Oh my Ex girlffriends

I'm fresh from a party at the Japanese house.

The Japanese house is a place i;ve been partying at for a few years. Two fellows I know celebrated their birthdays. Twenty-seven and Twenty-eight respectively. I always enjoyed these parties. Over the years I've come to associate a certain feeling with the house; its smells, the people and the random circumstances that happen. Tonight, I ran into my ex-girlfriend Yuko.

My story with Yuko is like many stories of "weird love". Yuko was Japanese, and my family had a grand time asking about her. My mother would always call her "yako" or "yuka" but never "yuko". I would always have to explain to family members her name, and explain that she wasn't chinese, but Japanese.

The funny thing about my relationship with Yuko, was that it was built on a foundation of intense emotion. She was reeling from the ravages of a bad former relationship and I was just ready to be with someone qualified. We played video games in her apartment, ate late night dinners at many restaurants and talked each other to sleep late at night. In the christmas of 2004, I went home for a two week vacation. When I went to the airport, she dropped me there, in her very comfortable Jetta. I gave her a warm kiss on the lips. "I'll see you in two weeks." I said.

This was not to be.

When I returned to the states, Yuko wasn't there. It would be a full nine months before she came back to the U.S. During that time, I saw my grandfather die, and one of my best friends killed himself. When Yuko, finally returned in August of 2005, she didn't want to hear from me, or talk to me. It had to do with a brief liaison I had with a girl she might have met, but I'll never know. It didn't matter.

This was the weekend of Exes. On Thursday I spent time with another ex of mine, and it was an interesting affair. When you are around a person you love, who treats you like a friend, its like walking into a maze knowing you will get lost. The lips that touched your body are now afraid to even say certain things. The hands that caressed you early in the morning are afraid to touch you, and even words and gestures are limited. Its like being a pariah of sorts, a leper even. It is like the very things that made you close are the same things that keep you apart.

At my friend's birthday party at the Japanese house, I was surprised to see Yuko. Her hair was different. It was a brown color.
"I did it just before I went to Paris." she said.

I talked to her when I was buzzed, and the alcohol betrayed me. I spoke about things I had been doing over the last two years since we spoke, and for a while it seemed like she actually wanted to speak to me. "We should hang out sometime." I said. She nodded, and then when I told her I didn't have her number, she told me to e-mail her. That was a sign that it made no sense.

My other ex, who I saw on Thursday wasn't in the same boat, but it was almost the same thing. We took pictures and it was almost uncomfortable for her to put her hand around my waist. Whenever I spoke to her, certain expressions were stilted and certain things were never said. It is the conundrum of loving someone when they can't reciprocate. It is the ultimate representation of unrequited anythings.

It doesn't bother me that Yuko doesn't' want to see me. I haven't seen or spoken to her in almost three years. Whatever love or affections I had for her have dissipated into that place where my dead grandfather rests, and where the soul of one of my best friends lies. One can't help but remember how a person loves you.

You remember holding their hands as you walk down a nameless street, feeling blissful in each other's company. You kiss and talk about random things while eating dinner in a nameless cafe. You make love looking into each other's eyes, forgetting the world as your bodies caress each other.


These are the things that immediately spring into your mind when you see an ex. Does she think about the same things? I dont' know. It doesn't really matter. What is done is done. The past is the past.

Whatever love I have for someone will always remain within me, but I will never try to force their hand. I won't make petulant requests for their company, nor will I try to prove myself in some extreme manner. Rather, I will hold on to the notion that I was loved and that I was appreciated at some point in time. That means that in the future, someone else can love me and be affectionate towards me.

I'm twenty-six years old, and I'm still growing up. Fate itself seems to be teaching me a lesson, putting two girls I love a few feet in front of me, almost teasing me and taunting me. It is as if fate is saying that I am looking at the past, an unrealized ideal that I cannot comprehend, and old situation that has beauty within that I can no longer touch, or sense. Fate is telling me thatI had something wonderful, but now, I have no more.

The party was fine, with a mixture of drinks, interesting people and good music. But what am I left with after this weekend? A dull rememberance of the beauty of my past? Or am I looking forward to the unseen riches of the future?

I don't know.

I can't forget the girls i've loved, or the reasons why. When Yuko disappeared for nine months, the last thing I remember her telling me was that doctors found a microscopic cancer cell in her uterus. I was stressed out for months worrying about her, then I gave up. I had to let go.

With my other ex, I realized I loved her in a way that made me feel almost crippled. I wanted to hear her laugh, I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to smell and touch her. I didn't need her to tell me anything. Just seeing her was enough. Hearing her voice talk to me was more meaningful than any massage, or any kiss. But she wasn't there. She was far away, thousands of miles away.

So what have I learned?

I've learned that you don't always get what you want. You don't always understand the meanings behind what life throws at your. But at least you know that you loved, you lived, you existed. Whether or not your ex doesn't have it in her to kiss you anymore, or she can't stomach spending time with you because of a slew of reasons she created, it doen'st matter. I hold within myself the knowledge that I have loved, I have given, I have lived.

In the end, that's probably all there is, isn't it?


Twenty-six and counting. Cheers to a wonderful life.