birthdays and anniversaries January 30, 2011

For the first time in my life, I almost forgot my dad’s birthday. I thought about it until a week ago, when it got lost in planning my weekend and the long-expected visits. My sisters reminded me of it yesterday. I was dumbstruck. How could I forget, even for a few days?

Today, I realised I had forgotten the other birthday linked to it: Christopher’s. It crossed my mind and I thought: “Oh yeah, it’s his birthday too.” and that was it.

But just a minute ago, whilst enjoying the idea Christopher’s memory might not forever be attached to my dad’s birthday and the fact I hadn’t sent him my wishes, I realised something else: I didn’t wish him a happy birthday last year neither. I left the Land of Oz the day before his birthday and arrived to Lalaland on my dad’s. They shared a date but not a place and somehow, the space continuum got tangled up. I crossed a dimension and landed in a new world.

Today is my dad’s birthday and the first anniversary of my return. I had forgotten that too.

Sweet realisation.

my first ‘I love you’ January 4, 2011

The usual New Year questionings got drowned in champagne and laughter this year. I stepped into the new one with a smile on my face and in my eyes.

Still. One phone call and I got thrown back years ago. A friend I have not seen in 4 years and who until recently thought I was still on the other side of the globe called me this afternoon. I left the office soon after that phone call and started reminiscing about this friend and the entire group I had decided to leave behind when leaving for the magical Land of Oz. It was the dawn of a new life and though I wished all the best to these friends, I felt time had come to go my separate way. I knew I would eventually hear from one or the other. I just did not expect it to happen today. On my drive back, I started thinking about all that, about my being “one of the guys”, “the little sister”, “Diana-you-can-tell-everything-to-she’s-so-cool”.

When I finally went to bed tonight, I laid in bed for an hour and a half thinking so far back I feel I am 20 again. I  ended up getting back up for I remembered something I wanted to share with you: the first time I said ‘I love you’.

When I was 20, through random introductions at university, I ended up hanging out with a bunch of people who I had nothing in common with. We were a “crushing” group: girl A had a crush on boy C, girl B and D on boy B, me on boy A… and I suspect girl D to have had a crush on the latest too.

Basically, we were a dysfunctional group of friends not worthy of a sitcom. We did not last a season – I guess you could say we only made it for a couple of months after the pilot.

Among these guys, the only one worth mentioning for this post is boy B. Let’s call him Bart. He was the sweetest guy. He always made me feel at ease, in these times when my level of confidence was as high as that of a broccoli. We all hang out together for a few weeks. Breakfast, lunch, a trip to the coast, a university dance with gowns and suits… The whole shebang. Then, as fast as we had merged, we split. We would run into each other on campus, stop to say hello – for those of us who were polite, and get on with our lives.

One day, on my way to meet a friend for coffee, I ran into Bart. A ‘Hihowyoudoin’ was exchanged. That should have been it. But as I walked away, a thought hit me: what if I did not see Bart again? I suddenly felt the urge  to tell him how I felt before it was too late. Without thinking twice about it, I turned around, stepped towards the group of girls who giggled around him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and I simply asked:

‘Bart, you know that I love you, don’t you?’

I will never forget the look he gave me. His eyes smiled the sweetest, most honestly touched smile. He took my hand.

- I do know.

- Good.

I smiled and walked away. I stepped into the coffee shop in a kind of daze. As I somehow managed to take my jacket off, my friend looked at me inquiringly.

- I just said ‘I love you’ for the first time.

- Really? Tell me!

He was disappointed to hear I had said those words to a friend and did not dwell on it. It was no big deal to him but it was to me.

That day was the day I decided I had to say everything I felt before it was too late. I do not remember running into Bart on campus after that. I did in a bar one night years later. We only exchanged a few polite trivialities. I did not care. He was and will always be the first man I said ‘I love you’ to. It was the right guy, at the right time and place. I never regretted it because he never made me wish I had never said it or felt it. I never regretted opening my heart to him because he never broke it. I have never regretted saying whatever I have felt since then because I know that there will not come a day when I will think about anyone: ‘What if I had told them how I felt?’

Expressing my feelings has brought me joy, it has brought me sadness. I have shared feelings, laughter and tears. But regrets I will leave to others.

the book cycle December 29, 2010

Something hit me a few weeks ago. I have kept it at the back of my mind to write about it. With the end of a surprisingly positive year – yes, despite the aforementioned events -, come the drawing of conclusions.

So many things have changed. So many are still to change. The most recent one being my moving into a new place. I cannot believe I never thought of this city as a residence before… the city that is at the heart of the infamous Dreamless Man novela…

But more about that some other time. I am here today to write about what I will refer to as The Book Cycle. I have already pondered here and there about cycles in my life that seem to repeat over and over again. I mean, they are called “cycles” for that very reason, I know. But it still amazes me.

While unpacking boxes I had sealed 2 to 5 years ago, I came across a series of memorabilia. Some of these souvenirs made me smile or even laugh, others almost made me cringe. Love notes from Christopher left on the dining room table for me to find in the morning, a corkscrew bought with him in a village for the bottle of wine of our picnic during the most romantic weekend, the only mail from Marshall that I had printed and had forgotten about, notebooks with anecdotes about other people, from another era, another Diana.

I do not know at which point but somehow a book suddenly made me link everything. The book in itself is not important. The cover triggered the thought. It reminded me of an ex I nicknamed “The Psycho” to avoid using his name after I broke up with him. A 7 weeks relationship that ended in a matter of a couple of hours and took months to get over. Not because of my love for the guy. Quite the opposite. It was because of the utter disgust he inspired me. The mere idea of the guy made me shiver. I despised myself for that relationship.

This being said, I eventually got better and forgot about the nauseating feeling. But there was one detail I suddenly remembered when grabbing that one book: the day I broke up with him, I had brought a book for him, a book that meant a lot to me and that I wanted him to have. I had left it in the car while we were taking a walk in the city. We had stopped at a bakery and that is where he talked me down for the umpteenth time – this involved giving me the evil eye, yelling, talking to me as if I had a 84 IQ and if I were to make a painting out of it, I would add dribble -, I had decided that it had been it, I did not have to take that s**** anymore. I called the cease-fire and asked to be driven home. Before stepping out of the car, I solemnly said: “Do me a favor, please. If in three years from now, you realise you really screwed this up and I was the woman of your life, don’t call me. Same thing applies if you realise you are gay.” I don’t know why I felt I had to mention that last part but somehow it made me feel good. I finally added: “There is a book on the back seat. I had brought it for you. I’m leaving it there.”

And so I did. And I never looked back. I guess that is why I left the book. I did not want to have it on my shelve as a stigmata of that stupid relationship.

Now… I know it has been long since I have written and therefore since you have read me. But maybe some of you made the link: remember when Christopher broke up with me the first time? I had bought him a book and force-gave it to him.

But also… the second time he broke up with me, I had translated A Dreamless Man for him. Then, there is this ex of mine from… well, exactly ten years ago. I had given him something I had written and broke up with him within a week.

Marshall… There was no real break up as we never dated. But when he signed for one of my classes, I had bought him a symbolic book. He could not make the first class so I gave it to him on the second. He was ecstatic and moved at the same time… and never came to class again. I hardly saw him after that. The last time was… when I gave him A Dreamless Man.

Arthur? He has read that story. Things went completely pear-shaped.

Now that I am writing all this, I realise how many times I mentioned the novela… But I have another example of an unrelated book – an actual book: I had bought The Alchemist for a crush years ago. After I gave him the book, I did not see him for months and when I saw him again, it was to talk about this wonderful new girl he had met… who looked just like me, talked like me, dressed like me and any other reference of “Don’t you wish you’re girlfriend was…” you can think of – again, another story.

You get the picture. Since my coming back to Lalaland, I have decided and tried to change my patterns. Well, here is a blatant example of one thing I should not do anymore: give books as presents if the guy is not a literature freak like me – do note I have just stretched a safety net with the subordinate.

Anyway. Conclusion? There is none really. There is only superstition.

So to be one the safe side: I will not give my next crush a book.

back December 13, 2010

Just a QuickPress to start the engine and let the world know that Diana is alive and kicking.

Laughing Daffodil will restart soon.

for you October 21, 2010

For you, my regular visitor of the past week, I would like to make this post.

I have not been writing lately, not because I have felt bad but because I do not really feel like telling the Christopher or Arthur story anymore. Not like this. I found a form of balance and am trying to remain on the trapeze. Looking back does not hurt but might be dangerous for the time being.

I am smiling my ears off lately – love the idea, and have not been the best of friends in keeping in touch. I could not be writing here while not answering e-mails.

But today I came and saw you had been there. Thank you for your visits. I am in the process of figuring out what I want Laughing Daffodil to become. Come back again… you might eventually find your answers.

d-day +1 September 25, 2010

Well, yes, dear readers, it was yesterday. The infamous deadline, the meeting up with Arthur after 166 days… But it did not happen. I don’t think he came to the rendez-vous. I am not sure as I did not go myself. I mean, are you kidding? Who would go to that date after what happened?

Not me. I did think about Friday once or twice during the week. I did think about the meeting up at 7 pm during the afternoon. But by 5pm, I had completely forgotten about it and only realised at 11. I was with my little sis and my recently-mum-friend and said: “We were supposed to meet on the 24th of September five months ago.”

And that was it for that. Life goes on, the story of mine too. This daffodil will not be fading away any time soon.

the truth August 21, 2010

Today is a beautiful sunny day, a bit too hot though I have been thinking about writing something called Suddenly Last Winter at the beginning of the week. It is summer today and, as I was reading a book, trying to get over the weekend’s headache that seems to take over my body every Saturday lately, I thought I had to write and be honest.

The reason why Yours Truly hasn’t been writing this blog lately is that, had she done it, she would have been a hypocrite. This is a “Hopeful’s blog” and though I have been full of many feelings lately, none came close to being described as hope.

Months ago, my life took a new direction. Actually, it didn’t. It just went on being blurry. For a few months, I nurtured the illusion of having a path to follow. It turned out I fell off the cliff at a bend in the road. I eventually picked myself up, dusted my past off and continued. Or so I thought. The past was on my trail and has been catching up lately. I try and move faster but I am only lying to myself: I actually froze a while ago.

When I came back to Lalaland, I moved back at my parents’. It is not as difficult as it might sound. I needed it. OK, I didn’t have any other option neither – no job, no place, no money, but the idea was reassuring. Mum and dad would take care of me. Which they did. Which they still do.

For a while, my living at their place was my excuse for not writing, coupled with the fact that I spend 8 hours a day concentrating on a computer screen at the office. I do not feel like writing when getting home: waiting for a turn on the computer… or actually see a computer.

It was a load of cr*p. I do not need to wait on any turn, I own two laptops. I can stand a computer after work, I can spend hours researching stuff.

I was just trying to justify my lack of commitment to my project or my writing in general, my sense of “There’s no hope left in the world for me”.

I know where it came from though. At the end of June, my soon-to-be-mum friend, well, became a mum. It moved me unexpectedly. It hit me and it hit me hard: I have been wanting to be a mum for as long as I can remember. When will it be me?

I tried to make myself believe I could meet someone and somehow decide to have a baby within a year. But I cannot convince myself of that for, truth be told: I have lost hope. Not on ever meeting someone but of meeting him soon, like yesterday, and actually trust him and plan a life with him. Yes, I am falling deeper and deeper in stereotypes: I have trust issues. I cannot believe anyone ever feeling the way I do. I cannot believe anyone ever understanding me or trying to understand me the way I try to understand them. I cannot believe the  Arthur fiasco to be just a bump in the road. I do not want him to be the general rule and this is why I have decided to give up on the idea of meeting any worthy guy for the time being.

Mid-July, my parents left for a month. I thought I would write during that time. Instead, I spent too many hours watching television and wondering when my turn would come. I am not stupid, I am not shallow, I think I am kind, interesting, and funny. And I am not ugly, something it took me ages to accept. Still, that last birth had taken away my bouncing ability. The mention of my single state left me unconcerned but the mention of kids was leaving me teary-eyed and desperate.

Little by little, after days of coming home to an empty house or going out for dinner with friends, after hours wasted on watching romantic comedies on TV, after nights of being haunted by Christopher and his family in my dreams, I took my decision.

I will do everything alone. I am consciously deciding not to meet anyone in any near future. Hope there is and will always be. But right now, I do not need it. What I need is getting my bounce back.

(500) hours of summer August 11, 2010

20 days ago, I bought (500) Days of Summer, a movie I saw with Christopher day to day 11 months ago. I do not know how I do that, all those cycles.

I will get back to that moment some day here. I had been the one who, after seeing the trailer, insisted on going to the preview. I loved it… and hated it. I had recognised myself in the trailer and had hopes it would be an eye-opener for Christopher. It had been a slap in the face for me.

20 days ago or almost 500 hours ago (!) I stumbled upon the DVD. I had talked about this movie so much, it had made me laugh so loud, I had to have it. But I procrastinated watching it again, knowing all too well the effect it might have.

Tonight, I dared. I relived the movie theatre experience, laughing out loud… only by myself this time. And alone I was at the point of the movie that made me anxious 11 months ago. That particular moment had stopped me from breathing. That hand slipping away, the sentence “I’m just tired”… a lump had appeared in my throat while, from the corner of my eye, I had seen Christopher turn to face me. I had looked at him. He had been smiling. He had thought it hilarious. I had given him a tearful look.

Summer cries her heart out after seeing The Graduate. I could have been her. But I was Tom. When I told Christopher, he said “You’re not. I am not Summer.”

I think he is. Maybe he has recently woken up knowing about another woman what he never knew about me.

there’s this post… July 28, 2010

… that has been sitting in my drafts for such a long time I do not remember when I wrote it. It is the continuation of the story, a story that is my sword of Damocles.

Every day, I think I will write again. Every night, I do not find the courage. It is not a writer’s block. It is a 32-year-old woman’s.

parenthesis on not writing July 21, 2010

A month has passed since my last decent post. I did put some things on paper while commuting. But those thoughts are not to be shared just yet. I first need to get back to that summer of 2007.

For those who are still reading this blog and wonder: I have not heard from Arthur since the WTF incident. I am actually surprised to some extent to be writing this: I have not contacted him neither. And no, I am not disappointed he did not call or write. I did not think he would and I did not want him to. I guess that, at some level at least, I am still mad at him. I will never take away from him the fact he made me smile and even sing again – something that will eventually be explained here, but he did completely destroy the myth – which, again, I am glad he did at such an early stage.

Weirdly enough, the day I had the previously mentioned hunch, the one about something being off, I had been thinking about the fact I hadn’t had a “rebound guy”. Was it a good idea to jump back into a relationship so fast?

Three days after that thought, the texting happened. Arthur was my rebound guy. I rebounded. I bounced off him as I would a trampoline. Was he made of latex for making me leap back to the point where he was only a dot on the horizon?

As a friend said “He played his part perfectly”. He allowed me to vent all that anger. He permitted to say “No! Not that, not again. I won’t take that anymore.” I did not shed one tear on him. Not one. I was actually smiling. It was amazing and I loved it. I obviously did not have deep feelings for this fake life imitating art imitating life character. A couple of days after he demonstrated the legendary male cowardice, on my way to the office, I asked myself if I still was in love with Christopher. Then came the question whether I loved Arthur. And it hit me: the only answer to all of that was that I was in love with me. Finally, the attention I deserved to give myself.  I smiled wide.

Since then, well, you know, life. I am a hopeful but have my moments too. It sometimes hurts to try and think about the future. On days like today, it is only darkness I see. So I try and remember the 11-year-old me, the one who could not envision herself older, did not really have a plan to follow, the girl who might not have known what she wanted but knew what she did not want. And she did get it, didn’t she? If there is one thing I cannot call my life it is “a routine”.