Chastened Butterfly
We always make mistakes. We are constantly growing, and we can't live life out without messing up at least a dozen times. For the last three days I have stuffed up majorly. When I take a step back and really think about it, I recognise that most of the trouble lay in my own head. I am responsible. Because I don't understand my culture. I don't recognise, well I never have, appreciated my family.Sometimes you never realise what you had until you lose it. And in some respects I've lost it. I've disappointed family. It never feels good to have your parents apologise to you that they didn't bring you up right. I can't help but watch everyone go about and do their own thing and wish that I had it also. The grass is always greener on the other side.
I really do have a lot of freedom - most of it I don't even know how to recognise or utilise. And then I sit there and think that family is a cage, and that my mother is my jailkeeper. And when you voice things like that out loud, you end up hurting. Hurting those around you, as well as hurting yourself. Because now, things can no longer be as they used to. And that's all my fault.
At the same time, perhaps this is something I need to learn. Life is never meant to be perfect. You are supposed to learn from your mistakes, and you are supposed to grow because of it. It's just that when you look back, you half wish that you hadn't brought up all the angst that was bubbling up inside you. At times like this you realise how young you really are, and sometimes you regret your actions that you ever voiced your thoughts and feelings out loud. Because by doing so, you've essentially waived your get out jail free card. You've forced things to a head. Even though you half knew the answer anyway, and that when it came down to it, things would eventually work itself out. But no, you had to look behind the curtain, you had to force out the wizard and see what was behind all the smoke and tricks. And by doing so, you end up exposing the bare bones of tradition and unspoken culture. The things that hide and protect the dignity of others. Essentially to plaigerise Scarlett, I 'broke the code.'
The young are always impetuous. The young are selfish. The young are irresponsible. No matter how hard I strive to be mature, my actions this weekend show otherwise. I am impetuous. I am selfish. I am immature.
And the irony is that what brought it all about was someone in my life. Someone who has all the freedoms that I crave. Someone who gets to go larking around all hours of the night, who has their own hours, and who gets to live the lifestyle that I want. And because I don't truly understand or respect my own, I immediately dismissed my own in favour of his. Not that I'm blaming him. I don't. It's got nothing to do with him. It's more about me, and how easily I am swayed. Because I realised yesterday afternoon, that he is simply telling me what he would like. I don't have to do it because he likes or wants it. And he will still respect me for it. And that's when you realise, perhaps you don't have to do everything that he wants, and that perhaps his view isn't necessarily the right view after all. Not that he ever said that it was. It was just a naievety about yourself, that when you trust someone, you end up trusting them completely. And imagine that everything they say is right. When in fact, he is simply voicing a want, and you assume that his want is right - when he is more than happy with whatever it is you decide. And perhaps that your mother always was right, and that she has a clearer head on her shoulders than anyone else you ever knew.
But in fighting against that, because you never realised it or cared to acknowledge it, you suddenly realise what you've thrown away. And while home dynamics have now essentially changed, we still haven't begun to find out whether this is in fact a good or bad thing. Or perhaps it is simply that - change. But just like the grass is greener on the other side, hindsight is always 20/20. Life 'before the blow out' seems so simple and easy compared to this. And no matter how much she continues to love you, a sense of trust in you has already broken. And nothing you can do will repair that. And it's not even because you chose to believe something that your boyfriend wants and is correct in telling you about. It's more that they've spoken to a desire within you, a rebellion of sorts that has always lain semi-dormant. Questions and strictures within that you have always fought against with only a vague understanding of what it all meant. Maybe this is simply a lesson. To teach me to accept who I am. And perhaps if this doesn't work out, it won't be anyone's fault, it will simply be something that happens because you know something about yourself that you never realised before.
By giving yourself the freedom to recognise that perhaps you can leave whenever you want to, as opposed to the stifling belief that you are never allowed to step foot outside the family home, you suddenly realise how much family means to you. No matter the fantasy that you want to move out and live your own life and live your own hours without having to ring home to tell them when you'll be back, or to know that they will stay up for you, the prospect of living out there on your own is scary. The loneliness that surrounds you, once you realise that by moving out, you would have no one but yourself scares you more than you care to admit. So that in the end, it's not so much whether you can move out or not, it's simply realising that perhaps, you just don't want to. Home is home. Home will always be home. And by moving out, the thoughts of nights constantly on your own scares you to no end. And you then begin to realise that perhaps the only way that it would become acceptable was if you were with him. Because he makes you feel safe. He gives/puts meaning into your life.
But then again, you dare not admit that to his face. It's bad enough that you tell him how important he is. But the thing that I'm starting to come to terms with, is that this time around I'm absolutely terrified of opening up. And it's not like I'm not starting to - because I am. But to pour your little heart out like that, means that he has the power again. And this time around, you don't want it all to fall apart. So you hold on desperately, trying to maintain your sense of decorum and the facade that you are stronger than you appear to be. That the fragility that lies underneath the cold brutish exterior is a part of you. When sometimes it's not. When all you want is to be loved and cherished and cared for. But as the days and weeks pass, you begin to see yourself open up. And all the doubts and midnight terrors that haunted you with the last one come back out of the woodwork. And the demons that you had thought you'd exorcised come back to haunt you.
Merely whispers but still present.
Will you always feel so empty inside? Is family the only way to fill this void? There are no guarantees in life and love. You love until you can't, until the bank is empty. And then what? What happens then?
I've come to realise that the prospect of moving out right now, is only appealing because I would have him. That my hours could surround him. Yet the irony is, there are no guarantees. Even in marriage - there are none. There are still outs in marriage. So what happens if I fight for this and then at the end of the day realise that this isn't working out? What happens when he leaves my life? What do I do then? Is he worth all of this? As bad as it is to say, I don't think so. I don't believe so.
Creatures of habit, I am afraid of change. Deathly afraid that the next bend on the road will be ten times worse than the dangerous bend I'm on right now. I'd prefer to suffer the familiar than the unknown. How cowardly am I.
Perhaps one of the things I have learnt is that the other person's way isn't necessarily the right way and that my family's way is the wrong way. Sometimes it can in fact be the reverse. And sometimes, both parties are right. It's just a matter of perspective and acceptance.
Sometimes I wonder though. How much can we in fact predict? How much do we know? What is the point of all this? To find happiness? Life having no guarantees is both depressing and liberating at the same time. There are four lines on the edge of my palm. According to palmistry, each line indicates a relationship. The darker/deeper the line, the stronger the love, impact and bond. For me, the first and last lines are the deepest. Suggesting that perhaps I will marry twice, or that I will fall deeply in love twice. Bookending my love life. Yet despite girlish desires, there is no guarantee that the love that I am predestined to experience will end well. It may well be that I will walk away from the first, wanting to experience more. And the last will all be on my side, and my life will end miserably with me sitting there alone, looking back on past loves and wishing that I had done better for myself.
That's the funny thing about love and life though, y'know? When you don't know what the future will bring, you imagine a world with a happy ending. And you somehow naievely believe that it can be possible. Yet as this weekend has proven, perhaps that isn't so much a reality as it is a fantasy.
posted by Enigmatic Butterfly @ 10:51 am
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