Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

“Have you ever stared in the mirror for so long that your face stopped making sense? It just become a bunch of shapes. Just shapes. Not good or bad.”

—	Noelle, The Truth About Cats and Dogs

It really only happens in the heat of engagement, and even then it is not a common occurrence. Just before the dissolution of self, when my mind is hanging on to the last threads of coherency, sometimes-rarely, he changes. I tend to think it is marvelous, and wonder about it, before forgetting to even think about it until the next time it happens.

No, I have already gotten it wrong.

He doesn't change at all. He is still the same sweet, loving, playful boy that I have seen before, except I start to notice new parts of him. I guess I am the one that changes. It isn't unheard of- the mosaic of intimacy. You bring yourself so close to another person that they lose their form. They become a collection of shapes with ends and beginnings and overlaps, but cease to be, just for a moment, the person (As a whole, complete, manicured being) that they project to the world. In general I love that moment. I think that it is the most honest that two people can be with each other. It is a moment of humming and becoming, of once was and existence in the now. It is quite beautiful. But sometimes what you see is not what you expect and the moment jolts you more powerfully than the liquid grace that it normally wraps you in.

Sometimes, he jolts me.

It isn't that he becomes something completely foreign that I can not relate to or understand. Quite the contrary. The shapes that I see when I let go of everything and draw myself up into him, far enough to make him my entire existence, are eerily familiar. They are beyond familiar. They are actually recognizable. I have seen that jaw line before, not in some vague way, but in a way that I can name the place and time and person that I saw it connected to. The nose, too. The set of the eyes, both the left and the right, and the angle at which his hair sticks out from his head. They are all KNOWN to me.

Now I get that it is rather creepy and perhaps disrespectful in some ways to contemplate past adventures in a new bed. I am rather good at putting aside the recognition, drawing back, and seeing my husband for who he is, but afterwards I got to thinking. Maybe it isn't creepy. Maybe it is fate. Maybe I have been trying to find the man that fits with me, and I have kept finding repeating shapes. I have found the correct set of the mouth and the correct tone of voice but never the whole person that just fit me. Until now. Now I have finally found a package that collects all of those shapes that I have been magnetically drawn to over the years. I have found my destiny, and every person that I have met and loved before him has helped me to be able to recognize the smallest, most beautiful details about him. Sometimes I watch him sleep, so very peaceful, and I see my life flash before me... from the very first crush until now. But it is more than that, because when I draw out and look at him as a whole, and he opens his sleepy eyes and smiles at me, I see my future. I see all of the amazing things that we have the capability to do. I see a whole lotta shapes. 

Of Dogs and Men

By the time that I had reached the park I wanted to relax and exhale. The streets in my neighborhood were busy, and the sidewalks narrow (as always). Women refused to give even an inch to the foreign girl running headlong towards them and I was forced off the curb, into traffic, and occasionally had to slow to a walk. It was not a glorious first kilometer and I longed for the soft mud of the wooded path, the silence of the park hidden only a few meters from the busy street, and the sound of my breath, feet, and mp3 player. Instead, as I rounded the corner and mounted the steps I was greeted by an unfamiliar small yapping, and a set of fierce, bared teeth.
It took me a moment to realize what was happening. I had stumbled upon a dog protecting her two very new, adorable puppies. I slowed to a walk and backed away from the dog, deeper into the park. A few meters up the hill I saw another dog, not growling at me but very aware of the situation. I sighed and resigned myself to a steady, slow walk until I hit the main park path, well out of the dogs' territory. I was sad and frustrated to have lost my anticipated release, but it was an understandable situation that in some way made me happy. Although it conflicted with my personal desires it showed enough of love and protection, not to mention the cuteness of the puppies, to ease the edge off of my disappointment.
I got away from the dogs and began the ascent to the central loop of the park. The central loop of the park is only 1km long, but my run was only supposed to be 10km. I spent the uphill section debating whether the dogs would be gone or if I should alter my route home to take the main road instead of the park, and it passed quickly enough. I had slipped my earbuds into my ears once again and was preparing for a quick but hard workout when I noticed a man running behind me. How I noticed him I am not sure. Sometimes you can just sense a presence around you. Sometimes that sensation is a good one, and others, like that day, they make your skin crawl.
The man had jeans and a leather jacket on. It was obvious that he wasn't out for a run. But he was jogging along behind me, increasing his pace until he was beside me. He started talking to me in Turkish. I told him that I do not understand Turkish. He continued with the most basic phrases- You do sports. Friend. Now, perhaps I would have found this conversation appropriate if he was dressed in jogging gear. Maybe he wanted a running partner. But it was quite obvious that he was headed for the metro and the only reason that he was running was to talk to me. I told him that someone was married (my Turkish had left my mind and I could not think of how to claim that I was married.) and tried to show him my ring, which I had unfortunately left of the bedside table the night before. He continued to run beside me, insisting that we should be friends. I shrugged and put my earbud back in, signaling that the conversation was over. He thought otherwise, reached around my head to my far ear and took the bud out, touching my cheek and shoulder and trying to pull me towards him when he returned his hand to neutral territory. He then looked at me with those big brown eyes- full of sex and playfulness- and made a clear motion of "me, you, kiss." I very firmly said no, and increased my pace, beyond what I could hold for very long. Thankfully I was to the metro turn and he was left behind at the bottom of a steep hill.
I did two laps of the central loop, trying to figure out what about the interaction bothered me so. I could tell that I was bothered because my chest was welling and I was short of breath, and I really didn't want to run anymore. My first reaction when I saw the man was fear, and that bothered me. For the most part in Istanbul I feel safe, and I like to think that I am safe, and yet my first reaction was fear. I found a certain unfairness in that reaction and I am not sure if the unfairness is to me as a woman, that I have to constantly consider my safety, or to Turkish men (or men in general) that I assume the worst from them. After the initial fear, but while I was still pumping with adrenaline my thoughts turned more logical. I thought of escape routes and whether I could outrun him, or overpower him, and whether anyone would hear and/or come if I screamed. All of these thoughts were before he even talked to me, and again, they are unfair both to me and to men. Once he began talking to me my thoughts changed. For a moment I was hopeful. I love interactions. I love friendships. Also, I felt the need to be friendly and encouraging of his interest in me. After all, it can be hard to approach someone that you don't know. But there was something in his speech and in his eyes that quickly ruined that interest and I started to become fearful again. Then he touched me- reached into my space without permission with what might have been a very innocent motion, and that fear became anger. I became rude and left.
I left the situation but the situation wouldn't leave me. It stuck in me. With each loop I continued to assess exit routes and the danger of running in the park. Was it worth the risk to be off the main road and away from cars? Was there really any risk? Usually there were construction workers in the park. Surely their presence assured my safety, or did it make things worse? In the end I cut my run short and decided that it was a form of social gaslighting. We talk about gaslighting as a current act imposed from one individual onto another, which it can be, but we rarely look at gaslighting as a social phenomenon. As a woman I am completely set up for gaslighting. I am constantly told that women over-react to simple things, dramatize events, and make things about themselves. If I had pushed the guy away surely the response would have been that physical force was not necessary as his action was obviously harmless. Even my rude response of, "No," was unmerrited as I couldn't really understand what he was saying and maybe he did just want to be friends. However, if I had done nothing and let things progress then it would be my fault if anything happened as I had obviously encouraged the interaction in a secluded place.
Running home I decided to change my route in order to avoid the stray dogs. I cut my run short by 5km and decided that enough was enough for one day. On the way home I debated whether or not I would write about it. It seems kind of pompous to write about it at all; to assume that the guy was even interested in my sex seems very egotistical. Yet somehow to keep silent and not write about it seems worse, because there is obviously an issue if a woman who is as strong, confident, and optimistic as I tend to be, can be frightened and put so off her balance by such a simple encounter in a park. I ran by the entrance of the park and the puppies were no longer there. I was disappointed, partly because the puppies had been cute and I wanted to see them up close again, but partly because the dogs were a violence that made sense to me. Everything was clear and strait forward in those flashing teeth, and I needed something simple that I could understand to settle my nerves. I decided that it is indeed a sad world when a woman would rather face a pack of stray dogs than a single man.

Fits in the Night

Last night my brain decided that it was time to whirl again. After two months of constant stimulation I finally had some time to relax. I was away from people, in a familiar bed, in the quiet of a place that I know. It felt peaceful. Except the peace came with a price. The release stimulated a bit of mania. I use mania too loosely. My brain swims. It runs. It fucking gallops. Is it "mania?" Maybe. Whatever it was I was happy that it had waited until we were back in Istanbul, away from weddings and relatives and such, to surface.

I wasn't exactly amused by it. In fact, I was rather bored and irritated by it. I suppose that I should clarify what exactly "it" was, but it is rather hard to describe. As long as I was stimulated I was fine. I could watch a movie and everything would feel normal, except that I was very sleepy and did not want to watch a movie. Then, as soon as I turned off my computer and tried to go to sleep my brain would not let me. I was gripped with a sense of impending doom. Anxiety? I felt like there was something I had forgotten to do, something important that I had left unfinished. I have had to dot so many i's in the past couple of months that it is a fair feeling to have. But it was beyond a normal irritation gnawing at my brain. It was a fear that bounced around and sank into my heart. I thought that maybe I should stay awake and write. It has been awhile since I have done a night of writing, but really I wanted to sleep. So I watched a couple of episodes of Friends, took a melatonin, curled up against my husband and tried to sleep.

It took awhile for the melatonin to kick in, and in that 15 minutes I lay there thinking that I really should try to describe what was happening to me. I remember thinking that it was funny because I can always recognize it as my "manic stage," now, and I can know when it is coming and how it will feel and yet it always feels new and different and unexpected. I remember thinking that was very important and that I should remember it and explore the concept in the morning. It is morning now and I can't really understand why I thought any of that was important. It was only fits in the night. Nothing real. Nothing solid. Nothing. 

Married Life

They say that things change when you get married, but they don't really say how. Too often the depiction of marriage centers on the cold feet of the wedding day. I will admit, that standing in a foot of snow my toes were a little icy, but I cannot relate to that gulping fear of commitment that represents my generation. In the days immediately following the wedding I remember thinking that the wedding didn't really change much. It was great to be with our friends and families, and it was great to see their support, but from the perch of an egoist I didn't really NEED the validation of the state, the church, or even my community, to give my relationship the permission to continue for eternity. In my heart Nikola and I have been "married" since we told each other that we would stay together through everything, forever. Laying in bed, wrapped up in the heat of fading fall there was an honesty that I thought could not be topped. The wedding was a treat and a formality. It was a time to share our decision with the world, but I didn't expect it to effect me like it did. (does).

First of all, I was overwhelmed by the love and support given to us by our friends and family. At times it was a bit stressful to be the center of attention, and to meet so many new people while trying to give attention to loved ones from different realms of my life, but it was completely worth it. Even though we didn't need the PERMISSION for our love, it is comforting to know that the support is there. From the generosity of our friends and family in making the wedding happen and the gifts we received to start our new life together, to the absolutely wonderful wishes that were given to us on the day of the wedding, I could not be happier. It gives me such warmth and confidence in my choice to stay in Bulgaria and start a family here. Knowing that if we have children they will grow up among such warm and caring people is absolutely priceless.

Secondly, things did change between Nikola and I. It is difficult to express the exact nature of the change, and it was completely unexpected. In fact, it didn't happen the minute that we exchanged vows, or said "I do." (Well, "Da") It came later, slowly, like a fire on a cold night, just sparks and hints at first and now quite enough to stay warm by. There has been a change in the way I release into his embrace. A change in his kisses. A change in my heart. I have never allowed myself to love this deeply, this completely, and this passionately. I was terrified of this depth, without ever admitting the fear. Now there is no fear, just an absolutely wonderful relaxation in the security of our relationship. It is indescribable.

So, the first thing most people ask me these days is, "How's married life?"

Well, it is no different from our previous life together, except it is, completely, and I love it.

A Tale of Two Worlds

Today I went to the American embassy in Sofia to get my paperwork processed in order to be legally able to marry in Bulgaria. When we drove up across the building and I saw the state seal, and the American flag flying, I got strangely excited. Peace Corps has been invited to several embassy events, but me trailing the usual antisocial baggage that I do, I did not attend. I did not expect to get such a little thrill from seeing the carefully enclosed ground that is, for all intents and purposes, an extension of my "homeland." It rippled through me, strait down to my belly. We parked, walked along the icy street and arrived at the door only 2 minutes late. I was antsy. My strong need to be on time, which kicks in when I am 1) doing official, legal, state business or 2) hanging out with Americans, kicked into overdrive as I was about to do official business among Americans. But, by the time we checked in, and had to wait for another five minutes outside of the security room, I had settled.
We went in. We were asked to remove our jackets and all things metal, and to leave any electronics at the front desk. After passing through a metal detector we were ushered by a security guard towards the citizen services building. At the front desk we were again asked our names and looked up on the computer. We were then sent to the cashier to pay the fee. I think I got some sort of discount for being in Peace Corps because the marriage form was supposed to be 75 dollars. I was going to pay in lev until I saw the exchange rate and the kind gentleman helping us suggested that we pay with an American credit card, which I had luckily brought with me. We then went to another desk where a man appeared to know what we needed and who we were and was very helpful answering questions about emigration and marriage. There was another five minutes of waiting while he prepared our document and then I met with a very nice, enthusiastic vice-consular to sign my document and get it stamped. In less than an hour I was back at the front desk, picking up my electronics and smiling from all of the warm congratulations.
After the American embassy we had to stop by the Bulgarian ministry of the exterior to get the document legalized for Bulgaria. Now, I realize that I should not compare the two, and that offices within the United States are not as nearly warm and efficient as what I experienced here. However, the difference between the two places was just too hilarious to not mention. We arrived at the ministry and we were greeted by a guard outside. When we explained what we were there for he began to explain our options for collection of our documents and told us that we would have to go to a post office to pay for the service and then return. However, he noticed a group of older women inside and instead ushered us inside. There he asked if any of the women (who I assume must have been notaries) had extra stamps that they could sell us. One did, and so we bought 20 lev worth of stamps to attach to our documents. We filled out a form and took it to the cashier but were told we would need more stamps to do a rush service on our document. We returned to the older women who provided us with more stamps and showed us how to properly attach them, and then looked over our forms to make sure we had checked the correct boxes. We then gave the form back, were given a receipt and told to return tomorrow.
Both places were exceptionally warm today. I think that doing paperwork for marriage is somehow more heartwarming than any other type of paperwork. However, the warmth at the two different places was somehow very different, and it is hard for me to touch why. It was something to do with formality but not necessarily about professionalism. Perhaps it was something to do with the modernism found in the American embassy contrasted with paying through stamps at the Bulgarian ministry.
Well, two countries down and now only one more country to get our status as legally married recognizable. Life is interesting these days. 

My Salvation

I used to be emo. Not simply emotional, but dramatic about it to the point that I could have cut off more than half the word and said it in a single exhaled monotone. I could have, if the word had been popular back in my day, but it wasn't, and so I didn't. I wasn't "goth." Well, not on any given day. There were twinges of black mesh, glitter, and leather collars that peppered my wardrobe, but it was not anything nearing a statement. I attended Paris, the RHPS. My friends were goth, for sure. I, as usual, kind of just was. I wasn't "was" in the apathetic way that most adults thought teenagers were. I "was" in a completely tender, overwhelmed, excited, bursting, awe-filled way that just forgot to conform to societal roles and labels. A little emo girl stuck in jeans and a t-shirt without any eye-liner. How tragic.

Looking back on my emo tendencies the event that rises as most potent took place when I was 20, living in Tucson. I was at a guy's house. I don't remember his name. Although he filled an interesting role in my pivoting life he, himself, wasn't particular important to me. I remember that he lived up north, off the freeway, in an apartment with a roommate. I don't remember how I met this guy, I don't remember how many times we hung out, or what we actually did. What I do remember, very clearly, was that his living room was dark. All the light was shut out even at mid day, and for some breakup, (his or mine, or maybe his roommate's) Evanescence, "My Imortal" was always playing in the background. Now, I still think that "My Imortal," is a great song. Beautiful voice, good composition etc. But back then I thought that it was more than great. I thought that it was IMPORTANT. I sat there, in that dark room that smelled of single boys, the three of us nursing broken hearts together, and I agreed that this song was the epiphany of the year. Even as I agreed I found it tediously overplayed by the boys, and I got up out of that room, into the bright sunlight and left. What I did later that day is a quite different story.

I have come a long way since thinking that Evanescence was IMPORTANT. I really thought that Istanbul was meant to be my salvation. I thought that I was destined to be dragged back into the divine comedy that is emo-land. I thought that I would tear and bleed, and rip at life.

Instead I made a choice. It was the best choice of my life. The drama is done, packed away for the days of nostalgic writing and moments of artistic inspiration. Instead I have bliss. Bliss and joy in many forms.

Forms of Bliss:
Running Bliss
Loving Bliss
Learning Bliss
Meditation Bliss
Religious contemplation Bliss
Swimming Bliss
Cooking Bliss
Eating Bliss
Sexual Bliss
Comfortable Bliss

Ahhhh... life is good. 

God is Love

I spent the weekend with my friend. Technically we were supposed to be having my hen party, but for me that basically means doing all of the things that I love doing as a single woman... wine, dancing, and long conversations... one of the questions fell to religion and spirituality, which is a conversation that I actually enjoy and do not get enough of since I left the bay area, which was a land of spiritual wanderers, floundering through ethics and philosophy, drowning in the possibility of their lives and decisions. In Arizona I fell into another type of contemplation, which lasted well enough, for enough years, and I still grew. But then I joined then peace corps and the growth was in a very subconscious, physical manner. I feel that I learned a lot about humanity, life, love, living, and the body in those two years, but I did not have many opportunities to orally contemplate religion and the meta-living of life. It was the physical understanding of sunshine and tomatoes, of language and interaction, that did not require process for achievement. But there were a couple of people who shared their perspectives on religion with me in a non-threatening, non-judgemental manner, which I appreciated.

My conversation with my friend this weekend made me realize just how much I will miss her when she heads back to the states, because she is one of the few people that I have in my life that is on a similar level of exploration as me. Whenever we talk I feel regenerated, and back on track in my life, as if she inspires me to be a better person who questions things but also actively lives the decisions that I have made with passion and conviction. This weekend we started talking about religion and somehow got to the topic of, "God is Love." It is not a conversation that comes up with many of my Christian friends in the manner of God being love. Usually it somehow becomes translated to, "God loves you," which is subtly different and yet very far from being the same thing. For the first time in YEARS I felt a rush of understanding and thrilling acceptance. God is Love. I could contemplate on that for years. Just one simple sentence inspires so much interpretation and thought.

God is Love.

It makes me feel small and insignificant and yet large and part of something. It seems to be a very important truth, if it is a truth, and worth investing some time and energy in. However, I do have one problem with that from the Christian perspective. If God is Love, then where exactly does the knowledge of good and evil fit as a sin? Because now knowledge is a good thing, and even Christians are encouraged to learn and process and seek knowledge about the world and their religion. So, once that original sin of disobedience was breached, was a decision made for all humanity? Is the knowledge not so much the sin as the disobedience? As in, humanity as a possibility made the choice to live in this kind of world where we would thirst and hunger for understanding, and so here we are, and now knowledge is necessary and not the sin? Was the sin just choice different of God's? It doesn't seem particularly loving. I wish that I had more time to contemplate these issues with my friend, but for now a quiet meditation on a slow rocking train will have to be enough.