From the ashes, from the archives

Email exchange, summing up my absence:

Dear --

I really don't know where to begin this email, because a lot of times I write to you when I'm really lost, and by telling you, I talk my way through things. So I guess I'll start by telling you about this film I saw. It's called "the Band's Visit", and it's an indie film made in Israel. The basis for the film is that the Egyptian Alexandria Police Band is invited to Petah Tikvah in Israel to play for a ceremony. However, in a strange twist of syllables, they go to Bet Hatikva, which sounds similar but is pretty much in the boonies of Israel.

The police band head, named Tawfiq, acts like a general, and tries to make the best of the situation. They communicate with the Israelis by speaking in broken english, and after eating at Dina's restaurant, she offers to let them stay. So they do, and chaos ensues. Dina's in love with Tawfiq, in love with the idea of being loved, because much of the film is about crushing loneliness. She sleeps around because she has no one to share her life with, and she feels like she can never experience love like they do in old arab films, with elaborate ritual and true happiness. Tawfiq is bound by obligation, and he is so hard on his son that his son (probably gay, mentioned as "delicate" in the movie), commits suicide.

But the movie's not just about a love story. In fact, the love story never happens. Dina tries, in a series of painful scenes, where she takes him to a diner and plays sweet arabic music for him, and to a "park", where she tells him to imagine it really being a park, and even tries to drink wine with him in desperation. She talks and talks and talks, but only gets his reserved orchestra arms in a poignant moment. All the other characters, meanwhile, deal with similar loneliness. Papi wants to be able to date a girl, this other guy waits hours for his girl to call on the payphone, and Itzi fights with his wife, imagining the end of a concerto (if it were depicting his life) to be a "roomful of loneliness."

So we broke up. I didn't expect it at all -- but who does, right? He says he was turning it over in his head, but when he came to break up with me, I was so happy to see him, that he couldn't do it. He couldn't do it when we met my friends walking down telegraph, and H. told him to be good to me, because I deserve it. Nor could he do it when we were laying next to each other that night, and my smile was wide as a river. He did it in the morning, when he wouldn't kiss me, and I told him it was unfair he never told me what was wrong. So he told me: his ex-boyfriend was moving from NY to D. to be with him, and they dated for three years, and he wanted to give it a shot. And I told him: I'll be fine, it'll be okay. I didn't even cry until he left. I didn't even think I would until I turned around after we hugged at the train station.

And I guess I feel like Dina, in the way that she's so inadequate. She puts so much thought and effort into things, but they turn out sort of cheesy, desperate. She goes to eat with him, and orders for herself, but he doesn't want anything. So it's just her stuffing her face. She tries to be classy, to be subtle, to overcome her circumstances, but just ends up crying in front of him and sleeping with an underseargent. And there was nothing really I could do. I missed writing an entire essay because I was too busy trying not to feel entirely crushed. And I went to the beach that day, to finally set things free, but though steinsen beach was beautiful, I came home empty.

I ended up redoing the essay, and crushing my midterms, and generally doing well. And it's like when you tell yourself you're going to do something, and you do. So we're still friends, because even though I can never understand what he did, I guess I can respect it. Because if people were never willing to continue love for that long, what hope did i have? I know that he was sincere, I guess, but it just makes it hard to reflect upon. I'm trying to build myself up as an individual, but it's hard to tie up loose ends that are attached to Pandora's box.

Spring break has been up and down for me, then. Some nights I play board games with friends or eat good cakes in A. or hang out at the beach, and other days I sleep a lot and stare out my window like old people do at a nursing home. Looking, but not seeing.

I emailed D.S. the other day. I sent him a really nice email about how the past is the past and I hope he really enjoys what he has, but not in a you're-so-lucky way. In a "I'm genuinely happy" about you way, about how he can be smiling before he's even awake, to know that he's loved. I haven't gotten a response, but I'm not really surprised -- I don't think I expect one.

I've been really withdrawn, though, in general. After reading this thing about how "man has become a confessing animal" by Foucault, I'm just terrified of telling people things. R. and I dated for three months, and I didn't tell my sister at all. I didn't tell anyone we broke up, but people could kind of tell...And I just don't know anymore. It's like you look into the same eyes that you've looked into for so long, and that mutual understanding is gone. Invisible walls have been imposed. A world of hurt existing in one look.

I don't want you to think I'm horribly depressed. I'm not. I actually have fun days. It's just the nights I'm still worried about. I'm just kind of being blown along, lost, and I'm glad it's spring break and I can float a little longer. I don't know if I could do anything differently. I know he still cares about me a lot, and I know I'm supposed to take my space. I'm terrified of losing my only male friend, but I'm also terrified of being alone. Not just single, alone. Of being out of control. Of feeling horrible inside and spreading it like a plague.

My heart still smiles when I see this line he typed on an essay when I was ignoring him: "My name is R., and I like a boy named [me]. He is adorable and i love when he cuddles next to me." I'm glad I got a shot, I guess. Really glad.

With love and hope,