My girlfriend did it to me again! Here I am, at home waiting and wondering where she is - again, getting more furious by the minute. Doesn't she know that I hate waiting for anyone? Doesn't she know that it's a blatant act of disrespect to me when she's late, especially late with no explanation? How dare she do this to me! "I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired!" This is it. I'm gon'na throw in the towel.
Besides, I have no trouble finding new girlfriends. It's easy for me. Just turn on the charm, flash a smile, feign shyness, mimic body language, maneuver into some instantly bonding (and surprisingly intimate) conversation, listen intently, and presto-chango, a new lover is queued.
It never fails. As soon as the body language is reciprocated, I know I've found my next potential romance.
It's just that...well, I really love my girlfriend and I always miss her so badly when we're apart.
I've been worried, angry, lonely, and depressed for the last few hours. Why am I feeling so crappy? Why do these situations (being left alone, feeling neglected, and unappreciated) always bring out the worst in me?
Is it because of my past?
From early adolescence, starting relationships was a piece of cake. I was an athletic, tanned Asian growing up in the land where brown skin and a fit body were (and still are) hot commodities - the United States.
But sustaining relationships was always a big challenge for me. Sooner or later, the grass always seemed greener.
I had the ability to be the ultimate Shape-Shifter. Like a chameleon, I would change personalities, demeanors, languages, and sometimes, appearances at will to fit into any social situation - or appeal to any particular feminine appetite.
In romance, I'd played - no, I'd "been" - all the roles (e.g., the hopeless romantic, the loyal best friend/lover, the playboy, the "angry at the world" bad boy, the traditional husband, the mystery man, the "open book," the intellectual, the artist, the athlete, the businessman, etc.). You name the type and I could produce an award-winning facsimile. And with every new relationship I had learned (and became) "the man of her dreams."
But none of these roles could sustain a marriage and/or relationship for any substantial length of time.
Puzzling. Why couldn't I just be "happy" in a long-term relationship? I thought I did everything right. I'd checked all the required blocks; having almost all the qualifications to be any woman's "catch of the century."
Initially, in every relationship, getting to know and explore a new woman's likes and dislikes was always an exciting journey for me. And the "lovey, dovey" stage was especially delicious (i.e., the sparkle in her eyes, the gentle hand squeezes, the head on the shoulder, the sweet half-smiles, and the endless other intimacies between two lovers). The new love would change me differently for the better with each new, unique relationship.
To be honest, I guess I loved being in love - kind of a "love addict," teetering on the fine line that separates romance and chivalry from the ugly practices of sexual predators.
Don't get me wrong. Through the years I have committed almost every adulthood faux pas possible. I've been married three times, divorced three times, and honestly can't count how many relationships I've had in between.
Of course, there was always a "rationale and justifiable" reason for each break-up (e.g., too much time working away from home, infidelity, chronic patterns of neglect, loneliness, boredom, lies, financial irresponsibility, etc.).
And in every case, I always ended up looking like the "good guy," the kind-hearted and sacrificing soul with the misfortune of getting matched with the wrong woman.
But after all these years and relationships, my own pattern was emerging. Then it dawned on me. Could it be that I'm the cause of all these relationship failures?
After my military career ended in retirement, a new life began. Or so I thought...
Until now, I've never stepped outside my own experience and tried to observe the current situation. I'm alone. I've got a lot of time. Why don't I finally explore the real motivations, feelings, and fears behind my misery?
Hell, thinking about these things quickly gives me a headache. I wonder if there's any beer in the fridge? No, I'd only get angry and depressed if I started drinking in this bewildered state.
Oh screw it, just a couple beers to relax......
.....Okay, I've inhaled a six-pack in the last two hours and what did it help? I'm just now getting over another cycle of uncontrollable rage, depression, loneliness, and tears. I'm really fed up with this. Why do I feel so bad?
I remember my childhood and it hurts.
I remember always being out of place in school (too young, too smart, too Asian, and so very lonely). Racism was alive and well in New England during the 1960's. And the discrimination in the Southern Florida of the early 1970's was worse. I was either ridiculed for my slanted eyes, or brown skin; or simply ignored, "invisible" - grey in a "black and white" world.
And I was fat. Not just chubby or baby-fat cute, I was fat.
I blamed my parents.
In Asia, a fat child was a status symbol, a testimony to the assumed wealth of his parents, and looked upon favorably by all. But in the United States, fat children are stereotyped as being lazy, cowardly, comical, and/or stupid.
My parents just didn't get it. They acted like they didn't care that I was ridiculed daily. I can't count how many times I cried over being - as my mother would say - "husky." In fact, I can still remember dreading each new season of shopping for school clothes. I had to buy "husky" sizes. I was so ashamed that I would keep looking around the store to see if any of my friends were around before I went to the dressing rooms.
It wasn't until I was nine or ten years old that I rebelled. I refused to eat whatever my parents made for dinner, choosing to prepare my own meals.
Of course, this led to a life-long battle over food choices with my parents. I'm sure I hurt their feelings many times. But I just couldn't stand being the brunt of all the fat jokes at school and other social situations.
Then I discovered sports and fitness. I played tennis for 5-6 hours a day during my summer break. When I went back to school, half of my friends didn't recognize me! I literally went from the nice, funny, fat kid to the kid that the girls in school would fawn over.
The girls, oh the girls! I'd never gotten so much attention before. They would sprint down alternate hallways or "accidentally" drop their books near me just to talk to me. It was quite a big change to get used to.
Then another neat thing happened. The years I spent learning on my own paid off. I was placed in the smart kid's "Gifted Programs."
Funny story. One day, after I got in trouble for the umpteenth time in school, my father told me I was going to a "special class" to meet my "special" needs. I thought I was going to the class for dumb kids. When I showed up for the Gifted Programs class, I was sure it was for stupid kids. Most of the kids looked like geeks or retards. It wasn't until the teacher approached me and explained the situation that I realized that all those weird-looking kids were brainiacs.
So there I was, popular with the girls, a jock, and a geek. Perversely, I decided to complete my repertoire of roles and characters and befriended a lot of acid rock, pothead friends. Surprisingly, no one batted an eye as I hung out with one group one week; then socialized with a totally different group during the next.
Sports, especially individual sports made me happy. I liked the idea of winning or losing by my own hand. I didn't like to play sports where the outcome relied too much on other people.
My prowess on the tennis court resulted in a lot of praise. I skipped the novice stage, going from beginner to tournament player in less than 8 months - all without the aid of lessons. I was self taught. Like everything else I considered important in my life (i.e., languages, art, science, psychology, relationships, etc.), I learned better and faster by teaching myself.
Soon I had garnered some sponsorship from a couple of local and national tennis stores. They would give me free tennis rackets, shoes, and clothes - as long as I kept my USTA (United States Tennis Association) State rankings high enough.
That year, I call it my "tennis year," I just knew that my family would get me something related to my new-found athletic passion for Christmas. On Christmas day, I eagerly opened each Christmas gift.
But with each present, I realized that my parents didn't have a clue what made me happy. I got clothes. I got socks. I got underwear. I got school supplies. Everything I got from my parents was totally unrelated to anything that I remotely liked, especially tennis.
My heart sank lower and lower as I reached the end of the small pile of Christmas gifts. The last gift I unwrapped was from my older sister. We had always been close. And after this Christmas we would be much closer.
The rectangular box looked like all the rest of the boxes containing a shirt or pants. I didn't open it with any enthusiasm. But then I saw what was inside. Framed behind a plastic front cover was a set of wrist bands and a headband, the kind I wore to keep sweat from my tennis racket grip and eyes when I played tennis. That's when I felt like my sister was the only person in my family (and the world) that loved me enough to know what I was all about.
A rush of bad feelings overwhelmed me. I spent the rest of the day hidden in the guest room's closet because I didn't want anyone to see me convulsing with waves of uncontrollable tears.
I hated Christmas time for the next 21 years. It wasn't until my second marriage that I learned to feel good about Christmas. My second wife went all out during the holiday season (e.g., Christmas lights on the house, baking cookies, dinner parties, Santa Claus photos for the kids, etc.). Her infectious joy during Christmas and New Year's slowly taught me how to enjoy a little of the festive cheer.
Spending most of my life serving in the military in Asia has made it easier to deal with Christmas because most Asian countries aren't Christian.
Another hurt?
Now I'm thinking about when I finally got my driver's license. I was so excited. I was driven by my sister to the DMV examining facility. I was supposed to call her when I was finished for a ride/drive back home.
"After today, I won't have to beg for a ride from my parents or sister," I thought.
I was totally prepared. The cursory physical exam, written exam, and road test was a breeze. In a couple of short hours, I was the proud owner of my first Driver's License. I could almost see the look on my girlfriend's face when I drove up to her house that night for our movie date.
I called my sister. No answer. During the next 3 ½ hours I alternated calling my sister and my parents. If anyone answered, the responses were the same, "...too busy to pick you up."
Alone, neglected, disappointed, and hurt again.
Screw it. I quit calling and jogged (in my jeans and Sketcher school shoes) the 3 miles home, getting more furious with each step. By the time I got home, it was dark. Everyone was already home!
What a raw deal. It was supposed to be a special, happy day for me. Getting my first Driver's License was a major accomplishment in my life; but no one even bothered to pick me up from the DMV facility!
I entered the house and kept my composure just long enough to nonchalantly say that everything went well.
Then I went to my room, grabbed a pillow from my bed and crouched in the corner of my closet. In the darkness of my closet, I screamed and cried into my pillow for the next two hours.
When my Mom knocked on my door to come to dinner, I told her I wasn't hungry, too tired, and needed to take a nap.
It was then that I realized that when it came to anything important to me, I couldn't really count on anyone - not even my sister. It was then that I vowed to prevent these situations from ever happening again by relying solely on myself. And from that point on, my natural independence and self-reliance became a fierce obsession.
I remember calling my girlfriend and canceling the movie date for that night. I told her I was sick. She believed me because my voice was so hoarse and my nose was still runny from the hours of violent crying.
Okay, enough reminiscing.
I've got to get back in control. There's got to be something I can do right now.
No more tears. Its time to DO SOMETHING. It's time to stop wasting any more time and energy.
I'm gon'na go online. Yeah, that's it, I'll Google the words: "Frustration, Anger, Jealousy, Sadness, and Depression."......
......What's up with this? In just about every article and reference (and there's hundreds on each subject), the word "forgiveness" keeps popping up as the recommended step toward overcoming sadness and healing.
Forgiveness? Why? I'm the one that's in the "right."
She (my girlfriend) is the one that is "wrong," right? She is the one who should be apologizing to me! Why do I always seem to get myself in this kind of predicament?
Do I really need to learn how to forgive?
Uh-oh, another wave of self-pity is ready and waiting to engulf me again.
Maintain, maintain, maintain control...I need to stay focused. I need to quickly understand something about this "forgiveness" thing.
Let's see. Article after article explains that my anger, frustration, sadness, and loneliness IS OF MY OWN DOING?
Keep reading. Huh? I have the power to learn from my present situation and grow from it? Really?
What a concept.
So, according to all the experts, regardless of who is right or wrong, without forgiveness, I'm the only one suffering! That sucks. It's like that old saying: What's more important; being right or being happy?
For my own survival, I guess I must forgive; not for anyone else, BUT FOR ME. If I don't forgive my girlfriend (or anyone else that has wronged me in the past), I'm allowing another person to control me. What's the use of harboring anger, resentment, or jealousy? The only person I'm hurting is myself. Besides, anyone who has wronged me in the past would continue on with normal life regardless of how I felt.
The past is past. Why am I letting myself hurt now from something that is over, in the past?
It's like that story about the two traveling monks. The two monks were supposed to avoid all intimate encounters with the opposite sex. As they came up to a stream, they see a beautiful princess in traditional royal attire. Apparently, she was alone; running away from an abusive suitor that her parents had promised her to.
There were no bridges, boats, or rafts at the stream. The only way to get across the muddy waters was to wade through the muck.
The two monks approached the princess. After assessing the situation, the older monk humbly offered the princess a piggy-back ride across the stream. The other monk watched in horror as his friend breached the "no contact with the opposite sex" rule.
After reaching the other side, the older monk bent down and gently let the princess dismount. The princess thanked the monk for the help and offered him a few gold coins. The monk declined the offer; saying that the money would be better spent helping her get away from danger and a life of unhappiness.
For miles (and hours) the two monks walked in silence.
Suddenly, the younger monk blurted out, "You know we're not supposed to touch women! Why did you do it?"
The older monk turned to the young monk and just said, "Friend, I made a choice; acted on the best choice I could think of, then I put the princess down on the other side of the stream - many hours and many miles ago. WHY ARE YOU STILL CARRYING HER?"
Why am I still carrying past hurt(s) into the present?
It's time to do something to make me feel better now.
Hmmm... interesting. Contrary to popular belief, I can forgive silently, remotely; that is, it's not necessary to physically meet and say "I forgive you" to all the people I think should be forgiven in my life.
What have I got to lose? Here goes.
"I now forgive. I quietly and sincerely forgive all the people I have allowed to hurt me in the past. I do this for me, not for the wrongdoers."
Jeez, this feels weird. It's hard to do. I'm so used to carrying around my own, custom-made, invisible 65 pound backpack full of bad memories. It's so familiar and so difficult to let go - no matter what my rational mind shouts .
I just have to let go. I can't move forward until I let go of where I am now.
"I now let go. I give myself the gift of forgiveness now. I forgive myself for being less that I'm capable of being. I forgive everyone else. I now know that everybody (myself included) is simply doing the best that they can with the knowledge and experience they have."
Thinking back on my "Crying Christmas," I realize that my parents did what they thought was best. They were old-world Asian. They didn't believe in wasting precious work or study time on sports, art, music, or anything that modern Americans consider recreation for "re-creation."
My parents came from a poor background, so all they believed in was school and work. It wasn't until they became wealthy and somewhat "Americanized" did they begin to indulge in leisure activities.
I forgive them. In retrospect, I should've been grateful for having parents that could buy and give me Christmas presents while other children around the world had no food or shoes.
And I forgive myself for continuing to react like a hurt pre-adolescent whenever someone doesn't know what I like. No one, however close he or she may be, can be expected to read my mind.
It's my responsibility to express my likes and dislikes clearly until they are understood to those close to me. I also have to accept that I will frequently meet with disagreements - and it's okay.
It can always be different, better.
I'm still fiercely independent. But it's different now. Understanding a little about its foundation and contributing factors has taken the desperate edginess away. It's a personal choice to be independent; not an unconscious, uncontrollable obsession.
We make choices. We act on the best choices we can think of. But unlike the monk, many of us carry things, heavy things, around with us from the past.
It's over. Get over it.
"It's over. I choose to forgive. I have vividly re-experienced some past hurts buried in my psyche. I gave them their own space to be. I allowed them to run their due course. They are done. They can now move on. I let them go now.
The thought of them pass easily, unharassed through my mind. They evoke no strong feelings. I can now recall them as an observer, not a participant now. No more bad feelings, no more drama thinking about them. I feel so much lighter now.
I refuse to allow past feelings of anger, resentment, and betrayal to affect my present (and future) happiness. I'm over it."
What's that sound? Oh, it's my mobile phone SMS ringtone.
Thank God, it's my girlfriend: "Darling, I'm sorry. Be home soon. Miss you. Love, Kai"...
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