How I can relate to HER

This is a post I started in March 2014 about the movie HER that I went to watch in the cinema in Holland, on my own, after having just.. you know what, I'll let the opening paragraph speak for itself. That's as far as I got.

 

[So somewhere between all the chaos that was my exchange semester and trying to reintegrate into my beloved home university here in Maastricht, me and the then Boyfriend managed to meet up for about 2 weeks and get engaged.]

 

I'm not entirely sure whether I was still deluding myself about not hating Maastricht with every fiber of my being, but maybe it was also densely disguised sarcasm. Who can tell. 

 

The real irony of this post that never got written is that I also would not know how to relate to her. I tried, for quite a number of years to be her. Not the AI from the creepily well done movie HER. I actually totally get why she ended up with polyamory and have ended up there myself. No, like, with the concept of being her, or she/her if you will.

My other drafts were more or less complete, but this one was as incomplete as my ultimate attempt to convince the world that I did in fact belong in the category woman.

In hindsight, it is fascinating how much of a performance I put on. Reading back on my feelings about my now soon to be ex husband I can clearly see how hard I was working on trying to do everything the right way, the way I was meant to do things. I was meant to be a smart and meek girl, with enough personality to catch a guy that I would need to marry. I never did fully hack how to girl. Not that there is a correct way, but when you're faking it, let me tell you, it sure as hell feels like there is and you're never quite measuring up. I think the fact that my fellow "girls" struggled so much under the expectations that are placed on girls and women in general meant that I didn't realise that I was performing mine entirely. Don't get me wrong, I still like lots of things that are considered girly. I enjoy certain types of reality TV and love a good obnoxiously bad romance as much as the next gal. On average. Probably. But I never really felt at home in the label girl. I also didn't feel at home in the realm of liking boys (I have recently re-read my old diaries and holy mother of God was I unenthusiastic about the concept of men, like as a whole, but particularly as a dating pool).

I'm in therapy. I've left the man I used to call Boy after getting married and spending 6 torturous and violent years with him. My faith has changed shape entirely. I have deconstructed as it is obligingly called, and what one author I'm currently reading calls "the undoing of problematic legitimizing  narratives". I am now queer and polyamorous and unemployed and clinically depressed and also chronically ill. 

I've really hit the degeneracy jack-pot. I'm not a single parent or a sex-worker yet, so I guess I still have this to go on the "leave the holy path and see what happens" finding out of the fucking around game.

But you know, I didn't fuck around. Not really. Like sure, did I do sexual stuff with the man I married while we were engaged? Yes. Did I struggle in the meek christian wife department? Also yes, Did I decide that it was probably more important to God that I love people than that I condemn queer people? Also yes. 

So I guess, by the stricter definitions of how to live a pure and holy life I was already a screw-up. But I guess the cognitive dissonance got too much at some point, and really, if a faith is so frail that those infractions cause degeneracy then I'm not sure it's worth a whole lot. If these choices have cost me heaven, then so be it. At least I have a sense of integrity back. 

 

Anyway, I married the Boy after doing all the paperwork to get him into university in Maastricht. It was a beautiful cold day in Denmark (for which I did all the paperwork as well ofc). I looked stunning. I was wearing a black dress and a beautiful leather jacket I no longer fit into. The dress I still own. I am wearing it the day my divorce goes through, which with a bit of luck, after five long years of separation and trying, will be soon. 

I tried really really hard to make the marriage work. Like comically hard. I had even dragged him to couples therapy after I finally couldn't deny to myself that despite the fact that he wasn't an alcoholic and the despite the fact that he had never (fully) hospitalised me I wasn't safe. Physically, or emotionally. 

 

After I finally left my world fell apart. 

 This was not a decision I was allowed to make if I was following the careful and precise set of rules I had gown up with. One did not leave one's (semi-)faithful husband who still professed the faith and lip service to making changes who had stuck out ones descent into chronic illness (that his abuse had helped bring on in the first place). This is not what good christian women do. Not in the world I am from. I am the first member of either side of my family (aside from a married-in aunt who divorced my good-for-nothing alcoholic uncle) to chose to leave a partner. Never mind that seeing what long term relationships looked like in my family was a significant part of the reason why I finally pulled the plug. 

 I forgot this blog existed for the last decade. I found it again today, which is a little wild, as I have spent the last few years cleaning house so to speak. When my world fell apart I had to take a good hard look at every part of the identity I had constructed to fill the role I had been told would keep me safe. Everything came into question. Every last thing. 

Thank god I was aware that folks who leave domestic violence situations frequently end up in the next one. So I went to therapy, and she asked me hard questions. The world that was already crumbling for me was further pulverised. 

Not to be too much of a cliche, but like, turns out my entire fundamentalist childhood was a little fucked. My upbringing as a kid in evangelical missionary circles left me with unspeakable religious trauma I then had to start speaking about. My parents enthusiastic participation in the James Dobson school of parenting (christian authoritarian parenting) had taught me to expect violence from those who loved me, and that performing my role competently enough would finally, finally result in a love free of violence. But I digress. 

Everything came into question, and bit by bit I had to admit that I had been faking everything. My attraction to men was just a healing fantasy, my performance of womanhood an exhausting painful farce, my deeply held religious convictions the very cudgel that had kept me trapped. 

So over the latter half of the last decade I have left much of my performance behind. I have rescued all the parts of me from the hell we had grown up in. 

It turns out the post-religious degenerate life is filled with beauty and happiness and authentic queer expansive love. 

It turns out that they lied about the pathway to happiness. The hole in my heart was not Jesus shaped. It was apparently actually shaped like a lot of adverse childhood experiences shaped, and I was failing to spiritually bypass my way into patching it up with Jesus. 

 Anyway, I've gotten back into writing recently. I remember this old blog when I started setting up my new web-page on word press. 

I think I might post a few more pieces of my journey from the last few years here, but I think I'll link my new website if you want to find out what I'm up to now. 

I'm glad I found this blog again. I'm so proud of past (not so) little me trying to put myself out there. 

 Anyway, it's Milo now, I go by they/them pronouns.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unfair

 Post from March 2014

 

Life is unfair. There. So what?

 

I'm currently pretty sad. I can't shake it. It's been stuck, for 2 weeks now I can't shake this unbelievable sadness. I'm assuming it's grief at having my regular, yes almost daily, Skype calls with the Boy downsized to once, maybe even twice a week. Maybe it's just realizing that I really love this boy very darn much and that the rule to stick with who you can't live without applies.

This will be a short post I think. No pictures.

I hate long distancing. It is unfair. Unfair that so many of my friends who are a similar age or a little older just up and get married while I sit and wait, and wait.. and wait. The fact is, I'm not even big on the marriage thing right now. Sure it'd be nice, but it's amazing how low that slips on the list of priorities when you can't talk to the one you love for more than an hour a week.

So if you're me you sit and wallow in some self pity. Then you realize:

1. It's not gonna change anything,
2. It's gonna make sure you stay miserable.
3. I have a boy that loves me.
4. I have an amazing life.
5. There are people who have nothing,
6. and no one.

So despite the fact that currently I can't currently boast the perks of either being single or in a relationship, I at least have the reassurance, there is someone out there who loves me a lot. There are people who have nothing, who have real problems, who know what death and grief and unhappiness really look like.

Me? I'm just a privileged white kid pouting cause life is unfair. And it is. I'm one of the lucky ones having the ability to pout.

Curve balls

 A post from late 2013/ early 2014 I never published.

 

I've been looking for a word for several days. It was finally filled in for me today.. Possibly because this was the 3rd time I was talking about the topic to this particular acquaintance. I was saying stuff like life is throwing me a few.. surprises? boulders? confusions? interesting situations?.. then it came to me. Life is throwing me a curve ball!

You know when you think things are starting together and you think yess, this is it! You can see farther ahead than just 2 months? And then it's like life goes, "seriously? you actually thought it was gonna be that straightforward?" and before you even have a chance to explain that seeing being happy about seeing two months into the future is not straightforward, it throws you a new one.

What you usually end up doing is storming for it and trying to understand where this one will land and mitigate the damage as much as possible (forgive the clumsy analogy). But then at some point you sit down after the curve ball suddenly and completely unexpectedly and against every force of nature changes direction again. It's just not fair. A curve ball is bad enough I am assuming as I have no actual experience of them, and having it change direction just as you're half way confident of catching it is nothing but sheer and utter cruelty.

So I'm going to call it a snitch. Because I actually have a bit of a clue about snitches. This is particularly elusive and evil one, the one that caused that 3 month game that is mentioned at some point.

The snitch decided that it wasn't hard enough that I only got to see me boyfriend two times a year and had to wait 5 months each time, it decided that to make things somewhat more challenging we were going to not be able to see each other for an entire year or else pay a ticket to Uni for him out of our own pockets. No biggie you say? Considering we are both perpetually broke from trying to see each other it is rather a big deal thank you very much.

Better yet, the girl that continued to flirt with the boy after we were 2 years into a relationship and would still try to kiss him and be overly affectionate right in front of me and while I was gone is 'lo and behold' moving to the same bloody town as the boy. The utter unfairness is unbelievable. It is causing me to alliterate. Not that she stands half a chance despite being a model. It's just the cherry on top of a what's already been plenty of bad news. It is just infuriating she gets to live in the same town, where I am on a different continent and 15 hours and season ahead.

You get the gist of the news, there was more to follow, but in the end I realized that none of the above or continued news was the Boy's fault.

It is either his parents fault, or it's my foolish knack for getting my hopes up too high despite my principles of expectations low and hopes high. I seem to have manged to get my hopes so high that they turn into expectations and when they cease to be foolish hopes and turn into foolish expectations they tend to crash and burn and be all the worse for having been expectations rather than hopes.

I have always felt an affinity with Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables and the following quote just once again manages to attest to why:

Marilla Cuthbert: You set your heart too much on frivolous things and then crash down into despair when you don't get them.

Anne Shirley: I know. I can't help flying up on the wings of anticipation. It's as glorious as soaring through a sunset... almost pays for the thud.

Marilla Cuthbert: Well, maybe it does. But I'd rather walk calmly along and do without flying AND thud.

A series of Unfortunate Events

It is time for a new post now. The reason for this is that I have a looming pile of readings I have been ignoring in favor of keeping up the illusion of a summer holiday. So I sit in the library instead and write a blog post that serves the perfect purpose of procrastination. But, I tell myself, at least it is productive procrastination, not like playing mines and watching the Big Bang Theory for the billionth time. You may have gathered from my last post I'm rather a fan. I am not a fan of Lemony Snicket.

But never mind that now, let me tell you a story, a story that has led up to this moment of readings upon readings that need to be done. The story starts somewhere around the time when all the disasters began one after the next. You know those books called series of unfortunate events? They got nothing on me these last 2 months. So two months and a bit ago I had my finals, this was an inevitable disaster and scarcely deserves a mention as it was long forseen. I decided to study for it 2 weeks in advance and have all my papers almost done weeks before the deadline only to get to the deadline and realize that this had lulled me into a false sense of accomplishment and earn me grades worse than if I had just written them the night beforehand.

I decided that adding corresponding book titles was going
to give my story more Lemony Snicket relevance.

At the same time there was a planned trip to Slovakia to visit my grandmother and have The Boy meet up with me there, however since one teacher had extended the final and paper deadline I took the chance to procrastinate finishing them till the last second and then proceeded to miss my flight to Slovakia by missing the appropriate train by 2 minutes. So spent the night at the airport laptop-less and got my dad to help me buy a new ticket to Slovakia. This itself would have been a minor disaster if I didn't still have all my assessments for one subject due and no way to finish them and wasn't already getting sick the previous 2 days. By the time I got to Slovakia and to my grandmother I was exhausted and sick and had a cough that would not leave me for 3 weeks. I slept for days, handed in bad work for my assessment and generally slept a lot. Then finally The Boy's visa came through and he came to Austria where I had generously offered to pick him up. I got confused and 3 hours late I did get to the airport.

Needless to say, he didn't let me forget it. We spent 3 lovely days in Slovakia, having a good time and then flew to the Netherlands. Except we hadn't printed The Boy's boarding pass for the Ryan air flight so we had to basically buy a new one. I'm telling you, Lemony Snicket ain't got nothing on us.

The next few days were spent in the relative peace of me having back pains, 31 degrees and humidity at the same time as PMS and sporadic coughing fits on my part. But other than this this was rather peaceful, until I had the splendid idea to help out with the church's youth-group one day and helped playing capture the flag thinking I was good at this game as a kid and forgetting I had not only grown up but clumsy as well. So in my heroic bid for a prison break I found the only piece of concrete near the grass field we were playing on and stumbled over someone's foot and did what has now been called the "Superman Dive" scraping open both palms of my hands and a bruise on my thigh the size of my face. This injury did have the pleasant side effect of getting The Boy to do all the dishes for me. :)

Thereafter comes a time of peace where my body decided my recovery was more important than messing with my sense of balance. Until I got to Jordan that is. I should have known it was the calm before the storm

There was no book title that had any relevance to personal
character flaws so I just added annoyed looking people.

No, in this time I decided instead to revert to my other chaotic traits to mess up the packing schedule. I started an entire week in advance and was so sure that starting earlier than usual would get things done. I should have learned my lesson from the exam period. It didn't, instead, The Boy (who was staying a day longer), a good friend and my pastor were left with most of my well intention-ed but absolutely chaotic mess of a plan. They are all still mad at me for it.

It really wasn't, It was 3 front steps, one of which I missed.

I didn't get to say a goodbye to my close friend and room mate because of my ensuing chaos, which if you know me at all you will be aware is probably one of the biggest in this list of unfortunate events. Then as mentioned earlier, I got to Jordan, had a good time with my family, was completely overwhelmed with the sheer amount of things I needed to do and people I needed to see that I ended up seeing none of them and spraining my ankle in the attempt to show my aforementioned friend around Jordan. 4 days before the flight to Australia.

The story ends happily here if you would like to hear it that way. If you are not a fan of bad stories that have ugly endings then I suggest you stop reading at this point. I flew to Australia was reunited with my childhood (and grownup-hood) Bestie and had a wonderful time in Australia in which the ankle healed rapidly.

However the real story ends differently. 3 weeks into my stay in Australia I find out that my ankle is actually fractured not sprained and the healing time has basically doubled. Considering Lemony Snicket's record for bad endings, mine isn't so awful.

On a pleasent-er note, winter in Australia is like spring in Europe!

I much prefer happy endings.

Long distancing and caterwauling

Long distancing sucks. That is really the gist of it. I mean it's got it's pros.. like if you're shy it can force you to go out and meet new people instead of hiding behind the boyfriend. Fortunately I don't have that problem so basically -unfortunately- it just plain stinks.
Sadly, for the time being there is nothing short of breaking up ( or giving up uni and becoming a bum to go live with him) that I can do about this measly situation. Let's just say the American Highschool system and its relationship to European universities thoroughly screwed that up for us.

So i'm stuck here for at least another year and a half of long distancing, and you learn to cope with these things. for example: You pinterest.. like crazy and get masses of followers:

And you listen to music made by people who went through the same thing and have better voices than you (extensive list to follow).. and of course you sing along till your roommate looks a little like this:

And you get pretty close to going all Sheldon and getting yourself some cats and naming them Zazzles but then decide against them cause it will probably be against the house rules.. but in the end you get through it. With a lot of skyping, sweet pictures, pretend flowers and dreaming of what it's gonna be like to see The Boy again you drag yourself through. You stop yourself counting the days and weeks cause it makes them feel slower when you do, you keep yourself endlessly busy and before you realize it there is only a month left!!!

I have made it!! With all the chocolate and Albert Hein Donuts and the sadness and the business and all the friends it is almost time to see my boy again!!!! It's only for a month and never mind that I have another year and a half after this. And putting aside this next bit will probably be our worst yet, what with him in the US and me in Australia and the 12 hours time difference that entails.

For now I'm feeling the whole excitement dance thing. Only one month, only one mooonth, ooonly one mooooooonnnntthh. (Imagine awkwardly swinging hips and hands doing about the same motion).

I've decided that out of the goodness of my heart and my irrational want to sahre I would compiled a list of long distance songs that are partially sad and partially painfully upbeat:

Far Away -Nickelback
Ain't no sunshine when you're gone -Michael Bolton
Right here waiting -Richard Marx
Missing you -John Waite
Here without you -3 Doors Down
Hey there Delilah -Plain white Ts (not a personal favorite but hey, it is a classic LDR song)
Lucky -Jason Mraz & Colbie Caillat
Save Tonight -Eagle Eye-Cherry
Leaving on a jet Plan -Chantal Kreviazuk
Wish you were here - Avril Lavigne (I listened to her throughout my teens so she hits a special spot for me)
Long Distance -Brandy or Bruno Mars (both are alright, I'd love to find a better sung version though)
The Promise -Tracy Chapman
Near or Far -Carissa Rae
Missin' you like crazy -Michael Alvarado
Talking to the moon -Bruno Mars
Goodbye -Avril Lavigne
Missing you now -Michael Bolton

And some personal songs more connected to feeling home and the Boy than really specifically Long distnace relationships:

Comfortable -John Mayer (heard a friend's friends sing it in acousitc once and fell in love with it but John Mayer is almost as good)
Come Home -OneRepublic & Sara Barielles
This is Home -Switchfoot
Home -Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
A drop in the Ocean -Ron Pope
West coast -Coconut records
A thousand years -Christina Perri
Wouldn't it be nice -The Beach Boys

Thank heavens for the the internet hey? I think the majority of us Long Distancers would be pretty hopelessly lost without it! That being said, where there is a will there is a way. So we will find a way!

Ooooooonly one moooooooooonnntthh..


Na na na na naaa..

Some TCK Syndromes: Justified Homelessness and Moving-Sickness

Look at this! It's barely been two weeks and I am writing again. Maybe this is just something I do when big transitions are coming up. I have once again been contemplating my TCK-ness. The fact that it is so seemingly easy for me to drop everything and flee to Australia is both exhilarating and worrying.

Running.. fast!!

I'm running away to Australia. Somewhere far away and where nothing really matters cause I'm unlikely to ever have to live there again. Somewhere I can say with 100% certainty that I am a foreigner and get to act as such! Somewhere, where I will actually have something to miss, where it will be justified for me to miss home cause it's so damn far away. Or maybe cause it no longer exists. I knew this would start happening but I just hoped I'd be too busy to realize or married or rooted or completely comfortable in the new place when it did hit. (By *it* I mean knowing Jordan isn't home anymore). As it is, I recently realized I've been in Maastricht for a year. It no longer sucks. I'm comfortable. I know my way around, I have friends, I like my Uni. I know people, and places and I'm active in my church and it's youth-group. I'm helping out with the cooking team at the coming retreat and I've resigned myself to the atrocious weather. It's time to run.

Maybe I should start thinking of
it like this! 

I still miss home. And it's not Jordan anymore and that's somehow terrifying. I mean I still miss it and get very territorial and possessive when anyone mentions it, but hey that's just what I do. But it's no longer home. so now I'm gonna run to Australia so I have an excuse for not feeling at home and that should have me covered for about half a year when I get back. Then I'll be getting ready to leave again so I won't have to get grounded and get to loosen up my ties again and prepare for the next big thing. I have it all worked out. This is how I will avoid the no home dilemma. I'll be able to justify not having a home by moving around so much. Tada! I know this is what I'm doing. I'm fully aware that I am planning my life around moves and big events that can prolong the feeling of Justified Homelessness. It's worked for the last 20 years of my life. Why not the next 2 or so.

Maybe I shouldn't worry about not being rooted. Maybe that will come naturally. Maybe I don't really want to be. Rooted that is. Cause I know I'll get Moving-Sick and if I'm rooted that'd mean that I would be hurt if I acted on my Moving-Sickness (which is what Imma call the need to move again, a bit like Homesickness just reversed) and that'd just further complicate things.

I think I should let myself get rooted. or maybe make myself. I should embrace the awesome life I've been given even if I know it is unlikely that I'll feel fully at home.. possibly ever.

On a happier note, it snowed on Easter this year!

Australia, attachments and apologies

To fulfill the last alliterated part of my title, my apologies for the extended silence.

The next big adventure has come around. It's been a year and almost two months now since I came to the crazy cold and rainy place generally referred to as Europe. In all honesty I didn't begin to imagine the scope of funny weather that would meet me here. It is the end of March and there has been random boughts of snow after there was beautiful (notice how low I have sunken to call this beautiful) weather of 11 to 15 degrees. For a while I was pretty sad about it and then I realized that if I let the weather bring me down I would  be sad 80% of the year. The other 20% of my year is spent in Jordan.

My writing in this blog thingie has been highly irregular. In fact I believe it's been almost a year since I did write, and the only reason I am writing now is because I am procrastinating for my exams next week. I have three final exams coming up starting Monday and have now found one million other things that really need to be done. Writing my blog being one of my last ditch efforts to do something constructive rather than just sitting and watching the Cosby Show. So in the form of a brief update, I like it here, when it's not February. Februarys are not so cool for some reason. The people here are lovely. My church is quite funny and has lots of little critters running around making you randomly spill your tea. The courses at the UCM are mostly awesome. I'm going to make an exception for the Modeling Nature and Research methods courses, setting up and identifying methodology isn't quite my thing it seems. My course of study has taken a curious twist in the direction of sustainable development and saving the planet.

The engagement wave has struck again. I believe it actually started with my best friend -from now on referred to as the Bestie- this time. A cute little Australian chic with a mind of her own that I've known since 3rd grade. (Right you say, who are you to call anyone else little, but this is my one source of pride! I beat The Bestie in height!

This after many years of her scoffing at my punitive height in primary school. Revenge is sweet!) The only problem with the Bestie getting engaged -besides the jealousy because I've been together longer with The Boy- is that she lives at quite literally the end of the world without being in Antarctica. That's right; Australia. Thankfully I was aware that this wedding was likely to come up int he near future and started saving for a ticket to be able to afford to come to the Land of the Kangaroo. This is when the ingenious idea struck.


I wasn't planning on going on exchange to anywhere. The idea of having to save up for first of all The Bestie's wedding and simultaneously trying to save up to see The Boy at least twice a year had me all tied up for funds until I realized several things all at once. First off that I wanted to save the environment and the city where the Bestie lives has awesome environmental courses, second, that I could spend the entire half a year before her wedding with the Bestie, and thirdly that there was a vague chance that the Boy could study in the same city. so the night before the applications were due for Semester's abroad I did the research picked a bunch of Unis and grabbed an application form a few hours before it was due and wrote an application essay while watching the Lord of the Rings The Two Towers Extended Edition. Not my most relaxed moment. Then the waiting began.

My last visit there was lovely!

Everything always takes forever for the UCM. Always. They say the maximum amount of days students should have to wait for results on exams and assignments is 10 working days. It has never. ever. been the minimum. Finally shortly before I went home (Jordan) for Christmas I got the allocation to Australia. Now the extensive application process has started and is in the works meaning that might next adventure might take me down under! For an entire half a year!



I still miss home. Particularly when I see pictures of my sisters laughing in the sun in places I used to be. It makes me very homesick.

However, last time I was home I could feel it that I didn't really belong any more. It sucked. Big time. But it was somehow a relief as well. It meant that I was moving on. I don't know if that means I've moved on to Maastricht. I certainly don't think so, as I still feel like a stranger here, but I am slowly becoming patriotic about it and feeling a pride in it. I don't think I want to stay here. I still pray the reverse to my German friends. Please please don't make me stay here. I also feel like home has shifted to less of a place and to people. Most specifically and importantly the Boy has become what feel like home. Even skyping with him makes me feel more grounded. It also means I miss him more but hey. Everything comes at a price. Then again there is that quote that said something about not attaching yourself to people or places. Well you know what.. balderdash! We are humans. I believe it's in our nature to form attachments. Of course you shouldn't make the possession or proximity of these people or places determine your happiness but where would we end up if we actually decided not to attach ourselves to people or places? We identify ourselves by our attachments or lack thereof, whether we know it or not. The Bestie and the Other Bestie are also part of home for me and for some very strange reason possibly going to Australia next semester feels almost like a step closer to home rather than away from it and i blame the Bestie and the fact that I've been there before and loved it!

That was my musings for this year. Thought I hope I'll write more frequently now that my next adventure is getting started.

Write again in my next exam season! ;)