a dumb screenshot of youth

I don’t believe in soulmates. The idea of destiny having any role in who I fall in love cheapens the experience. Besides, the math doesn’t pan out for soulmates. The idea of meeting the one in your own backyard isn’t fate; it’s convenience.

I’m enamored with the idea of “sole mates,” though. The idea of out of the billions of potential people, you’re the one with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. So when I meet a happily married couple (or even a long-term, unmarried couple), I silently root for their happiness.

Not sure if I’m past the age where all my friends are getting married. There are still single people in my circle, after all. But divorce is in season. And I think death isn’t too far off. And the existential crisis starts setting in (but that’s a post for another day).

We spoke about divorce. Namely that of my coworkers’. While I never married Jeanna, the motions that they went through feels familiar. They just handled it better than I did. Or, at least, the way went about it seemed less destructive than path.

I lived my life on the stage. There was nothing too taboo for me to discuss in the public forum. And while I didn’t stay silent on the matter, I was asked not to divulge the details of our break up. And I don’t think I ever did.

When the discussion turned to signs that they missed or were suspicious of before their divorce, I remember the way it was when we broke up in 2008. How, even then, I didn’t handle it well. The things I learned about her and how I learned about them. The helplessness I felt when she slipped through my fingers.

I wasn’t the best boyfriend. I was hardly a partner. My selfishness got in the way a lot. And back then, I wasn’t ready to admit to that. And I did some pretty shitty things to people I loved. Still love.

Sometimes I wonder what’s the proper procedure of moving on. I’ve had my flings. I’ve had my one night stand. I’ve offered my vulnerability to someone who took advantage of it. But when I see people fresh out of a divorce already building a new life with someone else, it irks me. Because what does it mean that someone can get over a marriage of 10 or 13 or 20 years within a matter of months. Unless, your new relationships are just new to the public.

I’m not casting stones. I’m just confused.


“Your Instinct’s Telling You To Run”

via: Stec13

There’s this recurring theme in my life: I’m just a passenger, staring out the window of whatever bus, car, train I happen to be in as someone else drives. I’m at their will. They’re future is mine. I’ve been too afraid to take matters into my own hands because of my fear of failure. I look head on as the car zips toward its destination, only to smash into an oncoming vehicle. I’m propelled through the windshield and am suspended in the air, slowly twisting as the glass pebbles fly around me. I have enough time to count them all until I collide with the other vehicle. I kindly smile at the other driver and utter my last words, “I guess I’m your passenger now.”

I always imagine Iggy Pop playing as this happens, but now I’m thinking The Apples In Stereo is probably a better choice.

I chatted with my ex-girlfriend online the other night. The night of my first day at work, if I’m correct. She, like several other people, have asked me when I’m planning to pop the question, get married and start breeding. In the history of my family, it seems the breeding starts, a question is kinda asked and the marriage is an inevitability. The latter rarely survives. No, I’m not saying I’m content with my current situation. I do want a family and I do want to get married, but there is just so much shit that has tainted my view on family. In my experience, family isn’t a good thing.

Marriages end and partnerships are severed. Some are doomed and others flourish during dire times. And some have a bit fatherly affection to push it off the cliff to the inevitable. My father is the model of manhood that I’d rather not be associated with. He blamed my mother for barring him from our lives, when it was the other way around. And even though we were doing fine without him, some of us decided that it was best to reconnect. I’ve tried many times and allowed myself to forgive him for the past. And new problems have started up and I have no one else to blame but a recycled scapegoat. Odd enough, said scapegoat has the impeccable timing as to return into our lives the moments the relationship goes sour.

I won’t blame my father for his transgressions, or mine. Nor those of any family member who insists on communicating with him. Because, really, we’re all passengers of the same car. Just waiting for that impending head on collision. I’m going to live a little dangerously, as well. No seat belts. Just me and the windshield.


I’m Not Getting Any Younger

My older brother (ten years older) and I cruised down the streets of Edinburg at night, after dropping off pizza for his family. In tow, we have our own large Spinach Alfredo pizza plus two orders of spicy chicken strips from Papa John’s. After making one more stop to buy two large bags of ice for our mother, our destination, we drive  down University. We turn on 18th and sail down toward home.

Friday night’s are normally spent with friends. This past weekend, I spent it alone with my family as we made final preparations for my niece’s Quinceañera the following day.

He then speaks, “So what’s going on with you and Jeanna anyway?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, already knowing where this is leading.

“Are you two going to get married?”

There are plans, but plans are all we can afford at the moment. Graduating college doesn’t promise a career. With an English degree I have about two choices in the Valley – write for the blood sucking, conservative, unreliable and bias newspaper called The Monitor, or teaching English. None of these sound the least bit appealing and the latter means more school for me, leading me to probably owe money in the process, which doesn’t sound attractive at all.

Jyg is also having a dilly with a career. At the moment, she’s working a dead-end job that’s sucking the very life from her bones. Meanwhile, she’s putting into motion of completing her teacher certification – if only that part of a teaching career wasn’t necessary, I might have given in ages ago.

But I’m the baby of the family, the last to get married and the last to spawn children. And I want both. And I’m working toward both. While I do want to teach some day, I don’t want to teach kids. Higher education, maybe, but not kids. Not in Texas, anyway. There’s nothing educational about Texas education.

So I’m on edge with this one. My family’s eyes are on me, expectantly awaiting that great leap that I am ready for emotionally, just not financially. And I’m not getting any younger, so I’m doing my best to get the ball rolling. I just wish things can fall into place, and I can leave behind a few parts of me that I am not proud of, or in love with.