I’d like you all to listen to Midnight by Tor Miller as you read this.
It’s happening, Shoppers and Walmart are now putting out their Valentine decorations, love is in the air (along with 40 feet of snow), and it’s the most stressful time of the year.
Not for all.
You know I love to write about romance, and all of that good stuff.
If you don’t know, now you know.
(This next part was written on Tuesday, February 10th, the rest of this was written in a bath-tub in Boston. My sister is sleeping, and it’s 2am, don’t ask)
As I’m typing this, I’m sitting beside two very intelligent women in a Coffee shop, as the Arctic Monkeys discography is plays in the background. It pains me that I was just here yesterday, with two friends who professed their love for love itself, and I found myself feeling ecstatic because they’ve been practically fighting for these relationships to work out, and now that it has they’re still on edge as to whether or not it will last, but they’re living in the moment, something I’ve recently been learning to do.
Today, (Tuesday) I’m sitting with two different girls, and they’re pouring themselves into their midterms in hopes of escaping something more complicated than a Stats textbook, love. We’re all passing around glances, shrugs, and making subtle comments to one another that have come to mind.
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him”
“He just wants to be friends.”
“I don’t really know what he wants, I just want him to be happy”
It pained me to watch them, but it also reminded me of the age old quote, this is all supposed to happen for a reason. Thankfully, they both had wonderful weekends, and after witnessing a twit-pic of the “friends” enjoying a Valentine’s Day together, I was happy for them.
I’ve got a few stories to share with you, I’ve been incredibly inspired by their passion and asked them if it would be alright if I shared them. I asked them to share their perceptions of love with me, and share their love stories. Some remained anonymous, and others were brave enough to give hope to the hopeless. (No pun intended to Diana’s blog)
Chloe, who has been mentioned in mycompnotebook before has such a genuine heart. I knew of her relationship for awhile, and for the first time…it’s a healthy one. But, it wasn’t until recently that shared her story with me. Chloe met her boyfriend during her first semester of University. Recently, she professed excitement over their plans for Valentine’s day, and after I finally stopped sobbing I came up with the idea of turning it into a blog post, and asked for her blessing.
“Late night thoughts: he’s probably the one. And I’m going to learn sign language since he’ll eventually lose hearing in the other ear. There’s like 1 chord on a guitar or bass or something he can hear thats it. Which is sad, because he loves music so much. My heart breaks for him sometimes, but he carries everything pretty well. Like he doesn’t just mope around about life despite some pretty rough cards he’s been handed. Apparently I’m the first girl he’s been able to open up to. It makes me furious that he dated girls in the past who didn’t care about what he went through. How do you see someone’s naked body and not care about the scars? I don’t even see the fresh scars and I care. I’ve grown so comfortable with myself this year. A lot of that is because of him, although a changed environment definitely helped. With him it just doesn’t even matter. I can be weird. I can lick him if I really want to and he’ll just roll with it” – Chloe, 18. Toronto.
Diana, I met last year in my Non-Fiction lecture and I was so impressed with her optimism. This woman, is literally the brightest ray of light, and to this day, I can still say the same about her. Nothing’s changed, except for the fact that her world’s a little bit brighter. Here’s why:
“I didn’t expect a trip to Italy for a Liberal Arts credit last summer would’ve introduced me to true love, but I became Lizzie McGuire and met my Paolo out in Rome during my stay, and as Lizzie belts out on stage at the end of the movie, for me, this is what dreams really are made of.
Our first date almost never happened as a result of pure miscommunication. I was waiting for him at a subway stop near my hotel, though minutes passed and I began to fear that I’d been stood up. I grew desperate, put my two words of Italian knowledge to the test, and went down to the subway platform and asked every person if they spoke English and showed my date’s picture on my phone as though it was a wanted sign. After a half hour of me wandering around in a devastatingly dramatic search for him, security questioned my purpose of disrupting the peace in the subway, and my devastation was then unleashed on a ticket collector who spoke a few words of English. He sympathized with me and asked if I could just wait outside of the subway so as to not continue to stir up the subway customers.
Completely heartbroken and embarrassed, I started up one of the multiple staircases exiting the subway area, when I saw him coming down the staircase. It turns out that he’d been waiting outside at a café for me the entire time, though he’d given up after half an hour of waiting for me, and was just coming into the subway to return home when I was exiting outside to return to my hotel. Gleefully I strolled back into the subway ticket booth area and proudly pronounced to the security and ticket booth collector that I in fact was not insane and had finally located my date. He took me to a beautiful park called Villa Borghese, bought me roses, and even bought me pizza. I knew then that I’d do anything to see him again.
After I returned to Toronto, we talked every day, and after months of staying in touch, his family invited me to spend the last of my summer with them in their home. We did some sight-seeing, I became closer with his family, and after returning home to our daily FaceTime phone calls and Facebook messages, it was clear that no matter how hard long distance might be, this is what I wanted to do.
There was no moment of falling in love with him, but a series of beautiful moments strung together that brought us to where we are now. Maybe it was the moment I saw him in the airport again in August after not having seen him since May, and jumping into his arms after months of having a phone screen connecting us. But I fell in love when we sat on a hill during the summer sunset and talked about the things that most people don’t know about us. I fell in love when he chased me around his living room during a pillow fight. I fell in love when we played Heads Up and we ridiculously acted out celebrity impersonations, and when we tried to do Dirty Dancing dance routines in his backyard during the sunset at Christmas.
I’ve learned that love is never easy, but that’s what makes it worth it. You learn to value the time you have with that person so much more simply because of how little there is of it. You can be an ocean apart from someone you love and make it work. It takes effort, it takes a love that you’re willing to work hard for, but if you find someone that’s worth it, don’t let the fear of long distance get in your way.” – Diana, 19. Toronto.
“I was in love for the first time ever. It ended, and I was okay with that. I’ve come to terms with it, but it took some time. It was a pain I couldn’t even put into words. It was if somebody punched a whole in my chest and knocked out where my heart used to be. It was absolute heartache and it didn’t go away. Not for a while. But I realized I’d rather embrace it. Take the bad with the good, and the good with the bad.
It reminds me I’m alive.” – Anonymous, Tumblr.
“I saw your post in regards to Valentines Day and I absolutely love your writing so I thought I’d share my story with you. I just broke up with my first love. It was absolutely mad, passionate and consuming love. He was everything I ever imagined. After it ended in limbo with what ifs and all I was, was missing him. I though love was enough to save us. There’s always that small hope that we may fight for each other again somewhere along the way, but for now I choose to love myself instead.” – Anonymous, Tumblr.
I don’t have a story I actually had a question about your thought catalog piece and all your pieces. They’re all very similar could you maybe tell me where you get your inspiration from? Sometimes I have difficulty and can’t get myself into a piece. Thank you! – Maria, 17, Texas/Tumblr.
A huge thank you goes out to everyone who sent me their story, and who even just shared them with me in person. You’re all incredibly inspirational and I hope you inspire those around you to be open to notion of accepting your feelings, because it means you’re human.
In response to Maria’s question, a question I often get on tumblr but I don’t usually answer due to privacy. Which is ironic, because you just read a blog post of mine, where I discuss/share other people’s stories. All I could really say is that for the last year (it’s already been a year, Christ) I’ve just been writing about one individual, and mostly it hits me at 3am, when I have something to say. The thought catalog piece was one that wasn’t going to be posted, but it got such a great reaction from my peers so I decided to just put it out there, also I was in this state of mind where nothing I could say or do would suffice, so it became an online cry for help. I wrote something two nights ago, in the empty tub and it was something I can’t put out there, due to the fact that it’s an intimate piece, and it was shared with the subject, it wasn’t something that would or should be on the internet.
Although I appreciate all the love I get that comes with every piece, I’ve always said that if my writing can affect and impact one person, then that’s good enough. I hope it has with all of you.
Until next time,