Sunday and the church
Going to church is not good for me...
I mean, I am new to this church-going thing, and I am happy that I can finally pursue my spiritual me, and I feel that this is (again) the right choice. Just like choosing to stay in Brighton, I feel well when I think of it, and I know things can be fine. Maybe they just need a bit more time.
Last Sunday I was in Hove by myself, because Ian was travelling back from Swindon. After the upsetting Mass of the Sunday before, going there by myself felt like a brave act, but I did it all the same, and enjoyed the service, turning into my emotional me once again during the sermon (sermons have never really made me feel this way, back at home. I wonder why).
Yesterday Ian was not feeling too well, and we met for less than half an hour at the library, before he went to some pub to watch the rugby, and I went for my necessary shopping of clothes hangers, files, pens, and a not-needed but much-wanted mug. I went to a shop I had been in a few times, where there was the most beautiful mug I have ever seen. Not so beautiful, in the end. Simply white, with grey writings of "I love you" all around it. Every time I see it I think of the first week I was here in August, and of how I wanted to buy it for Ian and then thought it would have been a bit too extreme, and of how I would have liked him to buy it for me and how this was a utopistic idea. When we split up, I thought I would buy it for myself, then realised how pathetic that would have looked. Yesterday I stopped at the shelf, picked it up, checked every details, weighed it, looked at it closely for an hour, I suppose. Then I picked a smaller mug, with blue daisies all around it. It is on my shelf now, and a small teddy bear is inside, looking down at my room, and at me sitting on the bed writing this.
I heard from Ian again about today, when we had to meet to go to church, but not the one in Hove: since it's freshers week in Sussex, there was a special service, and he asked me if I wanted to go with him. Although I wasn't too sure about it I said ok, and we met this morning. Problem number one was that another girl was coming with me, the girl who's taken Ian's room opposite the street and who he helped move in yesterday. I thought that it wasn't the best thing to do, actually, especially when she is a catholic and we were going to an anglican service, but hey. I know Ian and he is too kind.
The second problem was that the service turned out to be a very original one, with us 10 people standing in circle, singing together guided by this incredible priest, who was really a character, very nice man, don't get me wrong, with a fantastic laughter, but for my emotional situation and my usual Sunday feelings...no, not too good.
The sermon once again set me for tears, and it was very difficult to hold them back. I was feeling very uncomfortable, and too many thoughts were crowding my mind, I just wanted to run away, or to cry and cry. I hate Sundays so much. Also, as we were waiting for the Mass to begin, sitting in the lounge, after the first half hour of uncomfortable silence and odd chat between me and Ian, in the lounge we were finally back to jokeing and talking decently. He asked me if I had heard from two people from the TESOL course, and I told him about them; then my tongue decided to continue in spite of my brain, and I told him about the other guy, whom I had texted because I thought I would leave to go back home on the 22nd, yesterday, but who had never replied. I changed the subject straight away, and then it was time for the service. Before the communion we were told to exchange the peace and then talk about a topic with our partner, so to get acquainted (spelt wrong I suppose) with them, and I started chatting with this sweet French woman; the priest then came to exchange peace with me. The communion was again an interesting moment, because we had to "feed" each other; the thought terrified me less than the prospect of having to say that I couldn't take it in front of only 10 people who would have wondered why I couldn't...at least when Ian turned to me I could just look at him, say "I cannot take it", and he knew and moved to the French woman on my left. Then he asked me if I was ok, and I said yes, and he held me, do you understand, his arm went all the way around my shoulder, caressing me the way he used to do. After the service, we were waiting for him, and the priest came to ask if we were going for "lunch" with them; the other girl said she wanted to go home and meet the new housemates, then the priest turned to me and asked me if I was feeling ok, "you looked quite sad back there", his hand on my arm. My voice cracked as I thanked him, said I wasn't feeling too well, a bit of a bad moment, sorry. He was very kind, he tried to make me laugh, he told me that I had to do what I felt best for me then, and when Ian came back he said goodbye and we three walked out of the meeting house. Ian asked me if I was going to check my mail, and I said I would think about it while we walked the other girl to the bus stop; it was quite cold, and he asked me if I was cold, I said "yes, a bit", and he did it again! His arm all the way around my shoulder, and I had to set the pace to walk in unison, and even on the stairs to the bus stop, when we usually changed pace, we went together. People, I was NOT happy.
We said goodbye to the other girl, and then walked back to the entrance to uni, where I said I would walk back home; he said that he was sorry that I wasn't feeling too well yesterday, I had to ask why he thought I wasn't feeling well, since yesterday I was actually fine, and he replied that since I wanted to leave..Oh no, some days ago (and I didn't want to say when exactly my idea had come up) I thought I would go back home, but then I changed my mind. Why didn't you tell me, he asked. Because I had to decide by myself, and understand what was good for me. And I like being here, which is why I am staying. (And because I didn't want you to think that I was desperate, but I didn't tell him this). He then apologised for the text he had sent me, the one which read something like "go back where you came from, I don't want to see you anymore", but whose real meaning, as he explained, was just "maybe if you are with your family and friends things will feel better". Blimey, can texts be misleading, hu? A hug (from him, not from me), and have a good day, and if you need anything give me a call, ok? Because he is still a bit ill, caughing and all. I walked home, stopping on the way to buy yogurt and choc cookies (which make me sick, so who knows why I spent 1 pound on them..idiot), feeling quite bad, feeling that we are going to have some more bad time (together). Feeling that I have upset him, that he may think that things are not too good for me, that I am staying here because of him (the sweet thing, who has lots of things to do and is not too happy, because he likes "life to be quiet, you know?". And unfortunately, as far as I'm aware, life is NOT quiet). Feeling that he may come up with some awful words like "maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore, maybe you should go back to your family, etc".
On the way back, I suddenly realised that I have left my Sunday paper at his house. Crumbs, I thought. Now I'll have to text him about it, and it will look as if I have done it on purpose! But I haven't. It didn't even cross my mind. As I am writing, I have just received his text about bringing it back to me, so I will see him in a while.
What I wanted to say is: it is difficult. And sometimes it is confusing. I know I said that I would have liked to be affectionate with him after the break-up, but then I turned into my usual cold me, who is afraid of showing feelings, and afraid that a word, a look, a friendly pat on the shoulder could say too much, even when it's not. So I don't touch him. Ever. And I find it strange that he is the one who sets up the first hug when we meet, who pats my arm, my leg before he leaves, who hugs me again when we say goodbye.
I know he has made up his mind, and we won't be together again. I know, and I am sad. Simply sad. So sometimes I wish I didn't have to see him, sometimes I just think that I could feel a lot better if I didn't see him again. Because it is painful, and almost cruel of him, to pretend we are friends, after what has happened. On the other hand, I need to see him and know that he is ok, and happy, and I worry, terribly, about all the things that I know will make him anxious and unhappy, like having too many things to do in one week, and having a weird housemate, and not having the kind of house he would like, and and and. Sometimes I think that I will stay here only until my contract expires, and then will leave, go somewhere else. But these are thougths I don't feel like chasing now. My worry now is how to talk to him, what to tell him, how far can I share my thoughts to him, not to wound him, not to upset him, not to make him unhappy; and there are things I would like to tell him, and I can't. Like how I am feeling now. Other things I would like to tell him, like jokes, which I can't, because I would probably hurt him; for example, having met this Italian guy last week, I told Ian about it, and mentioned that his father is German and his mother Italian. I didn't mention that my dad said I should go after him, and that my instant reaction was "another mixed nationality? No way, look what happened with the last person I dated, a South-African with Scottish father and English mother!". A joke, yes, but the wrong one to play with someone who is so sensitive.
I can see the uncomfortable, sad look in his eyes, sometimes, and it fills my heart with hot pain. We can be friends, but there are going to be taboo subjects forever. We are so similar, and this makes things a lot more difficult. I know that it means that I will try and be with him and see that he is happy, even when this means being alone and give him all the time and space he needs.
As long as he is happy, nothing else matters.
I mean, I am new to this church-going thing, and I am happy that I can finally pursue my spiritual me, and I feel that this is (again) the right choice. Just like choosing to stay in Brighton, I feel well when I think of it, and I know things can be fine. Maybe they just need a bit more time.
Last Sunday I was in Hove by myself, because Ian was travelling back from Swindon. After the upsetting Mass of the Sunday before, going there by myself felt like a brave act, but I did it all the same, and enjoyed the service, turning into my emotional me once again during the sermon (sermons have never really made me feel this way, back at home. I wonder why).
Yesterday Ian was not feeling too well, and we met for less than half an hour at the library, before he went to some pub to watch the rugby, and I went for my necessary shopping of clothes hangers, files, pens, and a not-needed but much-wanted mug. I went to a shop I had been in a few times, where there was the most beautiful mug I have ever seen. Not so beautiful, in the end. Simply white, with grey writings of "I love you" all around it. Every time I see it I think of the first week I was here in August, and of how I wanted to buy it for Ian and then thought it would have been a bit too extreme, and of how I would have liked him to buy it for me and how this was a utopistic idea. When we split up, I thought I would buy it for myself, then realised how pathetic that would have looked. Yesterday I stopped at the shelf, picked it up, checked every details, weighed it, looked at it closely for an hour, I suppose. Then I picked a smaller mug, with blue daisies all around it. It is on my shelf now, and a small teddy bear is inside, looking down at my room, and at me sitting on the bed writing this.
I heard from Ian again about today, when we had to meet to go to church, but not the one in Hove: since it's freshers week in Sussex, there was a special service, and he asked me if I wanted to go with him. Although I wasn't too sure about it I said ok, and we met this morning. Problem number one was that another girl was coming with me, the girl who's taken Ian's room opposite the street and who he helped move in yesterday. I thought that it wasn't the best thing to do, actually, especially when she is a catholic and we were going to an anglican service, but hey. I know Ian and he is too kind.
The second problem was that the service turned out to be a very original one, with us 10 people standing in circle, singing together guided by this incredible priest, who was really a character, very nice man, don't get me wrong, with a fantastic laughter, but for my emotional situation and my usual Sunday feelings...no, not too good.
The sermon once again set me for tears, and it was very difficult to hold them back. I was feeling very uncomfortable, and too many thoughts were crowding my mind, I just wanted to run away, or to cry and cry. I hate Sundays so much. Also, as we were waiting for the Mass to begin, sitting in the lounge, after the first half hour of uncomfortable silence and odd chat between me and Ian, in the lounge we were finally back to jokeing and talking decently. He asked me if I had heard from two people from the TESOL course, and I told him about them; then my tongue decided to continue in spite of my brain, and I told him about the other guy, whom I had texted because I thought I would leave to go back home on the 22nd, yesterday, but who had never replied. I changed the subject straight away, and then it was time for the service. Before the communion we were told to exchange the peace and then talk about a topic with our partner, so to get acquainted (spelt wrong I suppose) with them, and I started chatting with this sweet French woman; the priest then came to exchange peace with me. The communion was again an interesting moment, because we had to "feed" each other; the thought terrified me less than the prospect of having to say that I couldn't take it in front of only 10 people who would have wondered why I couldn't...at least when Ian turned to me I could just look at him, say "I cannot take it", and he knew and moved to the French woman on my left. Then he asked me if I was ok, and I said yes, and he held me, do you understand, his arm went all the way around my shoulder, caressing me the way he used to do. After the service, we were waiting for him, and the priest came to ask if we were going for "lunch" with them; the other girl said she wanted to go home and meet the new housemates, then the priest turned to me and asked me if I was feeling ok, "you looked quite sad back there", his hand on my arm. My voice cracked as I thanked him, said I wasn't feeling too well, a bit of a bad moment, sorry. He was very kind, he tried to make me laugh, he told me that I had to do what I felt best for me then, and when Ian came back he said goodbye and we three walked out of the meeting house. Ian asked me if I was going to check my mail, and I said I would think about it while we walked the other girl to the bus stop; it was quite cold, and he asked me if I was cold, I said "yes, a bit", and he did it again! His arm all the way around my shoulder, and I had to set the pace to walk in unison, and even on the stairs to the bus stop, when we usually changed pace, we went together. People, I was NOT happy.
We said goodbye to the other girl, and then walked back to the entrance to uni, where I said I would walk back home; he said that he was sorry that I wasn't feeling too well yesterday, I had to ask why he thought I wasn't feeling well, since yesterday I was actually fine, and he replied that since I wanted to leave..Oh no, some days ago (and I didn't want to say when exactly my idea had come up) I thought I would go back home, but then I changed my mind. Why didn't you tell me, he asked. Because I had to decide by myself, and understand what was good for me. And I like being here, which is why I am staying. (And because I didn't want you to think that I was desperate, but I didn't tell him this). He then apologised for the text he had sent me, the one which read something like "go back where you came from, I don't want to see you anymore", but whose real meaning, as he explained, was just "maybe if you are with your family and friends things will feel better". Blimey, can texts be misleading, hu? A hug (from him, not from me), and have a good day, and if you need anything give me a call, ok? Because he is still a bit ill, caughing and all. I walked home, stopping on the way to buy yogurt and choc cookies (which make me sick, so who knows why I spent 1 pound on them..idiot), feeling quite bad, feeling that we are going to have some more bad time (together). Feeling that I have upset him, that he may think that things are not too good for me, that I am staying here because of him (the sweet thing, who has lots of things to do and is not too happy, because he likes "life to be quiet, you know?". And unfortunately, as far as I'm aware, life is NOT quiet). Feeling that he may come up with some awful words like "maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore, maybe you should go back to your family, etc".
On the way back, I suddenly realised that I have left my Sunday paper at his house. Crumbs, I thought. Now I'll have to text him about it, and it will look as if I have done it on purpose! But I haven't. It didn't even cross my mind. As I am writing, I have just received his text about bringing it back to me, so I will see him in a while.
What I wanted to say is: it is difficult. And sometimes it is confusing. I know I said that I would have liked to be affectionate with him after the break-up, but then I turned into my usual cold me, who is afraid of showing feelings, and afraid that a word, a look, a friendly pat on the shoulder could say too much, even when it's not. So I don't touch him. Ever. And I find it strange that he is the one who sets up the first hug when we meet, who pats my arm, my leg before he leaves, who hugs me again when we say goodbye.
I know he has made up his mind, and we won't be together again. I know, and I am sad. Simply sad. So sometimes I wish I didn't have to see him, sometimes I just think that I could feel a lot better if I didn't see him again. Because it is painful, and almost cruel of him, to pretend we are friends, after what has happened. On the other hand, I need to see him and know that he is ok, and happy, and I worry, terribly, about all the things that I know will make him anxious and unhappy, like having too many things to do in one week, and having a weird housemate, and not having the kind of house he would like, and and and. Sometimes I think that I will stay here only until my contract expires, and then will leave, go somewhere else. But these are thougths I don't feel like chasing now. My worry now is how to talk to him, what to tell him, how far can I share my thoughts to him, not to wound him, not to upset him, not to make him unhappy; and there are things I would like to tell him, and I can't. Like how I am feeling now. Other things I would like to tell him, like jokes, which I can't, because I would probably hurt him; for example, having met this Italian guy last week, I told Ian about it, and mentioned that his father is German and his mother Italian. I didn't mention that my dad said I should go after him, and that my instant reaction was "another mixed nationality? No way, look what happened with the last person I dated, a South-African with Scottish father and English mother!". A joke, yes, but the wrong one to play with someone who is so sensitive.
I can see the uncomfortable, sad look in his eyes, sometimes, and it fills my heart with hot pain. We can be friends, but there are going to be taboo subjects forever. We are so similar, and this makes things a lot more difficult. I know that it means that I will try and be with him and see that he is happy, even when this means being alone and give him all the time and space he needs.
As long as he is happy, nothing else matters.
Labels: mind and heart
posted by Peggy @ 4:14 PM
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