Tag: love

Entry #72: My New Friend

Recently, I had the opportunity to travel from my home and sleep in a strange bed. It was there that I have found a new friend. It was a nice bed…very comfortable and spacious.

Once I got into the bed however, I found a human sized pillow along with a note explaining that this pillow was meant to be hugged when sleeping. Well, of course, I had to try it and it brought back so many memories of Annie.

One of the many things Annie and I loved to do was to just lay in bed, all stretched out hugging each other with nothing between us. It wasn’t just about making love or having sex. It was the comfort we felt with each other in the naked state.

When our schedules were not filled with meetings or clients, we took every opportunity to do this together, even during the day time. Annie would purr and push her body back against me as I hugged and enveloped her. Her actions told me that she felt safe in this bed with me and that in turn made me so happy. The fact that this action provided her with a sense of security was overwhelming in some sense.

Well, Annie isn’t here any longer, and yet, this simple pillow helped me to re live all of these memories of those intimate moments of trust and safety with her.

I don’t seek out another to share these memories or even to make new ones. People are so disappointing to me on so many levels. It has been frustrating to say the least and that is why I choose to not even try any more.

But…I do have a new friend now. I think I will purchase one of these pillows. The feeling of serenity it gives me is indescribable, and I don’t have to worry about being judged by another human who does not even attempt to understand my feelings or thoughts.

Entry #66: Losing My Mind

It has been thirteen years, three months and eight days since Annie passed from this world. She has been with me in spirit every day, and my love for her has never waned. Often, I think of the day when I will join her wherever she is.

Mindful of how others might perceive my grief, I have managed to prevent those thoughts and feelings from seeing the light of day when others could also see them. I have become an expert at hiding myself.

Yet, my mind has managed to turn on me. While I know in my heart, I will never give up on the memory of Annie, I seem to have another woman break into my thoughts more frequently than I could have predicted. My friend I have written about a few times has become an important part of my life and thoughts, even though we do not see each other as often as we have in the past.

It is a platonic friendship, at least at this point. We have never shared a romantic embrace, kiss or anything like that. And though these things have never happened in real life, they occur more frequently to me in my dreams.

For the last two days, I have been bedridden with illness and there is where my mind decided to attack me. I may have been delusional in my illness, but I prefer to think of it as a harbinger of possibilities, even though the universe will not give that to me.

You see, she appeared to me at my bedside yesterday. I felt something take hold of my foot and when I turned, there she was. I watched as she shed her clothing and stood before me as she pulled back the blanket and joined me in bed. The visual of her beautiful, nude, melanin body against me with her braids covering our heads like a curtain, was such a rush that I had a difficult time breathing. She has shared quite a bit of her damaged journey in growing up, and I knew in that instance, I finally had the opportunity to show her how a man could not abuse her, but treat her with physical love.

And then a neighborhood dog barked, my eyes flew open, only to find the bed empty next to me. It was all a dream.

So close. So close to showing her a loving experience. 

I must be losing my mind when my dreams are more real than the reality of my life.

Entry #65: Stay or Go

Writing this blog has never been easy. Reconstructing all my memories of Annie and the life we experienced together during the short year we had each other has been heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time. Make sense?

Until this past week, I have shared this blog with only two other people that I know in person. From them, I receive only respect and encouragement to keep writing and express myself in the only way I can, as I am not an eloquent speaker.

This week, I shared it with a third person. Someone whom I have known for 6-8 years in social settings, always seemed like an open minded person. We discuss many topics, and I have been  supportive of her struggles during Covid, as that is what a friend does.

Sharing this with her was a terrible mistake. A side of her came out that I never knew existed. Rather than give me understanding and empathy over the words I write, I received hate, bigotry and disrespect. After reading most, if not all ( I could tell by her comments), she decided to die on the white privilege hill of her own making.

To paraphrase, since I never had the thought to record her comments, she could not understand why I would ever love an Asian (American) like Annie. I wasn’t sure if she was taking issue with Annie being Asian or transgender, or both. To top it off, she took issue of my writing about my feelings for my black friend. She wanted to know why I couldn’t simply find a white woman.

Well, she is now gone from my life and I have no regrets about it. How dare she comment on who I loved back then, and who I have feelings for now.

The hate and comments I endured during my time with Annie was common back then, even though I knew nothing of it until Annie and I became a thing. It was a constant worry for us wherever we went…would she be safe…could I keep her safe…constant vigilance as to who was around us at any time or place. It was exhausting to fear violence that could erupt without warning.

I thought that was behind me after all these years, but with what has happened in this country with the murders of black folks, and the terrorizing of transgender POC, I realize that this country is no better off than it was back then. Now, when I go out in public with my friend who is black, will my whiteness bring on trouble for her as well? Must I scrutinize every person that comes close to us when we are in public?

I have no solution to this dilemma, and I absolutely refuse to give up not only my friendship, nor my feelings for her. I will fight the haters wherever I find them. Who I choose to love and be seen with is no one’s business and I will make that crystal clear to anyone who gets in my way.

I waffled back and forth as to whether I would delete this blog. Yet, I find that I cannot let the actions of bigots deter me living the truth of who I love and care for.

If someone has issues with me writing about my relationships and friendships with women of color who may be transgender or cis, then just get over yourself and stay off my lawn.

I do not, nor will I welcome you into my life.

So, if you have read this far, just know that I will keep on writing about the women who have made such an impact on my life. This is not only my truth…it is their’s as well.

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 #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.

Entry #39: 12 Years

In  just 10 days, the anniversary of Annie’s passing will be upon me.

I find it impossible to face the fact that it has been so long. Not a day goes by that I do not think about her. The most mundane of things I observe at any given time will make me think of sharing what I am seeing at the moment.

I have read so many articles on grief and moving on, that at times my head spins. The hard truth of the matter is, I cannot move on. One result of not being able to deal with her death, is the fact that I gave up drinking alcohol in any form.

Failure to drink alcoholic beverages has managed to keep most of my demons at bay, except in the rare occasion where I forget and actually take a drink when out with friends. It only takes one. One drink and the depression and darkness overwhelms me and all I can think of is Annie, even while still being among other people. Immediately, my demeanor changes and I must find a way to graciously make an exit. When this darkness roars back, I am in no mood to engage with anyone.

Twelve years without her. Twelve years without intimacy because I am simply afraid that nothing and no one can ever replace what we had together. How could I ever share the baggage I carry with anyone else? Would anyone else care? Would anyone else not run in the other direction, should they find out? My silence, my darkness I find to be the safest of places.

Twelve years without her has made me into a different person. I don’t enjoy large crowds and most of the time I am quite content to be solitary and alone with my thoughts. I listen more than I speak, and I suppose most people think of me as rather indifferent due to my lack of engagement in what I perceive to be inane conversation. Just another piece of baggage I carry with me.

As the date gets closer, I will close myself off to more and more people. It is just what I do. Right now I will be thinking of her and make plans to visit one of the favorite places we shared together. Spending the day in one of her favorite places won’t eliminate my funk, but it will grant me a few hours of pleasure, just by reliving our mutual love for that place.

Many writers and other people just say to move on and get over it when dealing with this type of grief. In my case, the fact is I will never be able to get over it. I will never be able to get over the fact that Annie died without being able to experience what she worked her whole life to achieve. She was cheated out of the love that I have for her and the life we would have made together. In a world filled with hatred and dismissal of who she was, we had our own little bubble of safety and love that provided her and therefore myself with a peace that is lacking in the world even after all these years.

So here I wait for the anniversary of her death yet again, and I wonder how many more anniversaries I will see before I am able to join her.

Entry #38: Memories

Sometimes an every day observation can become a trigger of memories from the past.

Recently, I was out and about and happened to glance at a passing metro bus.

There was a young couple I could see through the window and it brought me back to a time when I had my first girl friend.

At the time, I was 15 and she was sixteen. I was a transfer student into a new school and knew no one. By the luck of the draw I entered into a biology class and was assigned a table and partner. 

I don’t think I grew up in a bubble, but the fact is that everyone I knew and saw at school was white. I didn’t know or have any non-white friends. Not purposely, but that’s where I lived.

So I was quite surprised to be paired up with an African American girl. As it turned out, we both hated the class and neither of us could grasp what the hell we were supposed to learn. 

She made the funniest faces constantly during class. Well, we hit it off and became friends. More than friends. I would walk her to home and school and we began to spend all our free time together. Within a few weeks we were inseparable.

We were young and naive and thought we were in love.  There were many trips around town on the bus together as neither of us were old enough to drive.

We loved to hang out at the beach and kiss and make out everywhere we went. This lasted well into the next  school year.

Laura was a petite little thing and while the teenage hormones raged in both of us, she never let me get past the heavy kissing part. I didn’t care, because all I wanted to do was be with her as many hours of the day as possible.

She never brought me to her house, nor did I bring her to mine.

A mixed race couple was taboo in those days and we knew neither of our families would approve.

So it happened one day that I went to meet her before school and she didn’t come out. No one answered the door. Not the next day or the next either. I showed up on the fourth day and was pounding on the door when a neighbor lady asked what I was doing there. I told her I was there to see Laura. The lady said matter of fact, they moved three days ago.

I was stunned and frantic. How could she just leave like that? Well, we had no cell phones, computers or Internet back then so it was impossible for me to find out what happened or where she had gone. She was just gone.

I would not see or hear from her again for over forty years.

When I met Annie I was so confused, I tried to do a little research and began writing a blog about our shared experiences. It became an outlet for me and Annie enjoyed reading it and then we tried to dissect everything we were experiencing. When Annie died, I decided that I could no longer look at all the things I had written and had shared with her. There was no longer any joy in those words.

It was quite a shock then, to receive an email from the blog only days before I intended to delete it all, from someone who claimed to be Laura from my high school days. Of course, I did not believe her for a minute, but in follow up emails, she told me things that in fact only she would know. So we began to correspond.

I had so many questions. Among them was, why was she reading my blog at all?  She said she had stumbled across it when doing some other reading, and after reading it all, she had a feeling it was written by me so she reached out.

Turns out, she was as lost as I was over her leaving. In fact, her father had seen us together more than once, and had decided without telling her that the family would move rather than let us keep seeing each other. I just could not understand and finally she admitted to me the reason. Her father feared for her safety and refused to believe I was a decent person. I continued to ask why and finally she admitted that she was transgender and knew this about herself for years before she met me. Not only did her parents not know what to do with that information, they tried to hide her away from anyone they did not know personally.

After they moved, within months she ran away. Eventually, she ended up in England, finished her education and began a career. Here it was forty plus years later and she has a successful career and had been living in Japan for over a decade. Laura said she is happy with her life and the choices she has made, is still single and has no desire to ever come back to this country. But, she said, she would love to meet me sometime. I said that would be difficult as I never travel to Japan.

Laura said there might be a solution. She was scheduled to speak at a conference in Canada in a couple of months, and would I be interested in meeting there? Once she gave me the dates, I could see I had some free days from the tour and agreed to meet her there.

Our visit was so good. She is still as petite as she was in high school and just as beautiful, although with a few more wrinkles like the rest of us. We talked for hours, and in the end I was so happy that she found me before I could delete the blog. I told her all about Annie and she already knew most of it from the blog I wrote.

We have stayed in touch since she went back to Japan. She really wants me to visit there. She said once I see it for myself, I would understand what peace and beauty there is in that country, and why she will never leave to live anywhere else. One day, perhaps I will take her up on her offer.

She is happy in who she is, has found acceptance there, and her life is so much more in tune to nature and with peace. I could use some of that myself.

I guess I am glad to have seen that couple on the bus, because some memories are from a better time that might be past, but still a part of ourselves.

Entry #37: Grief

So often I sit and enjoy the beauty of nature and the city around me, only to have my mind turn to darkness and grief.

Grief, because I can no longer share the beauty I see with Annie. The anxiety  overwhelms me and everything I do.

During these times, I desperately want to travel to Thailand to visit her final resting place.

Yet, I am terrified of making that trip, because once I see her final resting place I fear for what I would do to allow me to stay with her forever.

This is my normal state of mind, and it is not a good place to be.