If you can’t make it better, you can laugh at it

The past few months whenever I pass a mirror, I am horrified to see that I still look human. It’s like my insides are rotting away, and yet on the outside, somehow, I’m still completely presentable. There are no visible signs of my tumultuous emotions. It’s insanity.

I also might be insane.

Last night I saw my exboyfriend of yore, the one who loved me so much he stalked me. He grabbed my arm to get my attention and I turned and it was him and I was so completely shocked. I haven’t seen him in literally years. I haven’t spoken to him since before I was married, and he stopped contacting me after I told him I was getting married. He asked how married life was and I told him I was divorced. “Shit happens,” I explained with a shrug, and then I ran away, only to run into my exhusband’s best friend. And I was so happy to see him and he seemed entirely confused by my presence and probably my happiness. But I’d been secretly dating his best friend, so I had only positive associations with him.

Then I went back to my place to find my exhusband waiting angrily to break up with me for the millionth time. He was furious and mean and irrational as always, and took my phone to block himself and his family and his friends, so that I would have zero means of contacting him. (As if. I’ve already brainstormed a thousand ways to contact him today. I have yet to do them though, so please congratulate me in the form of food deliveries because I’m way lazy when it comes to feeding myself when I’m in a pit of depression.)

So that’s that. Last night was just a parade of all the shit choices from my love life. And if I had any brain cells, I would run the fuck away and not look back until it stops being painful. I had a ticket booked for the day after the divorce, but then I got a job. And because I’m too old to beg money from my mother anymore, I have to stay here and work until I replenish the funds that I depleted trying to save my marriage.

So I’m stuck here. And I will probably do it all over again. Because I am the very definition of insanity, as last night tried to slap me in the face and say. But I can’t hear it! Because I’m a crazy person! Now, please excuse me while I call up my exboyfriend for stalking tips.

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If a tree falls…

Holy shit, it’s been five months since I last posted. I don’t even know if people read this anymore. Perhaps that could be better. Just a voice musing out into the 1s and 0s of nobody’s computers. Except then I could just write in my journal and use names and be specific as hell.

Let’s be real, there’s zero point in publishing to a blog with no audience.

So, in the hopes of building up the crowds, here’s a cryptic recap of the past five months: broken promises, loneliness, financial precariousness, silence, moving out, uncertainty, police, jealousy, a broken door, a divorce declaration, depression, alcoholism, anticlimactic courtrooms, unemployment, plans to flee, more depression, more alcoholism, unfulfilling rebounds, a failed job interview, so much loneliness, a new job, a canceled escape plan, a judge, discussions of menstrual cycles, reconciliation, technicalities of sharia, secrets, tension, moving again, being too lazy to unpack my journal, and here we arrive at the blog today…

Enticing isn’t it?

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Unpopular Opinions

So Virginia is happening right now. If you weren’t aware (as I wasn’t until this morning because I do not live in America anymore and the world doesn’t care about them like I do), Charlottesville has been having a lot of white supremacists protesting about the proposed removal of a historic statue. (Robert E. Lee, a general of the the Confederate Army, a convenient symbol of white power.) The protesters have been very rowdy and aggressive towards the counter-protesters. They’re gross and a symbol of everything wrong with America and and doomed to hell and a serious threat to non-white/non-men/non-cis/non-ablebodied/non-whateverIforgot people.

But it is also gross that there are people saying that those men should not be allowed to rally whenever their big rally is supposed to be. People are also trying to identify them. Presumably to harass them. And the jokes are flowing about hurting them. So perhaps they actually want to hurt them when they find them. Because an eye for an eye….

Makes everyone fucking blind.

I think my most unpopular opinion is that those men are misunderstood.

The problem with those men, as I see it, is that they lack any real perception of their place in the world. They honestly do not understand. Like they don’t see it at all. (See also people ironically quoting old Trump tweets about Obama that are now about him.) And nobody knows how to effectively explain it to them, so they try once or twice and then just move right on to hating them.

In my experience, you can’t really be told about your privilege. You need to experience it vicariously. Usually through a loved one. Like your Palestinian husband who lacks your everything, but is far more giving than you could ever be. I literally have more of everything than him, but I cling to it and hide it and protest loudly when he tries to inch a step closer towards any of it. Because I hate adulting and prefer to blame things on him rather than admitting that sometimes life just sucks. Because nobody wants to grow up and the world is a big awful place sometimes. Because I’m scared. Because I don’t know how to succeed without my privileges. Because I’ve never had to do it and the idea is frightening.

Because I am those men too.

So I guess what I’m saying is that all the people who want to stone those men need to get out of their glass houses and marry them.

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Novel likeness

Being back in Abu Dhabi has been everything I wanted and more. I stayed with one of my best friends for the first week, so that felt like coming home, although she was different-from-last-time in that she was 8+ months pregnant. (She just had the boy; he’s very cute and almost seems worth the horrific pain of labor she described.) Now bae and I are somewhat settled in our own place.

I have a social life again, which is fantastic. The first weekend I was back, a group of my old party friends, who I admittedly hadn’t spoken to at all in the past year, met up for a fantastic night out. It was as if no time had passed.

But at the same time, things are different. I’m married now. Most of my friends are also married or in equally committed relationships. There’s that new baby in the mix. I’m not going back to America this summer for my annual catch-up (due to lack of funds), so I’ve been making some effort to have catch-up convos with my people there. And I hadn’t spoken to many of them in 1+ years too. (It really was like I fell off the face of the Earth while I was in Cyprus, haha.) And they’re changing too. But still the same, in those little ways that people never change. And the shared histories and memories. And their quirks and my quirks.

Holding my friend’s baby was surreal because everything is new for him. And everything he does seems radically new, even though we’ve been doing it ourselves for ages. He blinks and we’re all like “Oh my God, did you even see that!” As if he’s just invented the movement or completely revolutionized it somehow. And he has, for himself, and we all feel that. Even though it’s just a blink.

I feel like that epitomizes life at this moment. Everything feels new, even though it’s the same old. Same city, same people mostly, same activities, and yet there’s something brand new about it all. I know it’ll wear off eventually, but it’s a nice feeling for the moment.

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Other Reminiscings

**This is another scheduled post. At the time it goes live, I will be settling into Abu Dhabi life. This was written two weeks ago.**

As I was writing the last entry, I thought of some things that seemed unique to North Cyprus from other places I had lived. The first that comes to mind was the first issue that arose: money. They use three different currencies. Turkish lira is used in shops and restaurants because it is the Turkish Republic, after all. Our rent was paid in British pound, possibly because our landlord was British Cypriot or possibly as an homage to the former rule. (Most property prices are in pound.) And I was paid my salary in Euro, because I’m American and close enough. Not everyone was paid in Euro though; people with Turkish passports were paid in Turkish lira. (They were also paid quite a bit less, according to the gossip on the streets…)

Another thing that I’ll never forget is how much military presence there was in N. Cyprus. America hides all of its army stuff from the types of places I lived. (Rich suburbs and touristy cities.) And while the UAE shows some uniforms occasionally and I know where one base is, it isn’t like N. Cyprus. In N. Cyprus I lived next to an army base. On my five-minute drive to school, one route passed another army base. I saw camo trucks filled with camo men roughly once a week. Any trip to anywhere would involve passing still more army bases. Military was everywhere.

But most of all I will remember this land for its lack of organization or progress. There were so many things that were illogically arranged (like the visa process, or the bank system, or their hospitals.) And yet nobody seemed to care to fix anything. Everyone complained about it all, quite loudly, but people who had been here for years just kept on going within the broken systems… and probably if I returned in ten years everyone would still be plodding on in their nonsense systems. Perhaps I will return for a visit in ten years to see what has changed. But for now, I am so relieved to be done with that haphazard mess of a territory.

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