How are things going? - news by instalment
12.09.07
It hurts so much. It hurts so much. Do you wanna hold hands, he asked me, on the bench outside the library. We walked, he pulled me close, he kissed my hand. Ok, give me an Italian kiss. You’re a good person.
And I’m here alone. And it hurts.
I think I am going back to Italy. I thought this was the beginning of something good, a ray of light. I thought I could be happy. I was so wrong, and I am so sad. I don’t know what to do. I feel so lost and empty. It was so much better when I was (un)comfortably numb. Once again, I have made a mistake, and am now paying the price. It is the most painful price I have ever paid.
I want my Ian back. I want the sun of Sussex in July, the silence in A71, our hands locked together under the desk. I want the walks in the fields, him showing me to play cricket, holding me tight, saying how much happier he was now, pulling me close, caressing my wrist, my back, with his thumb. I want his kiss on my cheek, I want him to bend down, shyly, to kiss me in the morning when we meet at the IT centre or outside the class. I want his sweet texts. I want his face making fun of my pout, I want his strong embrace, I want his smile, his voice. His funny expressions. His way of clearing his throat before saying something important, his voice cracking when he is embarrassed.
He is a person like no-one. And I know that he means what he said, and he’s not going back. I know this is the end. Something in me is praying for us to be friends, when enough time has passed and our wounds have healed. We can be friends, email-friends, we are both better at writing than at speaking, and we will be apart again, and when enough time has passed we can be friends by email. I understand him so much, I have never understood somebody so much, and with little effort, all he has ever said was like coming straight out of my mind, and what he feels has (almost) always been clear to me. Yes, even when he was not feeling too happy about being together, I realised there was something wrong, but pretended to believe it was tiredness and pressure about finding a new house.
The things he said last night, of fearing to enter a relationship that would turn like the one of his neighbours (violent husband); his confusion over his feelings, which for a moment made me hope that not all is lost, when I asked if his feelings had changed. And he simply said that he’s confused. Which to me is a good sign, somehow. But I know he’s not going back. This is the end.
My colleagues at work suggested to wait, wait till he’s settled, and has begun his phd, and all, till he realises that he misses me, which he will, eventually, seen as the reason why he’s called a break is the pressure, and this man-thing of feeling somehow in a cage (after less than two months, of which 3 weeks spent apart???). I would like to believe them, really I would. But I know my piccolino, I know him so well. I know there’s no way he’s changing his mind.
Tomorrow I should receive my contract at work, see for how long and in what terms they want to have me there. In a way, I want to believe my colleagues, and stay at the school for a couple of months more, see what happens, see if they are right. But in the meantime, I have prepared a goodbye compilation for my Ian. In a way, I think that going back to Italy is really the best thing, and maybe it is a thought prompted by the difficulties I am finding here now, apart from being without my Ian: I have no money, no place to live, no family or friends, and feel generally desperate.
13.09.2007
A day after, and although I am still struggling, the fighter in me is…well, fighting. Tomorrow, God-willing, I should be given my contract, and at 5 I am going to see a room, and hopefully it will be a decent room. I have sent a couple of applications for other jobs, and tomorrow will send more, including a very interesting one in Nottingham, which I’d love to do. Fingers crossed, as always, hu? I went to the library after work, and booked a computer for half an hour. I worked, then sat on a sofa to read, and got a phone call from my (very worried) parents. More to work tomorrow. Then I went back to the computer, and for some reason I couldn’t log in as I wanted, so I only managed to be on internet for a few minutes, enough to check my mail again. And there was the most unexpected message, coming from Ian, who has recently registered on Facebook. And he sent me the request to be my friend. I was impulsive as usual (something I tell people they should do, because it’s good to do things on the spur of the moment, sometimes), and replied at once, agreeing to be his friend. How could I not agree?
Later this evening, as I was having bread and lettuce in my bed, watching Monsters Inc. for the umpteenth time, I got a text. I thought it was my mum, since I had texted her a few hours before, instead it was my Ian. Hoping I was ok. Saying that he had listened to my message which I left last night, and heard all I had said. Confirming that he doesn’t want to cut me out of his life either. Asking me (please) to let him know how I am and what I decide to do next week. Ending with the Italian expression I taught him.
I am being strong, and will not reply. Not for a while. I don’t know why, really. In a way, I don’t want him to think that I am living my days waiting for a sign from him. In a way, I also don’t know what to tell him now, because I am still looking around, trying to understand and decide what I want, what I am going to do. In a way, I probably need time too. Time to think and plan, and organise and decide, and feel better with myself. And be able to see a part of my future, at least my next six months. There are so many issues at stake, and thinking about Ian makes life more complicated. After his text last night, before I left my message to him, I was almost convinced that I would leave England next Saturday, the 22nd, because I cannot live here, with somebody in town who is so negative towards me. But then I woke up this morning, tired after yet another sleepless night (woke up at 1, 2, 4, 5…), took the bus to Hove, and the sun on the sea, and people running, and the air, and the pier…I like being here. I like being in England. This afternoon I walked to the library, and I looked at the shops, and at the Pavilion, I spent some time at the library, with the comforting noise of people whispering, the beep of the computers, and it felt good. I feel good here. I would like to try and stay here for a while.
Of course this is a thought I am having now, after a positive (more or less) day. I am still skint, I am still looking for a house and desperate about it, I am still not eating enough and not sleeping enough, I am still quite desperate when I think of the weekend to come, I hate weekends, always have, because all my friends are out with their boyfriends and I was alone. I thought things would change here, and that I would spend a part of my weekends with my wonderful Ian. Things weren’t meant to go this way. I want to be strong, though. And positive and confident that things WILL be better.
Now I’d better go and take my evening shower before watching another movie. Tomorrow I am teaching less because a new teacher will be tested on one of my lessons, so I get some time off to start planning for next week too. Cool. I like this job, I really, really do. I need time to learn to do it better, and this is another reason I would like to stay here.
Time. That’s all I need.
14.09.07
Being strong is not always easy. I didn’t reply to Ian’s text last night, and then this morning, while walking to school, I arrived in Palmeira Square and saw him getting off the bus, start walking to go to work, adjusting his bag on his shoulders, beanie on, poor sweet thing, he was cold. I saw him stop at the church, and wondered if he was going to come to the mass this Sunday, a thought that almost filled me with panic, because I don’t know what to do if I met him now.
I went to work and managed a good lesson, and then another good lesson, and then I made some photocopies, and went to the library, where I worked well for an hour before going to see the house where I am moving on Sunday. It feels good to know that I am moving away from this awful place to a better house, a better room, a nicer area. I had to call my parents, half argue with them about the usual things, ask for money to pay for the deposit and the first month of rent, etc etc. It’s just so hard.
Back to my room I had some yogurt and cereals, and while working on an application form for an interesting job as an Italian lecturer, I received a text from Ian, who is on the train to Swindon to see his family, and who hopes that I am ok, that my lessons went well. I waited for a while and then texted him back, without saying anything about me, only that I hoped he would have a good weekend with his family, to come back safe, and that I hoped things were going ok with him, and praying for him to be happy. Which I am, every single day, trying to overcome the pain of not being together anymore, trying to think that there is a plan beyond this pain and this desperation, trying to accept this horrible feeling and continue smiling, praying, working. It is hard, people. It is so hard I cannot believe. I had to shortly tell this story to yet another colleague today, and although I felt tears coming, I was able to control myself: be proud of me, I haven’t cried for almost two days now.
So ok, I texted him back, but I am still convinced that I cannot see him for a while. My idea is to wait till he begins his phd, and keep in touch by texts (as long as he starts them), and maybe occasionally by email, when the right time comes. I suppose that eventually we will bump into each other, right? Especially considering that we go to the same church in Hove. So this Sunday I will be alone, and it feels ok, because I am not ready to see him yet, and I want to be settled with the new house, sign the contract, send the applications, work for a week and breath. Next Sunday then, the 23rd, will hopefully feel a better time to meet again.
I wish I could be with him now. I wish I could share his thoughts at the end of the day, and share my thoughts with him, like we used to do; I wish I could know about his doing these days, if he’s found a house, if if if. I hope this weekend with his family will help him, make him feel better. I know he misses his family a lot, and South Africa too, I wish I could help, but you can only do so much, he told me once. I hope he will come back with a clearer, calmer mind, and deep inside of me I hope that one day we will be together again. I know it’s crazy, but I am doing my best not to daydream. Actually, it isn’t that difficult sometime. If I keep my mind occupied like I have done all today, with lesson plans and going to look for a house, and discussing with parents and planning the weekend with church, packing, moving, library and all, then it’s not difficult. But then there are awful moments when all I wish is that my wonderful Ian is by my side, holding my hand, smiling with me while we walk, looking at the sea, breathing the air, stupefied by the beauty of being together and being so blessed.
God, please let me be strong and forget this pain, please let me be peaceful and accept this incomprehensible turn, please let me be good and love you with all my heart. Please stay by my side in this time of hurt and pain, and comfort me with the thought of your love, when darkness spreads in my heart.
It hurts so much. It hurts so much. Do you wanna hold hands, he asked me, on the bench outside the library. We walked, he pulled me close, he kissed my hand. Ok, give me an Italian kiss. You’re a good person.
And I’m here alone. And it hurts.
I think I am going back to Italy. I thought this was the beginning of something good, a ray of light. I thought I could be happy. I was so wrong, and I am so sad. I don’t know what to do. I feel so lost and empty. It was so much better when I was (un)comfortably numb. Once again, I have made a mistake, and am now paying the price. It is the most painful price I have ever paid.
I want my Ian back. I want the sun of Sussex in July, the silence in A71, our hands locked together under the desk. I want the walks in the fields, him showing me to play cricket, holding me tight, saying how much happier he was now, pulling me close, caressing my wrist, my back, with his thumb. I want his kiss on my cheek, I want him to bend down, shyly, to kiss me in the morning when we meet at the IT centre or outside the class. I want his sweet texts. I want his face making fun of my pout, I want his strong embrace, I want his smile, his voice. His funny expressions. His way of clearing his throat before saying something important, his voice cracking when he is embarrassed.
He is a person like no-one. And I know that he means what he said, and he’s not going back. I know this is the end. Something in me is praying for us to be friends, when enough time has passed and our wounds have healed. We can be friends, email-friends, we are both better at writing than at speaking, and we will be apart again, and when enough time has passed we can be friends by email. I understand him so much, I have never understood somebody so much, and with little effort, all he has ever said was like coming straight out of my mind, and what he feels has (almost) always been clear to me. Yes, even when he was not feeling too happy about being together, I realised there was something wrong, but pretended to believe it was tiredness and pressure about finding a new house.
The things he said last night, of fearing to enter a relationship that would turn like the one of his neighbours (violent husband); his confusion over his feelings, which for a moment made me hope that not all is lost, when I asked if his feelings had changed. And he simply said that he’s confused. Which to me is a good sign, somehow. But I know he’s not going back. This is the end.
My colleagues at work suggested to wait, wait till he’s settled, and has begun his phd, and all, till he realises that he misses me, which he will, eventually, seen as the reason why he’s called a break is the pressure, and this man-thing of feeling somehow in a cage (after less than two months, of which 3 weeks spent apart???). I would like to believe them, really I would. But I know my piccolino, I know him so well. I know there’s no way he’s changing his mind.
Tomorrow I should receive my contract at work, see for how long and in what terms they want to have me there. In a way, I want to believe my colleagues, and stay at the school for a couple of months more, see what happens, see if they are right. But in the meantime, I have prepared a goodbye compilation for my Ian. In a way, I think that going back to Italy is really the best thing, and maybe it is a thought prompted by the difficulties I am finding here now, apart from being without my Ian: I have no money, no place to live, no family or friends, and feel generally desperate.
13.09.2007
A day after, and although I am still struggling, the fighter in me is…well, fighting. Tomorrow, God-willing, I should be given my contract, and at 5 I am going to see a room, and hopefully it will be a decent room. I have sent a couple of applications for other jobs, and tomorrow will send more, including a very interesting one in Nottingham, which I’d love to do. Fingers crossed, as always, hu? I went to the library after work, and booked a computer for half an hour. I worked, then sat on a sofa to read, and got a phone call from my (very worried) parents. More to work tomorrow. Then I went back to the computer, and for some reason I couldn’t log in as I wanted, so I only managed to be on internet for a few minutes, enough to check my mail again. And there was the most unexpected message, coming from Ian, who has recently registered on Facebook. And he sent me the request to be my friend. I was impulsive as usual (something I tell people they should do, because it’s good to do things on the spur of the moment, sometimes), and replied at once, agreeing to be his friend. How could I not agree?
Later this evening, as I was having bread and lettuce in my bed, watching Monsters Inc. for the umpteenth time, I got a text. I thought it was my mum, since I had texted her a few hours before, instead it was my Ian. Hoping I was ok. Saying that he had listened to my message which I left last night, and heard all I had said. Confirming that he doesn’t want to cut me out of his life either. Asking me (please) to let him know how I am and what I decide to do next week. Ending with the Italian expression I taught him.
I am being strong, and will not reply. Not for a while. I don’t know why, really. In a way, I don’t want him to think that I am living my days waiting for a sign from him. In a way, I also don’t know what to tell him now, because I am still looking around, trying to understand and decide what I want, what I am going to do. In a way, I probably need time too. Time to think and plan, and organise and decide, and feel better with myself. And be able to see a part of my future, at least my next six months. There are so many issues at stake, and thinking about Ian makes life more complicated. After his text last night, before I left my message to him, I was almost convinced that I would leave England next Saturday, the 22nd, because I cannot live here, with somebody in town who is so negative towards me. But then I woke up this morning, tired after yet another sleepless night (woke up at 1, 2, 4, 5…), took the bus to Hove, and the sun on the sea, and people running, and the air, and the pier…I like being here. I like being in England. This afternoon I walked to the library, and I looked at the shops, and at the Pavilion, I spent some time at the library, with the comforting noise of people whispering, the beep of the computers, and it felt good. I feel good here. I would like to try and stay here for a while.
Of course this is a thought I am having now, after a positive (more or less) day. I am still skint, I am still looking for a house and desperate about it, I am still not eating enough and not sleeping enough, I am still quite desperate when I think of the weekend to come, I hate weekends, always have, because all my friends are out with their boyfriends and I was alone. I thought things would change here, and that I would spend a part of my weekends with my wonderful Ian. Things weren’t meant to go this way. I want to be strong, though. And positive and confident that things WILL be better.
Now I’d better go and take my evening shower before watching another movie. Tomorrow I am teaching less because a new teacher will be tested on one of my lessons, so I get some time off to start planning for next week too. Cool. I like this job, I really, really do. I need time to learn to do it better, and this is another reason I would like to stay here.
Time. That’s all I need.
14.09.07
Being strong is not always easy. I didn’t reply to Ian’s text last night, and then this morning, while walking to school, I arrived in Palmeira Square and saw him getting off the bus, start walking to go to work, adjusting his bag on his shoulders, beanie on, poor sweet thing, he was cold. I saw him stop at the church, and wondered if he was going to come to the mass this Sunday, a thought that almost filled me with panic, because I don’t know what to do if I met him now.
I went to work and managed a good lesson, and then another good lesson, and then I made some photocopies, and went to the library, where I worked well for an hour before going to see the house where I am moving on Sunday. It feels good to know that I am moving away from this awful place to a better house, a better room, a nicer area. I had to call my parents, half argue with them about the usual things, ask for money to pay for the deposit and the first month of rent, etc etc. It’s just so hard.
Back to my room I had some yogurt and cereals, and while working on an application form for an interesting job as an Italian lecturer, I received a text from Ian, who is on the train to Swindon to see his family, and who hopes that I am ok, that my lessons went well. I waited for a while and then texted him back, without saying anything about me, only that I hoped he would have a good weekend with his family, to come back safe, and that I hoped things were going ok with him, and praying for him to be happy. Which I am, every single day, trying to overcome the pain of not being together anymore, trying to think that there is a plan beyond this pain and this desperation, trying to accept this horrible feeling and continue smiling, praying, working. It is hard, people. It is so hard I cannot believe. I had to shortly tell this story to yet another colleague today, and although I felt tears coming, I was able to control myself: be proud of me, I haven’t cried for almost two days now.
So ok, I texted him back, but I am still convinced that I cannot see him for a while. My idea is to wait till he begins his phd, and keep in touch by texts (as long as he starts them), and maybe occasionally by email, when the right time comes. I suppose that eventually we will bump into each other, right? Especially considering that we go to the same church in Hove. So this Sunday I will be alone, and it feels ok, because I am not ready to see him yet, and I want to be settled with the new house, sign the contract, send the applications, work for a week and breath. Next Sunday then, the 23rd, will hopefully feel a better time to meet again.
I wish I could be with him now. I wish I could share his thoughts at the end of the day, and share my thoughts with him, like we used to do; I wish I could know about his doing these days, if he’s found a house, if if if. I hope this weekend with his family will help him, make him feel better. I know he misses his family a lot, and South Africa too, I wish I could help, but you can only do so much, he told me once. I hope he will come back with a clearer, calmer mind, and deep inside of me I hope that one day we will be together again. I know it’s crazy, but I am doing my best not to daydream. Actually, it isn’t that difficult sometime. If I keep my mind occupied like I have done all today, with lesson plans and going to look for a house, and discussing with parents and planning the weekend with church, packing, moving, library and all, then it’s not difficult. But then there are awful moments when all I wish is that my wonderful Ian is by my side, holding my hand, smiling with me while we walk, looking at the sea, breathing the air, stupefied by the beauty of being together and being so blessed.
God, please let me be strong and forget this pain, please let me be peaceful and accept this incomprehensible turn, please let me be good and love you with all my heart. Please stay by my side in this time of hurt and pain, and comfort me with the thought of your love, when darkness spreads in my heart.
Labels: dreams and plans, Love, mind and heart
posted by Peggy @ 4:27 PM
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