and on nostalgia. i can't say i agree with you the least. i don't claim to speak for all, and girls seem to be somewhat unified with you on this, but i love to reflect back. even on the stupid crappy stuff, i never liked the question 'what would you do different if you were to go back into the past' it seemed so...disrespectul maybe. even to change the absolutely wrong things i did, i would be very hesitant to say i would like to change it, even if i wish i never did it. i like to look back, i like to be sad on occasion, and to stew in my despondancy. (HMP)
On rememberese, I vote: depends on the memory. Some are fun to savor. Others give me physical pain. True I wouldn't change my past; however, I would still choose not to remember some of the hurt with quite as much poignancy as I am prone to do. (Miss K)
think i am in the same boat as HMP with the whole nostalgia thing. I love diving into old memories, often just as a way of renewing my gratitude towards H.F. Even the bad memories give me pleasure when i realize how far i have come from them...but i guess that all depends on how far back you cast your mind. (AA)
Apologies for the length of that. And apologies for what I'm about to write. I'm mostly doing it, as always, to give my mind a sort of release, so if you want to stop reading here, go for it. I don't blame you.
Chad is engaged. Chad is--was--boyfriend number one. I don't think my life is a drippy romance story at all, but this weekend it's felt like that. The nostalgia that I so dread has been sucking me in and spitting me out and tonight I feel broken. No, that's not quite right. I feel numb. Because I'm not sure what to feel.
I've been trying to explain this all weekend. How an old boyfriend's engagement to another girl can make my entire world spin out of orbit. Chad was my first kiss--a perfect first kiss, as far as I'm concerned. He was the guy who taught me how to kiss. He was also the first guy to tell me I was beautiful. And the only guy who has kept telling me that, even after we broke up. I guess in the back of my mind was always the comforting thought that even if no one else thought I was beautiful, even if no one else wanted me, Chad was there.
This is sounding like a pity party for one. And in a way it is. I've spent the weekend wondering what happened, when I know exactly what happened. I wasn't there for him when he needed someone. I kept reasoning that I needed him as much as he needed me and it was his turn to make some effort. But part of it was knowing that Chad wasn't who I needed, that he wouldn't make me happy--and vice versa.
The shattering came on Thursday. I had decided to call him when I went home this weekend, just to see how he was. And then I found out, Thursday afternoon. My mother told me. And I told her I was fine, even though I couldn't focus the rest of the afternoon.
I interviewed a group of people that night for an article. After the interviews, one of the guys asked me if I had a boyfriend. "No." Was I upset about/with guys? "Not tonight." Where did that answer come from? I was upset, more upset over a guy than I'd been since my freshman year. Again, something to distract me this weekend. And tonight I'm coming to the conclusion that nostalgia does operate like Charybdis--we get pulled into the swirling mess and then spit out again, only to wash up broken on the shore of some empty island. But I missed what comes next. Nostalgia is a good thing, because it allows us to re-learn our mistakes and our successes. After we're left on the shore, we're given time to heal, even though sometimes it feels like a redundant process.
Part of me always expected Chad to show up on my doorstep, or to at least call. And part of me has held that against every guy I've known. Somehow, though, I've arrived on the opposite side of this bout of nostalgia. I'm still not feeling too hot, but I've rebuilt my world again, this time one without a ghost clouding my view.
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