relationships

The simple things that brought me joy this week.

I write every day. I only publish when I feel worried enough. For the past few days, I haven’t published — I haven’t written words that I feel have pieces of my soul in it. I don’t even know how to explain what that means. I just know when it’s not it. This week, I haven’t found it.

So, I’ve been trying something else.

My drafts contain the reason why this week is critical to my career. It involves severed bonds, coping mechanisms and healthy ways to stay on top of personal failures.

In that draft folder, I also have a recollection of the video games I played with my brother; how much they made us who we are today. It wasn’t until I wrote that down that I realized how much video games had impacted my life, and still will.


These three things include things whose roles in my life I am just coming across. It is the minimalist call of these actions that brings me gratitude in times when I need that feeling the most. What are they then?

1. Long walks

With my cab fare in hand, I’ll latch unto my backpack and do something that brings me peace in ways I never appreciated.

I’ll walk.

I don’t exercise regularly. I don’t pay attention to what I eat. I suck at all sports. I don’t know my MBI. One thing I do know though, is that for the past 6 months, not walking has made me seep into this mental place where I don’t like the shape I see in my mirror.

By most descriptions, I am definitely not overweight. But I don’t look so athletic either.

I still need to figure out why or how I am able to walk these long distances or stand all day and feel nothing. I might be a mutant. Nice.

I’ve turned to observing the city as I walk down home. I imagine conversations and describe scenes to myself. Sometimes, I take out the coins to pay for the cab, but I just hold unto them, then, walk home.

It casts a soothing spell on me. I feel a healing from the inside. It’s as though the city hears my pain and swathes it with every footfall.

2. Random Notes on Evernote

I’ve completed more texts on Evernote in the past week than in the last month. I’ve also found that I enjoy leaving sentences halfway, knowing I cannot finish them at the moment. It’s a daring anticipation, waiting for the words to come as I pen the ones already present.

It was strange at the start. I usually start and finish my poems or posts immediately. I hardly leave texts to be edited later. This, I found, through massive consumption of how-to’s on Medium, wasn’t a good practice. Now, I l edit at at later time, taking up to weeks at a time.

This has allowed me to provide a skeleton for the book ideas I have and to do so freely. I don’t have to complete the work I start at that time. I know I will. And even when I write a complete text, I let it simmer for a bit.

Given the number of incomplete drafts I now have, I know I cannot lack what to write about every single day. Is this a bad practice? I don’t know. Between you and me…I don’t care.

What you’re reading was written straight on Medium a few hours ago. I think that writing down my thoughts allows my ideas to flow more. It’s less limiting and it reduces the pressure on my desire to create work that touches the soul.

3. Face to Face Conversations

I am an introvert. I have learned how to be comfortable around people in a way that makes me seem extroverted. But, if given the choice, I’d rather be by myself.

I do my best work when I’m alone. You should see me after a party — a wreck, physically unable to accommodate humans.

One of the most common problems introverts face is energy level management: knowing your threshold. It’s important to know how much of humans you can handle, for how long, and how long it would take to recharge.

I take one full night of alone time after spending a day around people. But, if I have to interact with these people, it could take more. Last Saturday for example, I attended a party. I had fun. A lot. I danced, drank and slept on a couch. I really, really needed to let out that night. Guess what? It took me two days to recover. Not from the hangover, but from the interactions with other people.

However, I’ve been able to get inspiration for posts, stories, articles, and even just be entertained, by having face to face conversations.

Because I found it hard to create what I wanted, I started paying closer attention to the people I was with. Listening to what they were saying. Watching their body language. Asking questions. Laughing at their jokes. Paying compliments when necessary.

It’s one of those simple things that make life incredibly worthwhile: having a conversation.

I have lots of them with myself. But it’s only when I talk with others that I hear myself even more through them.


A lot has changed in my life recently. A lot more is coming ahead. I’ve never been this grateful for everything I have and glad that I am living in the greatest era of all time!

From the bottom of my heart, I’d like to thank you for reading this. Please, click on the heart to recommend this piece. It gets more readers to see. You know how much my self-worth depends on this…so…euh…thanks. 😀

If you enjoyed this post, please share using the social media buttons below. Don’t hesitate to ask me anything on twitter.

This post was originally published on Self-ish.

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The Day I didn’t Want to Talk To Anyone

The Bimbia Slave Site Captured with my LG G4

I’m scared of the direction my life has been headed in the past couple of months. I dropped out from my graduate programme. I took my first real job working with a small (but impressive) team where we’re singlehandedly sculpting the cultural landscape of the country — the potential is huge.

My poetry collection sits in this same computer unpublished. I haven’t posted anything on the internet in weeks.

Oh, and I got dumped. I could tell you about how painful it was. Or what I wish I hadn’t said or done. Or the lessons I learned or how much I would miss her. Truth is, up until recently, I thought I had ‘survived’ this. I hadn’t. I may not. In fact, given my propensity towards extreme emotional engagement without building the initial required foundation upon which most long term relationships are built, I woke up a few mornings later and sobbed.

I cry when I watch emotive movies or read texts with similar properties. I cried when I received a surprise birthday cake for the first time with my name on it.

I still consider myself cold and unemotional. I’ve trained myself to not express surprise, fear or elation unexpectedly. Dealing with subtle forms of rejection in secondary school and during my first years in the Uni gave me that skill.

That morning, I sat up and prepared to head to work, I don’t remember the exact sequence of events that led to my sobs, but I felt a deep sense of loss, like my reason for existing had been stolen. I could not find words to describe what my mind didn’t comprehend. As I struggled to make sense of it, I muttered to myself in hope that words would soothe the excruciating feeling that boiled in my abdomen. It made no sense. Yet, the tears flowed. They were hot. Enough to make me stop. Enough to let off a little of the pressure from within. I’d never cried over a breakup before.

Great. One more item off my bucket list.

I washed my face and wore the adequate thespian features. Then I left home.

Because that wasn’t the day I couldn’t talk to anyone.


Last month, someone on twitter interviewed me for her dissertation. She said she’d come across my writing on the web and her work focused on black writers living on the continent. Another amazing writer said I was quite a talent. I felt important. This is not to say that I have a bad case of low self-esteem.

Because I do have a mild case of it.

I don’t think I am particularly handsome. It is for this reason that I feel very nervous in front of anyone’s camera.

I don’t think I am a good writer. I sometimes fear that I may die and never accomplish my dreams. Of course, you will tell me it is probably a legitimate fear that everyone has. Honey, I get you, but I am not everyone.

I am me. I’m scared.

I feel like a fraud. I try hard to hide it behind jokes, and smart talk ( boy, do I steal from books). Which is why it takes me a long time to trust anyone to open up and really get them to enter my world.

(Fun fact, you ( yes you reading this) probably know more about me from reading me on the internet that most people in my immediate surroundings. That’s how much of me I am able to hide from everyone around me)

On the other side of this deep fear of disappointing my inner self, I also have a sense of things I can do that no one else could. I play with words in ways that never seizes to amaze people around me. I speak two languages and I ( sort of sing). I am also sort of funny — when I’m not depressed.

As you can see.

I am very much in touch with the things I don’t like: I find it hard to do work that is algorithmic. I thrive with creative tasks. However, I have recently observed that even heuristic tasks if given constraints, offset my juices and literally- believe me when I tell you- render me totally incapable of making coherent sentences.

Yesterday, during a workshop, I had to create a story from a theme I absolutely hated. I think my brain died for the next half of the session. My ideas mortified instantaneously.

But, it wasn’t because I was scared of dying alone, unfulfilled and without dreams that I decided not to talk to anyone. I was because I had had enough and I was exhausted. For the first time in months, I’d reached the trough of my mild depression and I decided I didn’t want to do anything. Except this.


When I woke up that morning, everything was the same; the car horns through my window, the sun’s sly smile pouring through. My eyelids were heavy, but my stomach too.

“I could read a few pages before I go up there”, I thought to myself as I grabbed the Samsung tablet on the table.

A journey to the loo wiped the thoughts of another dive at the warm covers. It was my special moment with myself. While I did my business, I flipped to my ebook app, ‘Born Standing Up’ was open.

As much as I’d never paid attention to Steve Martin’s work as an entertainer, I noticed that his writing gave me insights into his life that would never leave me. I quietly continued my not so challenging multitasking ordeal.

8.15am

I knew because my phone alarm started ringing as soon as I got into the room. Steve was saying something about Nina Lawrence and her change of name. But I knew I couldn’t afford another sluggish read.

8.30am.

Fifteen minutes couldn’t have gone this fast. I knew something wasn’t right that morning the moment I started freezing during my workout. I wasn’t unlike the rushing antelopes away from forest fire deep in the country. Or the birds leaving the island before the volcano.

Even when I took the cab, my head moved with difficulty. My smile felt plastic. I could hear my voice. Even I didn’t believe my destination when I told the driver.

In a sudden rush, I wrote an email to my best friend in over 11 years. The network was shitty but I was grateful for Gmail’s HTML version . I told her what I was going to do. I know what I wrote in the email, but I couldn’t believe I was going to do it. When my phone rang and I saw my superior calling, I silenced the device and turned the screen face down.

I wasn’t in control anymore. That was when he told me what we were going to do that afternoon.
End of part one.


Tchassa Kamga lives in Buea, Cameroon. This part of the country hasn’t had internet in over two months. So, he’s had to travel a long distance to post this. He’s learning the intricacies of curating events and documenting them at the fine dining restaurant and cultural hub- IYA Buea. He has three episodes on his podcast . He also takes blatant pictures on Instagram.

He co-writes with C. Befoune on this publication — Self-ish . Their goal is to share the lessons they’ve learnt from multiple sources in the domains of Self-improvement, Content Creation and Human Relationships.

You can easily get him on Twitter.

How He Killed Affection

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Let him tell you of heartbreaks. Of tears he hid and dreams he killed. Of the memories he replayed long after the kisses died. Let him tell you of rejection. Of unrequited love. Of emotions suppressed and denials endured. He could tell you of the time when she said: “This is not working out.” Or of when she needed space to think. He will tell you with a smile. While you hold your throaty lump tight. He will tell you the blouse she wore and the dog that strayed. He might tell you of the date. If you’re not lucky enough, he may only remember the hour and the minute.

Let him tell you of failures of the heart. Of the laughs he faked and the lies he told himself. Of the persona he forged and the mechanisms he acquired. He may tell you of the letter he wrote…and burned. He may tell you of the unsent SMS, or the cancelled voice note. He could recount the old pillows that saved his teary tale in cold, liquid embrace. He will tell you of the body weight he hasn’t been able to gain. Of his incessant penchant for jokes and laughter, of his book drug abuse and his writing exorcism.

He may mention his new resolve. His understanding of love and the day he killed affection. He could paint the clouds, but he won’t. He could tell you about the song on Trace at that moment, but he won’t. He could tell you of the matching shoes she wore and of the speech she had prepared. Yes, the speech, he will. He will tell you how at that time it made no sense to him. How he laughed with his boys and texted the next available glass heart. He will not tell you of the supper he left cold. Of the desires he left enflaming. Of the rage he carried, chiefly against fiction, for making him believe in soulmates.

Let him tell you of the decision he took. Of the vow he made. Of the smile he wore as he said to himself: I’m too old for this shit. As he deleted the pictures and edited his memory- a task he would tell you, was a waste of time, but that “I had to at least try”. He may mention that it was the day he realized he’d changed. The day he saw his own worth. The day he finally admitted to himself that he would never find what his was looking for, simply because he was always looking.
It was the day he said, earnestly, without reserve and believing with his soul: fuck this shit. I’m done.
——-

What a comeback post huh? Did you miss me? 😀

She Owns Me #Poetry

I’ve written books with my eyes.
In my tales, you run me.
I am your formata- share of source and being.
Springs of sadness reek panic when you leave my side.
Mountains crash, Pompeii burns anew.
It’s the neoslavery you inflict deep, within.

You’re a curse. My curse.
You suave, savage witch,
Your fingers dipping my entrails; laying my essence bare.
I hate how my mind adores your savagery.
How your smile becomes my drug,
I am addicted, to your words, your touch, your mind bogging aura.
Who are you?

Why are you?
What do you want with my heart?
Why did you choose me to lay me to waste away from your waist, after an ethereal…taste?
Conquered and alone, I long for a graceful whif of your presence.
An innocent “I love you” whispered in my mind, changed everything.
Subdued. Imbued. Amused…by your ease, a regal feast of tact.

You own me, my love.
And there is nothing I can do about it.

The Alter Boy Who Panicked #Poetry

Not long ago, in a church yonder,
A suave neighbor swept Martha.
I was there, I watched from the altar.
The Mass went on, and me, being a server, couldn’t falter.

They giggled and wiggled during the sermon.
The itch in my throat grew strong.
An attempt to clear felt wrong.
Even the priest seemed worried. It showed in his stare, long.

Mother had warned me of love come fast.
In the age of twitter”, she said, “these things do not last”.
I could feel her eyes on my skull as I stared into the crowd aghast.

The burden of loss is never a light one.
To ponder alone at the time all was fun.
When I thought my Martha was my only one.
Even against my mother’s wishes, I’d promised her we’d run.

When mass ended. I rushed to clear my robe.
The crowd moved slow-a well played joke.
I found Martha crossing the road with the bloke.
I screamed and cursed at the heavenly poke.

Now, here’s the real joke, that was Martha’s long gone cousin who just came back from four years out of the country.

She was so excited she literally burned all her home including the pantry.

When I found out, I rushed in tears and reached her home panting.

She took me into her arms and said those words I needed to hear: It’s okay boo boo, I am not angry.

I remember her touch.

As well as her kind gaze and warm smile.
They way she gleamed and held her head high.
She left her hand in mine.
Confident that the world wouldn’t mind.
Especially, when we went out to dine.

Fortunately, that time is now behind.

I remember my nickname.
She’d laugh at my sneer, knowing I’d go insane.
She’d pick on me when no one looked,
Only to make that face I’d hate to imitate.
Our kiss? She’d initiate.
Long, tender, nuzzle free meal I’d gleefully partake.

Alas, that time is in my wake.

I remember our goodbyes.
Her sad scream and dark eyes.
Long texts and fake fights.
The stakes were high.
I still hear echoes of her curses in the middle of the night.

The black hole in my soul, sucking, had never seemed so bright.

Do you prefer being single or being in a relationship?

cute-cuddly-toy-cartoon-costume

Someone asked this on Quora and me being the self professed advocate of the lonely life, I answered.


I am a 26 year old straight Cameroonian male who has had his heart broken.

And broken hearts.

I have had short (two weeks), very short (three days), and month long ( 6 months) relationships.

I’ve dated at least 5 women. I don’t keep tabs. It was a painful time I prefer to not remember.

Some, were exhilarating.

One month ago, I made the conscious decision to be single .

In my relatively short existence, I never thought I would ever be comfortable with being out of a relationship.

With that in mind, my answer would be biased. Infact, if I were you, I would not read this given my inexperience and lack of facts to back my claims. I speak for myself, hoping you will gain something.


On Being In A Relationship

I love the feeling that spreads through my body when a woman who cares about me touches me. I love the affection, the intimacy and all the perks of being together- living together, sharing inside jokes, feeding each other and being children again without a care in the world. I am a sucker for “love”.

Or at least, that is what I thought love was.

I have come to understand that it takes more than the happy moments to build a lasting, equally rewarding relationship with anyone. Whether it is a friend, lover or parent. It takes a lot of energy and commitment. And most people who are in a happy relationship may not not seem happy to you.

That is the difference between making a choice to work on a relationship and thinking that relationships work like “magic”.

The amount of effort required to communicate, to compromise, to fight our natural selfishness is one that needs a daily practice.

I think anyone who has been in a serious relationship can tell you about the dark times and what it takes to overcome them.

That said, the reason why I am not in a relationship is this:

I became self-aware enough to accept that I was not ready to invest the amount of energy required. That at this point in my life, I would like to focus all my energy on being creative ( blogging, gaining skills, podcasting etc) and building a business around my interests.

It is sad that I took this long and hurt so many people to accept this basic truth.

But I am happy I did.


On Being Single

I love writing. Especially poetry. I love thinking too. Which means that I tend to spend a lot of time by myself. Where I come from, and from my experience, I find it hard to getalone time when I am in a relationship.

Plus, there are the messages , the phone calls, and the commitments. I suck at being in a relationship. I had just never audited myself and made the decision to lay off that part of my life.

I don’t drink alcohol ( well, maybe once in a month or so), I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs.I don’t gamble. I am not a stud- which means all I have is my sour humor that may or may not attract females ( remember I said you shouldn’t read?)

This means a lot of my free time is spent on reading, writing and meeting people. I run a podcast which takes time to record and edit . I was only able to start this podcast when I became single. And I looove sharing my thoughts.

I get braingasms from the comment section- literally.

However, I get lonely too. Sometimes I want a hug, a kiss or…more… 🙂

But then, I believe you can’t eat your relationship and have it. I chose to stay alone for a purpose. And I am fulfilling that purpose.

We may not have the same purpose, or thought pattern. And that is fine. I made the call. You should make yours.

I get moments of weakness when I see that someone is attracted to me, or when I get attracted to another person. And that we could get together.

Then, I remember who I really am and the kind of person I become in a relationship.


So, which is better? Being single? Or being with someone?

That, my friend, will depend on you, your environment and your DNA.

But know this:

  1. Your thoughts, goals and dreams will change. I know mine have and they will.
  2. Same for people you get in a relationship with.
  3. Communication is vital to maintain a relationship.
  4. Self-awareness will lead you to make choices which correspond with your DNA. ( Yes, I totally ripped this off from Gary Vaynerchuk [1])
  5. You will usually get what you deserve. Usually.

Of course, life has a way of being itself. But if everyday , if you so choose, you get better at knowing who you are and choosing yourself and the path you want to walk, you might end-up enjoying this funny thing called life.

I wish you all the best.

Remember that the most important relationship,is the one with yourself.

Footnotes

[1] GaryVaynerchuk.com – Family 1st! but after that, Businessman- a dude that Loves the hustle, people & the @nyjets – @vaynermedia. Tasted wine for years online!

Episode 2 of The #Podcast is out!!! #Friendship chat and why I block people on #socialmedia

I just finished recording another episode of ze podcastThe Tchassa Kamga Show (yeah…really generic name…don’t judge me).

My heartfelt gratitude to all who listened to the first episode. It was an almost unanimous observation that the pilot was way too long and that I may need to structure my thoughts for the subsequent episodes. In light of that, I have bad news for you.

Well, good and bad news.

First, the bad news. This episode is not particularly structured. There is a central theme, and I experimented with a guest in the second part of the show. The role of friendship did not pop up as I had intended, but I still think you’re going to enjoy the discussion between my special guest and I.

Now, the good news is: this episode is shorter!! And, there is a real sponsor this time. Yeaup. 2545 Business Consulting sponsored this edition of the podcast and I will be attending the Business Networking Soiree where there will be business and other professionals. As guest, the very talented Max Lyonga. I am sure I’ll be in for a great evening!

Other good news: this may be my podcast and an avenue for me to share my thoughts with the world, but what I care most about is having a great laugh. That is why in the second part of the podcast, my best friend and I talk about other friends. Basically, we spend the evening laughing at each other.

In the end, I think I failed the point of the podcast. Which brings us to the end of the updates and the reason for this post.


I have blocked at least 10 people on Facebook. Two on WhatsApp, two on Instagram and for one person, I blocked on every single social media platform. Including Snapchat

It may seem pretty pointless given that these people could still be reading this post. Here, is my attempt to justify my actions. Not that you can change my mind or anything.

1. I take life very seriously.

I don’t have time to waste on people who think I am not worth their time. If you’re my friend, I am willing to go the ends of the earth for you. In fact, when I say I have few friends, I mean this with pride. There are many people I work with, and will work with, but my close circle is made of a limited number of individuals. My parents, my siblings and a few other humans. I don’t want to see, hear or talk to anyone who does not see me to be as important as they are.

2. I’m okay with being lonely.

Yeup. I have chosen to stay single for as long as it is required for me to build the kind of environment I would want to live in. This is a choice I made after years of suffering and hurting many amazing women. Mind you, this doesn’t mean I enjoy being lonely. I am okay with it. I need it to think, to write. Heck to make the podcasts. My ideas flow when I am in my zone, alone . And until I find someone who gets that, I will not put someone’s daughter in torment again. Plus, I’m tired of drama. I’m too old for this shit.

3. Friendships are born. And they can die.

I speak enthusiastically about my friends and the people who mean so much to me. I’d like to emphasize that I also know that sometimes, some relationships just…you know…die. People outgrow each other. Interests change. People travel. Responsibilities, obligations, goals change. And that, again, is okay. C’est la vie. I love my family and I love my friends. I will do everything for us the stay happy. Except kill myself. I love myself more.

4. Honesty is the best policy.

It is just recently that I am making the choice to be honest with who I am and what I want. And it is still difficult. Usually, when I meet people for the first time, I try to ‘comport’ myself. I try to fit in. I change my laugh. I talk less. I become very… cosmetic. What happens is, I give off this serious vibe (throw in my geeky glasses and the mix is complete), and many people think I am this super smart, super serious dude who never laughs. Well, guess what? You’re…almost right. I love fun! But my kind of fun is geeky. Watching Marvel movies, reading comics, and listening to podcasts. That is fun to me! And when I meet other … humans, I get uber curious. That last part may be my Kryptonite. I ask way too many questions. I’d prefer you think I’m awkward the first day we meet.

I’m okay with that too.

5. Negativity is the worst thing you can let around you if you’re looking to make your life better in any way.

Therefore, I shamelessly cut-off anyone who makes me feel horrible about myself or about my projects. That said, there is a difference between constructive critique and a hater. And when a comment is made from a place of love, you can feel it. Some people, however, are damaged (possessed?) and would not mind bringing others down the pit of depression, self-hate and endless remorse. Nope. I’m outty. I only talk to the people who respect me and who care about me. Of course this is the world and some people cannot be avoided. I do what I can. And when that doesn’t work…

6. This life is but a journey.

I know that in a couple of years, I may have figured myself out. Or not. I am not the same person I was yesterday, I won’t be the same tomorrow. And that is the same for everyone. I believe in heaven and in hell. And I believe that Jesus Christ came to save mankind. I have no intention to suffer eternal damnation. That, from the sound of it, should suck. Terribly. Therefore, I prefer to live my life as though Jesus did die for me. Because if in the end, He didn’t, well I don’t mind. And if ( and I believe) He did, that would be totally awesome. I don’t know about you, but, given that this journey is short, I’ll prefer to be happy in this world and the next.

Soundcloud.

Now you know why I left.

Leaving you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t mean this in a “happy” way. More of in an I-should-have-done-this-a-long-time-ago tone. We had a good time together. A great time.

The fact that I am writing this expresses how much the last couple of months meant a great deal to me. You took care of me. You really did. You were a mother, friend, and a lover. You looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

You made me believe that I could be loved. Not that I don’t have friends and family who love me, but, I had never imagined the effect the touch of someone who isn’t your blood could have on one’s mood.

Do you remember the time when I was sick and had to stay home all day? When you cooked in the neighbor’s house and brought for me? We stayed home all day and you dabbed my forehead with a wet towel.

Only my mother had ever done that for me. Loving you was the only thing I wanted at the time.

At the time.

At the time, I was struggling with who I wanted to be and the kind of life I wanted. As well as the type of people I would be willing to let into my life.

Time moves fast, doesn’t it? Only a few months ago, we filled memory cards with selfies. We made the neighbors jealous.

Even I was jealous of us sometimes.

“Where have you been all my life?” I’d sometimes wonder.

At the time.

At the time, I refused to acknowledge that I was not ready to be your friend. That I did not trust you. And that the series of events that led to our last conversation were simply a domino effect that lined up nicely from the very first evening we met.

Do you remember that evening? Do you remember our subsequent conversations? And the trail of crumbs on the internet? Do you remember how offhand I was and how everything seemed so…okay?

IT was fun, wasn’t it?

At the time.

At the time, I wasn’t the same person writing this. I am free, now. I can tell you that I don’t need you. Not in a “you’re useless” way. But in an I-am-not-emotionally-available way.

I hurt your feelings. And I want you to hate me. In the same light, I want you to move on fast enough to be able to spread the happiness I used to hear in your giggle.

You are more than you believe. Yes, you cannot stand alone you’d say. I think you’re wrong. However, I cannot change what you believe. But if you focus on how weak and inadequate you are, nothing will ever happen. Nothing.

I thought you were the missing rib. The soul mate I would make my life with. At the time.

Today, I see the world through a prism of honesty. No, I don’t walk around being honest with people. More about being honest with myself and the things I want. The things I need and the things I am good at. The habits I must kill and what I am willing to sacrifice.

Sweetheart, I am willing to sacrifice you. And I mean this in a very selfish way. Not morbid. Selfish.

I care about myself and my well-being. And one thing I have come to accept is that when I go against everyone to make sure I am happy, somehow, everyone goes through the stage of disparaging my choices to finally coming around.

At the time, I was scared of disappointing my parents and everyone else who believed in me. Even you.

At the time.

Today there is only one thing I fear: having to regret my life on the day I die.

If losing you now is the price to pay to living a life I can be responsible for, then, sweetheart, now you know why I left.

Let it be that I told you my truth.

My liquids and gifts have no meaning for you. You barely touched them today.
I did everything. Tried all tactics. Even used ruse to make you stay.
You smiled at me, but pushed me away.
You held my hand, yet looked away.

Double signals? Doubt? Uncertainty?
Remorse? Regret? Fear?

My smug remarks make you chuckle in that cute way that exposes your neck.
Yet, I know that as much as you enjoy the chat, you want to leave. Your hands beg.
You didn’t stay up to thirty minutes.
Subtly ran, as though I were a human sized pilus.

As I write this, I finish your leftover chocolate.
The one I got for you. A race that had me return your call late.
As I write this, I finish your red wine.
The one I got for you. I strangely feel sad for that wasted grape vine.

I have told you my truth. I have been as honest as I could be.
If my openness is not acceptable by society, let it be.
Let it be that I told my truth. Let it be that I carried my heart on my sleeve.
Let it be that way, because no one knows when I’d have to leave.

I know these are hard times. Given our history.
I know my words lack substance, given my urgency.
To your doubts, and worries. I have one question:
How long does it take for you to realize that the length of a human life is never enough to love fully?

If I can have a single minute of love- a moment of mutual respect and cordial happiness. A relationship based on more than kisses and things done in the dark. Based on friendship, respect and truth.
If I can have one shot at making you smile every day because it is what brings me the most joy.
If I can have one shot at making you see you the way I see you.
If I can look into those brown eyes and articulate the truth in my veins…

One shot.

I’d better take the shot and fail, than live never having tried.
You know that when I say: “I like you”. I really mean “I Love you”.
You also know that there are no other ways of saying it.

Give me my shot, let me show you.
Or tell me no, and let me go.
Either way, you own me.
Royally so.
(Or rather, painfully so)