Entry #59: Anniversaries

There are many different types of anniversaries, and most of us celebrate numerous ones over the years. Most of these are occasions that mark happier times, but some remind us of struggles and sadness over events we may or may not have had any control over.

Next week is one of those in the latter category for me. Annie and I only celebrated one anniversary together, marking the span of time where we not only were able to learn so much about each other, but to realize how right our relationship was from the very beginning. Back then, there was so much hate in the world, not only for who she was, but by extension, our relationship itself.

Virtually no one in my circle of life accepted her, nor the feelings we had for each other. For a straight white male to love and cherish a transgender woman of color was the ultimate insult to what we today call white privilege. In spite of all of that, we celebrated that first anniversary together, without others, in what we described as our normal.

Here it is now, thirteen years later, and quite honestly, although great strides in equality have been made, it is still not enough. Were Annie to still be with me, I am pretty confident we would still be facing the same hatred and disrespect, although it may not be as openly hostile as in that past period.

Marking the annual date of her passing is something I have chosen over the years to do in my own solitary mind space. Until recently, no one has even known where I disappear to on this day. I am just silent and invisible, with no desire to socialize or even engage in idle conversation with anyone. For most of these years, depending upon the weather, I will just find some solitary place out in nature and recall all of the happier times we enjoyed together.

But, this year will be different for me. My friend “A” not only knows the story, but she has read this entire blog as far as I can tell. In a shocking turn of events, recently, she asked me if I wanted to spend a good part of this day with her. She had concerns over me spending the day alone. My first thought was to immediately decline her invitation, but within minutes I texted her back to accept.

How could I not accept such an offer of kindness and personal generosity for the first time in all of these years, from someone who I trust implicitly, and has shown me nothing but empathy and caring?

I cannot wait for the date to arrive and we get together. I just hope that I am not in my usual morose anniversary mood, and spoil the great gift she is offering to me. Normally, I put on a happy face that hides my feelings, but with her, I cannot do that. When I smile in her presence, it is because my smile reveals that I am indeed happy to be with her, no matter what she may have in mind as a surprise for this day.

I am pretty confident that this will be the best anniversary of all of those marking this date, for with this simple invitation, she has turned the tide from sorrow into something more…

Entry #58: Human Touch

Human touch is one of the most important senses in a relationship. Humans are very sensory oriented and to go years without that experience is traumatic.

I returned to our hotel at a very late hour one night, to find Annie waiting up for me. I described my day as did she. Due to deadlines and employee problems, she was pretty stressed out, so I suggested that I give her a massage. She immediately declined while refusing to look at me, so I knew something was up. It took several minutes before she would admit that she had never had a massage and she refused me as a result of her fear of being touched by a male.

I explained that we had been together for quite some time now, and we touched each other all the time, yet she had never allowed herself to relax and enjoy such a thing where she was the object of my attention and had nothing to do in return. I told her to try and relax and all she had to do was say the word stop and it would be over. She reluctantly agreed, removed her clothes and laid down.

I began with her neck and shoulders. She was so stressed, that I could feel her muscles all knotted up. It took me over 30 minutes before I could feel her start to relax and soften the tenseness. I slowly worked my way down her back and it seemed like it took forever for her to finally relax. By the time I asked her to turn over, I realized she had drifted off to sleep.

 She turned over and made all kinds of little squeaks and sighs whenever I touched a new spot. Through it all, while she was on her back, her eyes never left mine. She knew she could trust me, and despite her fears and apprehension, she did trust me and enjoyed the whole experience. I never asked her to reciprocate, only to be calm and the object of my concentration.

Over time, we built on the experience in ways to find out what her body craved, and how I could make sure she received the loving touch I could give to her.

Next week will be thirteen years since I enjoyed the pleasure of feeling her body in my hands, and the smile on her face as a result of my attentions. I miss the feeling of her skin and the look of pleasure on her face. Human touch is a frail thing and a direct result of trust. I loved the feel of her body, the way she would hold my hand when we walked down the street or in nature, the way she would lay her head on my shoulder when she was happiest.

Human touch is frail and fleeting without trust. I wish I could experience those fleeting moments yet again. To find someone who trusts another enough to allow themselves the pleasure of human touch without the expectation of anything in return being required.

Entry #57: Power and Control

Control is the cornerstone of my existence. When Annie passed, I lost all control over my emotions and mental faculties. Over the past twelve plus years, I not only regained control, but managed to use my control to build walls around my emotions and feelings that are so formidable, that no one can see through to me.

My walls have kept everyone out, and kept the safety of my dark places intact. As a result, I share nothing with anyone in regards to my pain, my grief or the daily suffering I feel I need to endure in order to maintain my beautiful memories of Annie. This blog is the only place in the world where I have felt safe relating the bizarre thoughts that are a constant in my mind, wherever I go and in whatever I am doing.

The loss of control over what I think and what I say, is the stuff of nightmares for me. I could not and would not bend those walls in order to allow anyone else to see inside. Over these years, there have been numerous opportunities to make new friends, or deepen the friendships I have, and yet, I managed to control who I would allow to get close enough for a glimpse into what lies beneath the surface, and thereby, controlling the power that is so willing to strike at me at the slightest opportunity should I decide to share anything.

I have been confident in my ability to shut out and shut down any attempt to breach my walls. I have been comfortable in the fact that I maintain complete control over what I present to the world. Perhaps, my confidence was misplaced. With sudden swiftness, my walls were broken when I least expected it, and when I took my eye off the reason for having them at all.

Some months ago, I met someone, and we have become good friends. We do not see each other daily, at best once a week or so depending on our schedules. We sit and talk about many different subjects. I love spending these times with her, learning all about her past and her dreams for her future.

But…she scares me.

She scares me not by asking some of the questions I have forever relegated to the place where the answers cannot be revealed. She scares me, because when she asks, I answer. I never answer anyone, and yet, she has the power to allow me to go to the places I would never go to for anyone else. And that scares me, because it means I have lost the power to hide myself from her through my control mechanisms, and she now has the power to see me.

No one has “seen me” for almost thirteen years, and suddenly I am faced with the fact that I care for someone so much, that I am willing to reveal what is behind those walls. In one respect, she has given me a peace that has eluded me for all of these years. 

But, this peace comes with a price. Since she also reveals many things about her life before I met her, I find that I worry about her quite a bit. I worry about the pain she endured growing up, I worry about the obstacles thrown in her path that she has overcome, I worry about the opportunities she is being presented, because I want her to be able to seize them and use them for growth and happiness.

When I think about it, it appears I have given my power over to her. She only has to ask, to get a response. And that…means I have lost control over my power to hide. At least from her.

After all of these years of pain, I can say that I am comfortable in giving her my power. Without the power over my control, perhaps my healing can begin.

Entry #56: Yin and yang

In ancient philosophy, yin and yang is a concept of dualism, describing how seemingly opposite or contrary forces may actually be complementary, interconnects, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they may give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another. -Wikipedia.

Light and dark.

It can be argued that everything in life is a struggle between light and dark, and at times, it is not so much of a struggle as it is that of a duality of personalities, that while seeming to be different, may actually be two sides of the same force.

For the year that I had Annie, my life was filled with light. When she passed, the darkness took the place where the light once resided. Annie had her light and dark moments to be sure. We all have them, and yet Annie was a force that could push the dark moments away with her smile. Her skin color against mine, was like an aphrodisiac, and I made the most of every moment possible when I could enjoy that difference.

Once she was gone, there was no longer any light/dark interaction to enjoy. It seemed that everything now resided in the dark side of yin and yang.

For years now, my dreams were dominated by my memories of Annie, but recently, something changed. More and more often, someone else appears in my dreams in the moments before I awake. She has become my muse of sorts, regarding my writing. Our discussions do not seem to have any boundaries, as we ask each other personal questions that we are both willing to answer. Stories we both have kept locked up, now seem to have found a partner in discussion and empathy.

We seem to enjoy some version of yin and yang. Sure, we both have dark stories to tell, and by listening to each other, we can pull light out of those dark stories. The yin and yang, back and forth, have opened my mind to a place of peace that has evaded me for years.

When she is serious and relating her stories, I can observe her strength and when she moves to lighter topics, her smile will light up the room. As I listen and absorb her stories, I marvel at the melanin color of her skin, and wonder what it would look like to see her body against the whiteness of mine. Could the texture, feel as smooth as it looks?

Yin and yang. Light and dark. Melanin and white.

Entry #55: Silk

Annie and I were scheduled to meet up in Montreal one afternoon. I loved the old city, as that seemed to be the only place where Annie could let her guard down and just be herself. Another benefit of meeting there is Annie always managed to come up with some sort of surprise for me.

We were very cognizant of traveling in the winter time and managed to do a pretty good job of avoiding any delays, but this time mother nature caught us. My afternoon flight was cancelled due to weather, and by the end of the day, all that was left was a redeye, so that is what I ended up with.

Landing early in the morning, I looked to see if there was a message from Annie, but nothing. We had said our goodnights the previous evening and I was pretty sure she was still asleep, so I didn’t bother to call and wake her up.

As is our usual ritual, she had left a room key for me at the front desk, so I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and headed up. I did a pretty good job of being quiet as I let myself into the room, and left everything by the door so I wouldn’t make any noise.

And, there she was, sound asleep in the bed. I must have watched her for at least a half an hour. I could never get enough of watching her, as she was the most amazing person I have ever met. Something was different, yet I couldn’t quite put my finger on it for a few minutes, and then it dawned on me.

The sheets on the bed were not white as is usual. They were a darker color and Annie seemed to have melted into them. Being asian, her skin color was like a very light caramel color and it seemed that the fabric melded with her coloring in an amazing way.

She must have sensed that I was there, because suddenly her eyes opened and she smiled in the way only she could to get my total attention. She pulled back the sheet and asked me what I was waiting for, and she only had to ask one time. Turned out the sheets were silk and she had purchased them the day before for a surprise. This was the first time I had ever been in a bed with silk sheets and the feeling as so amazing. Silk sheets and the woman of your dreams. When I closed my eyes and moved my hands, I could not tell where the sheet ended and her skin began. It was as if she was one with the silk. It was a form of sensory overload and we made the most of it.

I don’t know what ever happened to those sheets. I wish that I had them now, and wonder if her scent would still be on them after all these years.

Entry #54: They Are Back

So, it’s been a couple of weeks since those three little words I wrote about, removed the dark cloud that always seems to follow me. At the time, I wondered how long that would last, and apparently I now have my answer.

Not long enough!

Last night, my mind recognized the fact that in 5 short weeks, I will be noting the thirteenth anniversary of Annie having left this world. Thirteen years of grief and guilt for having failed her in the only thing that mattered, by not being able to protect her from her own death.

As each day moves closer to that date, I struggle with what I might have done to change the outcome when I had the opportunity to do so. I struggle with those thoughts every day, because there is no answer for me. Questions without a resolution.

Logically, I know there was nothing I could have done to prevent her passing, but logic holds no solace for me. To face the fact that I could do nothing to change the outcome, is just not an acceptable premise. There must have been something, and yet, I cannot accept the fact that I had no power to produce a different result.

These thoughts have torn me apart for all of these years, and while I thought I might be able to now overcome them, I realize I was only fooling myself.

My three friends are back and all I can hope for, is that they have lost some of their power over me. As the date inexorably moves closer with each passing twenty-four hours, I dread the prospect of falling back into the darkness.

The darkness was a comforting and safe refuge from the prying eyes and judgmental actions of those who knew us. I have to wonder if that place is still my safe haven.

Entry #53: Rituals

We all have little rituals surrounding many of the things we do on a daily basis.

Annie and I were no exception. Over time, we developed certain rituals that also became special times which we shared with each other, that had profound meanings beyond the ritual.

One of our favorite rituals involved rain storms. Depending upon the time of year and the weather, we had two distinct rituals that we embraced whenever we found ourselves together in rainy circumstances.

If the weather, and also the rain was warm as it usually is in the summertime, we would throw on some not so special clothes and take long walks in the rain. If we were near a forest, it would be even better. Nothing beats walking in the rain in the forest holding hands with the person you love, listening to the birds and other animals as they enjoy the rain and the free baths.

However, if the weather and the rain was cold, we had an entirely different ritual that we would enjoy if we could take the day off from our routines.

On cold, rainy days, we would throw off our clothes and snuggle together in bed for most of the day.  We would take turns telling each other about our dreams of how our lives would progress together, and take turns pleasuring each other in every way we could think of. There were many days we never left the bed until it was dark and hunger forced us from our little nest.

So, this week there are several storms hitting us here on the west coast. These are cold weather storms with a lot of rain and wind. Not the kind of storms you can walk around in and enjoy.

In the intervening years since I lost Annie, I always try to go to the beach if it is warm out and the rain is warm, so I could sit in the sand, and stare out west as far as I could see. Further than I could ever see, is where Annie now lies.

But, this week, the storms are cold and unwelcoming. I left my bed so I could write this today, because there is no Annie for me to tell stories to or to pleasure, and the bed is a cold and unpleasant place for me now on cold stormy days.

It would be wonderful to find another person to share these storms with for a few hours. But…it is doubtful that will happen.

My memories of my time with Annie will have to suffice.

Entry #52: Words have consequences

“Words have consequences”…Albert Marrin

This is a quote that we all hear often, and yet, can it determine how we feel and react to life events?

For the last twelve years and ten months, I have been living with despair, grief, and depression over losing Annie. These things have been my daily companions, and over time, I grew to depend upon them in order to allow myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Everything else in my life was pushed aside in order for me to embrace these three friends.

Over the years, I have started and discarded several attempts at journaling my experience through writing, until I began to chronicle it all on this blog. So far, this one has staying power. I have shared it with no one who I actually know in person, for fear of their judgement and the inevitable hateful comments which I experienced first hand when Annie and I were together.

No one…until I met my friend “A”. I met her last year over another project, and something just clicked in my mind. I could see in her eyes, a person who not only became my muse in writing, but appeared to be someone I could trust with my blog. So it was that I gave her the link and she began to read it.

This past week, she finished reading it. I have to say I was afraid at what her comments to me might be upon finishing it. My fears were unfounded. She did not judge me, nor make any disparaging comments. She had nothing but empathy and positive things to say about both the writing and our friendship. Whew, that was a relief!

But, then she hit me with three words that changed everything. She said, “I love you”.

Not in a romantic sense, but in being the person I am. She could see me! 

I love her! For the first time in so many years, I have found someone who does not judge me for who I loved. Someone who is interested in the things that I write and have to say. Someone who is also willing to reveal her stories to me as well.

Over the ensuing few days, everything changed. I have slept better. My three friends…grief, despair and depression appear to have abandoned me, at least for now.

Yet, without them, what am I to do? What am I to write about now? I will never stop writing about Annie, but could this be the beginning of something new in journaling my days and experiences? Will I actually have anything more to say? Would anyone care or read my musings if I did?

I don’t yet have an answer to those questions. 

Three little words have such an impact. While I have stayed away due to covid, I am hoping I can see her again in the next few weeks to discuss her observations in person. To be able to actually look into her eyes and see her…

Time will tell if I have more to say.

Entry #51: The Closed Door

Over the years since Annie died, it was always in the back of my mind that I would travel to Thailand so that I could visit her final resting place. At times, I was almost obsessed with making the trip, but always found an excuse not to go. Admittedly, I was afraid for my own safety if I had to confront the reality of the place. All I hoped to accomplish was to be able to sit beside her and tell her of my love and all the ways I felt that I had failed in keeping her safe.

Not so long ago, I received an email notifying me that Annie’s mother had passed. I knew she was older and in poor health, but my denial of the fact that she would not live forever was in full force. We had not communicated much over the years, but when we did, she always managed to explain in her poor English how happy she was that Annie had found me.

My own indecision has now managed to accomplish what I could not mentally manage. With Annie’s mother now gone, there is no one left for me to contact, make any type of arrangements regarding a trip, and I will forever not know where she rests.

The open door that would allow me closure has now slammed shut forever and it was due to my own lack of courage. While I am still incapable of putting this all behind me, and moving forward to what, I don’t even know, I now face the reality of yet another thing that I have failed Annie with.

I was never indecisive when she was with me, yet, without her I am paralyzed with fear, darkness and an overwhelming dread of all the things I now think I should have done differently.

It is said that when one door closes, another opens. I do not see it that way. As I search through the dark corners of my mind for one remaining door for escape, I face the reality that there might not ever be another open door.

I may be stuck in this place for eternity.

Entry #50: Broken

Admitting to yourself that you are a fundamentally broken person is a hard reality to accept. Hiding that fact from others is so much easier.

When Annie died, I became a broken person. In eight short weeks, the thirteenth anniversary of her death will be upon me, and if anything, I am more broken than when she first died. I simply cannot get beyond the fact that she is gone forever.

With the pandemic raging, there is less and less human contact with others, and that works to my benefit. Without in person meetings, I no longer have to put on a smiling face and deny my grief to others by appearing as a normal person. Normal is long gone for me.

Only one other human, (my muse “A”) who I know personally, understands my broken status, and even she does not know the whole of it, since she has never read the entirety of this blog. There is no one else to confide these facts in, as I am distrustful of most others, due to being judged over and over again for who I decided to love when Annie and I were planning out our lives together. I know in today’s world there is more acceptance of who Annie was, but it is not good enough for me. There still remains too much hate in this world for her and what we had together.

I often debate with myself about moving somewhere new, and attempting to start over again, but in my heart, I know it will not make any difference. While new scenery may be enjoyable, and moving to a place where no one knows me would be refreshing, nothing in my grief will change. I will just drag my baggage wherever I wander.

I accept my broken status. No…I actually revel in it. For, were I to explore therapy or medication to conquer my darkness and grief and move on, my memories of Annie may diminish if those things were to be resolved. I can never allow those memories to fade away, as they are the most intimate part of me left.

The world is full of broken people, and I am just one of them. I may one day meet someone who would take the time to ask the right questions, and pierce my wall of silence, but I don’t hold out much hope. I will carry on in my own broken way, reliving all these memories Annie and I made together as long as I keep breathing.