It’s all so wonderful actually

by Jase

Not much of anything has ever worked out the way I intended it to. My 17-year old self imagined a law degree and a career in politics, something far removed from the Mediterranean evenings I often spend intoxicated. When I was 22, I guess I thought I would be in New York and living a hopelessly glamorous existence as a starving photographer, just seconds from making it big. And then in the end, I’m 25, broke and somewhere close to finishing a masters degree–one that I swing between hating and loving every hour or so–in a country that I never thought about 3 years ago.

And I’m alone. And I’m surrounded with the best and closest friends anyone could ever ask for.

But 5-year old me once drew a wedding cake with him and Sophie Rios nestled on top, lips locked, and proudly told his mommy that he would be married at 18. She probably chuckled softly and discouraged him from thinking about getting married too early, I don’t really remember exactly.

I guess its just that, all I ever really cared about was love. I didn’t know how to, or what exactly that meant. And I have spent the last 9 years or so experimenting with it, trial and error, trying to figure out the correct formula of how it all works. Up until now I have determined its a complicated problem, one so complicated that your more likely to fall into the solution on accident than by actual effort. Unfortunately I’m a man of no faith and lots of actions. Fate surrounds me and I ignore it. I much prefer to force things, control them, and make things move.

So I have tried to make it work, love I mean. I have tried to force it, pressure it, coax it and ease it into existence, normally in places where it refuses to ignite. At the same time I have thrown away opportunities where it was actually making an appearance, perhaps because it was outside of my control. Yet for all my talk, I’m somehow powerless within the cages I construct for myself. I somehow lose myself so fully within the myths of romance I commit to that I forget to love myself, to care for myself, for my heart, for my soul.

And so I chase after meaningless prospects, throwing myself ever to the wind. I chase phantoms, ghosts of dreams that aren’t really mine.

Twice, I almost lost myself, again. Once in December, and once last week. It would have been so easy to disappear on that plane to Istanbul. It would have been so easy to respond to that message. I was ready to actually.

Fate though, I guess it gets its way sometimes.

In December, I was saved by a twisted game, one that left me spinning, pulled away from forced fantasy by something that I realized was so much better. Perhaps it was too many cigarettes and too much wine, but I would walk across the city whenever it beckoned. I would go to any bar and sit on any bench, because it was beautiful. I was happy.

But it was just fate reminding me not to control, not to settle.

Lessons aren’t learned quickly though, not when you’re stubborn. So again, last week, when I received that message, again I wanted to just run back, back to the comfort of torture and pain, back to a reoccurring cycle that I understood and could control. Perhaps I enjoy being the victim.

Then I was saved again, by the most profound glimmer of hope. It is like in one instant I was shown beauty and value in a way that I hadn’t been shown in far too long. I was reminded that my heart was worth protecting, worth reserving, if for no one else, for that 5 year old child that believed love was like a wedding cake with a small statue of him and his bride.

Maybe it was just too much whiskey and maybe it was a shit load of cigarettes. I can’t really say.

The thing is, I have no idea what will happen. I don’t know that anything profound has changed or if any real progress has been made. I don’t know if my wedding cake is closer or if I will ever have one for that matter. I just know that I glimpsed an escape from a pathetic cycle, that I was saved twice when I was about go back on the promises I had made myself.

Yeah, I was saved.

So thank you for that. Thanks for saving me, saving me from myself.

Its like I don’t have anything, and I have everything at the same time. I have this strange hope and this equal pessimism, just like always. But I’m better because of the fate you threw at me, somehow.

And at the same time, I can’t help wondering if it isn’t just some kind of new prison, one I am slowly constructing from the foundations of 9 years of heartbreak.

And I guess that is the beauty of it all; its just so fucking confusing and potentially hopeless.

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