Truth be told, the only thing I need to do right now is write a piece of entry that is fitting of this blog. I have these plus style photos my dear friend Michelle took of me last week and I so desperately want to upload them and wish everybody thank you for being so awesome, patient, supportive and nice to me these past weeks.
But I couldn’t. I don’t want to. I can’t. I’m not in that state of mind.
I’ve been thinking about this one bit of my past a lot these days. This tiny but powerful memory have obviously been taking control of my current self. It’s a memory of a man I once (thought I) have committed to. Or perhaps it was the very idea of him. Somehow at this point of time, I regret having that memory — but not to a stage where I feel like erasing it from my sanity.
It was a short beautiful past that eventually continues to become the longest, confusing and painful bit of my life. Until it ended, and that’s when the pain never seemed to end.
Being with him was a way for me to discovering myself. I have imagined myself being with the likes of him, back when I was figuring out my preference, of my type (of men). I learned that I found a certain liking to strong, older men who doesn’t necessarily have to be in a certain state of stability – but enough to be an equal dreamer like myself.
I want my man to be musically inclined like myself. I’m reminded of India Arie’s “I’m Ready for Love” definition of ‘the man’ and ‘love’ and how it once and still have a powerful influence over me. She sings, “I’ll be patient, kind, faithful and true. To a man who loves music, a man who loves art. Respects the spirit world and think with his heart”.
[To] a man who loves music, a man who loves art.
And indeed I have always been very critical of this – a criteria, whom without, would feel like being with a soulless human being. A person without passion for music or arts are typically the soulless of them bunch. (If you disagree with me, go ahead). I set my expectations high. He must know, listen, live and breathe his genre of choice. (You see what I’m doing there — HIS genre of choice. I didn’t dictate, no).
But I was lucky. (On this note) he was all I could ever imagined. An older, hip hop lover and dreamer like myself. We would be discussing Nas, A Tribe Called Quest, Cypress Hill, Dr. Dre, Mos Def and his days as Black Stars with Kweli and he would be teaching me a thing or two about the very culture he grew up with. We would listen to Etta James, Mary. J. Blige and admiring Erykah Badu. We would be discussing and listening to his past and current work, and me with my dream to sing.
He was my secret. For a little bit, I kept him hidden, somewhat like in a closet. Until I feel like screaming to the world about how much I was in love.
But things weren’t easy for us. There was the religion consideration. The distance was one of ‘em too and there were times when I felt confused and lost and I wondered a lot. I cried a hell lot. I wonder if this is worth my fight and my wait and my sacrifices. And then I cried again and again and again.
Jazmine Sullivan sings in “I’m In Love with Another Man” — yet another song that turned it bad for me. I interpret it my way and bring it deep to heart: “He ain’t no doctor, no. And we always seemed to fight. He got a perfect body, and sometimes he don’t even treat me right.” before she finishes with the ultimate truth:
[But] when I’m with him, ain’t nobody else like it.
I guess this is it. The very feeling when you know nothing ever compares. It’s the feeling that ruined and will continue to haunt you. It’s the very feeling I’m having right now.
Fast forward to a couple of days ago, I rediscovered an album that helped me went through things in 2011. The album is in Arabic but the type of music is something you would expect of an indie-rock band out of California.
And then there’s this one song. This is the translation to these two verse that continue to break me and beautifully, Hamed Sinno of Mashrou’ Leila sings:
“I would have liked to keep you near me / Introduce you to my parents / have you crown my heart / Cook your food, sweep your home / Spoil your kids, be your housewife.
But you’re in your house, and I’m in another house. God, I wish I had never let you go.”
And this is me right now, word by word. With Sinno’s precious voice, the band’s melody. These verses break me once again.