another. I'm sure my reasoning still seems murky, so I'm going to explain using the metaphor behind my tattoo. Until now, only one person had known the story behind it. Everyone else had just been given the spiel that its an ode to resilience and 'rising from the ashes'. It's based off an old fable that I may or may not have some personal attachment to.
The story behind the Phoenix:
In some abstract world, people found the dynamics of their pairings with one another through the spirits of animals [I know this sounds overly hippie, but bear with me]. Our girl in question had the spirit of a bird. She refused to be paired with someone who saw her in the light of a Nightingale; admired for her beauty and sweet voice on a spring's day. The triviality in that would leave her to fend for herself for food and shelter in the cold winter. She resented the idea of being an ornament that got abandoned the second shit got real.
Instead, she wanted to be with someone who saw her as an Eagle; someone who could recognise the strength in parts of her that others perceived as ugly- just as the Wanderer knows that the Eagle's beady cock-eyes gives them superb vision. She wanted this kind of relationship based on mutual respect; where she and the Wanderer could each pursue their own endeavours, but at the end of the day she would always have his shoulder free as her perch, and he could rely on her abilities for navigation or finding prey.
One day, the girl found someone she believed would help her become an Eagle. Except, she found that the two of them did not live these exclusive lives with venn diagram overlaps as she had made herself accustomed to expecting; rather, he started challenging each element of her life from its foundation; he had set alight her wings in every dimension. Lost in confusion, she didn't know why he was hurting her, or secondarily himself for that matter..the smoke was suffocating. After passing out, she had awoken to find him asphyxiated from the smoke inhalation. How had she survived? She realised that she was a Phoenix bourne from obstacles, and that her partner had indeed recognised her strength and ability from the start, even when she perceived certain things as weakness. He was willing to sacrifice and suffocate his ego because of his desire to help her reach her capacity.
Now I am an experimentor, and this lends itself to both the blessing and curse of prematurely exhausting the shit out of every option- enough to know precisely what you want from an early age. Through my experiences in life, this fable of unconditional caring has stuck with me far more than any fairy tale has.
I know that as nice as it is, I dont want this copacetic power couple business where we dress in smart cocktail clothing and have articulate conversations with insipid philistines, only to go home to fight our separate battles. I don't like this nightingale shit; I want someone to see me from my atavistic roots, to be their Phoenix and for me to be the one setting them alight too.
So I ask of Person X to retract their arms and recall that I tried to show them my real self; and also that I tried to see them beyond this characterisation of a perfect human. I explicity tried for us not to be just a compartment to one another; to understand each other's strengths and weaknesses, challenge each other, and balance each other out. Not be someone who encourages you to front and listen to that hubristic voice that tells you to apply another coat of shiny lacquer to mask a rotting core. I wasn't the one to choose to stay within the confines of perfidious fairy tales. So please understand why I'm not a villainous characterisation, why I may seem undecided, and why I too can be upset.
I'm not saying that the Tumblr book cover bleeds red, but it sure as hell ain't black.