Baby, Don’t Hurt Me

Okay, so I suck at posting regularly. Bite me. I’ve had multiple ideas churning in my head on what to write, how I would format it, the tone I would use in the piece and what-not.

I’ve formulated the way this post would be written a bunch of times in my head. It’s changed hundreds of times, mentally editing out segments based off my mindset at my time. But now I want to believe I’m writing this at the most level-headed state I’ve been at for a while. Or so I hope.

So this post right here, this shit right here, is about the “L-word.” Yes, it’s on my opinion on love, and I guess since Valentine’s Day is two weeks away, my timing couldn’t have been more appropriate. (Edit: this is how long it’s taken me to finally post this. A full fucking month)

So now that I’m actually writing this, I just realized how unstructured this is going to be and I’m ultimately just winging this. YOLO. All I know is that I plan on writing about the different aspects of love. Or at least what I conceive love to be. Idk. Just roll with me

Growing up in Muslim-Pakistani household, my first exposures to love came through Bollywood tapes and Disney movies. (Side note: I find it funny how they do draw a few parallels with each other; the overtures of romance, the random moment where people/things burst out into song, the prevalent “hero” archetype that’s always present. For being on opposite hemisphere, they’re pretty close to each other cinematically).

So, yes, I was raised watching the legend, Shah Rukh Khan, as he chased down the beautiful Bollywood babes, and on the heroes that saved Disney’s damsels in distress from their seemingly impossible struggles. The good guy always came up on top. The protagonist always got the girl. That’s what I had gotten from watching all these movies in my youth.

But this is real life.

None of the stuff that happens in movies actually occur in our world. The heavily romanticized movies that misguided me into my early adulthood are all just bullshit. There’s no princess that’s going to need me to rescue her. If there was, she’s probably not even worth saving at this point. Bollywood depicts romance in the same fashion again and again: The guy falls in love with girl at first sight, girl rejects him, guy pesters girl until girl eventually falls in love with him. BUT LIFE DOESN’T FUCKING WORK LIKE THAT. If any guy did that to a girl, he’d probably get hit with a restraining order faster than he’d receive any semblance of love from the girl.

But hey, these guys were my prime examples and I basically emulated them in my own pursuit of love. I had a couple short-term girlfriends throughout high school. Most of them essentially mean nothing to me now, I actually forgot the name of one of them and only remember her by her nickname “Princess Sobs-a-lot” because all she fucking did was cry.

No. Like literally. She cried to me about how she thought the sandwich her mother made for her tasted funny. Or how one time she IMed me (really showing my age here, nobody uses AOL Instant Messenger anymore) and I responded about 5 seconds after she sent it, saying that I didn’t care enough. I throw the word “crazy” around pretty often in terms of women, but I kid you not, this girl was batshit crazy.

One

I was an idiot for the most part in high school. I was a jackass at times; I thought I was the hottest shit out there, fresh out the sun’s asshole. I was God’s gift to Edison, New Jersey. I got decent grades, played on the varsity football and lacrosse teams, and had a pretty wide social circle with my own group of friends that were also my support group. And in the center of that support group was my girlfriend at the time; let’s name her something generic, something like “Rachel.”

Rachel and I dated for three years. We had a month break in between there somewhere, but we were great together. Now I don’t mean to idealize her, nor do I think was she the perfect woman or “The-One-That-Got-Away,” but goddamn was she overqualified. En route to be valedictorian AND class president of my high school, she was both intelligent and cool as hell, a rare mix. And this was when I went to a cutthroat private school, where people would sacrifice each other for their own well-being.

Yeah, we were incredibly young when we dated, and I was the idiot who thought we had a legit future together. Actually, I don’t know. I might be wrong there. We both wanted to be accepted by each other’s parents, but there was the whole issue of differing religions, and how young we both were.

But our relationship had an expiration date. Her family was moving to Boston, stringent upon her admittance to one of the top school’s in the nation: The Philips Academy. The most prestigious school in the nation, this school only accepted those that were truly talented and intelligent: future presidents, Nobel Prize winners, and groundbreakers in the STEM fields littered their long list of notable alumni. She would be in truly exclusive company. And of course, being the amazing person Rachel was, she goes on and gets accepted.

We try the long-distance thing. It goes from days, to weeks, weeks turn into months without really seeing each other. We had Skype, but that’s absolutely nothing compared to the physical intimacy we both shared with each other (Semi-halal?). Eventually, the distance became too much. Eventually, we had to split.

I like to say it was a mutual one, but really, she was the one who broke up with me. She reasoned with me, convinced me that this was the best course of action for us, and I kind of went with it, holding out hope that we’d get back together some time soon. It sucked. I won’t lie. I didn’t want this to happen, but I still had to stomach the fact that we weren’t mutually exclusive anymore. We tried doing the “best friend” thing; neither of us were willing to completely cut off the emotional ties we had once had; we literally talked to each every day and shared almost everything with each other. But a week later, she might’ve overshared with me a bit. She found a new boyfriend. It crushed me, the entire world that I had built up with her for the past three years, all dissipating so quickly, like sand as it slipped through my palm’s grasp. In an entire week, she found someone new, someone who I couldn’t stack up to at this school of future leaders. It killed me to know that I just wasn’t good enough.

For three months, I hated myself more than I ever did before. It messed me up on the inside. I didn’t enjoy anything. I spent every day, just going through the motions, just living through the bleakness of each and every goddamn day.

Rachel would often say that she didn’t believe in love. She said that she could really like someone, but that love didn’t exist. At the time, I completely disagreed with her views. I mean, how could she say that when we were still dating, especially since she said she loved me every other day? This relationship and this break-up changed me. I began to adopt the mantra that love doesn’t exist, and I still bear it to this day.

Fuck love. Fuck the stupid-ass obsession with someone other than yourself. Fuck giving yourself up and becoming completely vulnerable to anyone else. Why? Because it all fucking ends at one point or another, whether it’s through break up or because of death. There’s no point to any of it.

Of course, I say that while I’m in a grumpy mood. But this whole tirade sums up my whole outlook on love fairly well. This is my basic view on the “L-word.”

Two

So to speed up the process, I met another girl, my fourth year in college. She’s relatively unimportant now to me and my own growth, even though I did like her, but I’ll leave her out for brevity’s sake. It wasn’t until January 2015 that I met another girl that I was really into.

This girl was actually the first Pakistani girl I was interested in.

Wait, that’s not true; she was the first one I was interested in and talked to consistently.

So let me lay down some background information. At this point in my life I’m:

  1. Looking at exiting college soon and ready to move on to the next phase of my life. The phase of my life involving me getting into medical school and finally settling down in terms of family
  2. Have accumulated a large base of Muslim friends, a majority who happen to be Pakistani
  3. Have been single for a while, so this guy was in the market for something a bit more serious

I met “Lindsay” through the currently defunct Pakistani Students Association the semester before. I was an e-board member. I thought she was cute, but I didn’t care much at the time. It wasn’t until a few days/a week later that I really learned who she was. She came up to my friends and I at a table in the courtyard of the table

She said “Blah blah blah”

I responded “Blah blah blah”

I ended up getting her number that day. Didn’t really hit her up until January 2015.

Long story, short: I fell hard for her. She was legitimately the first girl that I was into since “Rachel.” She eventually rejected me, telling me she didn’t look at me as fondly as I looked upon her.

And then, for the first time in a long time, an old feeling returned to me. I was crushed. This was a feeling I hadn’t had in years. The last time I felt this way was when Rachel had dumped me. It was awful, and I truly thought that this next girl was the right one for me. This girl ticked so many checkboxes in what I wanted in my future partner: Paki, Muslim, pretty, and had ties to American and Pakistani roots.

If that list looks short to you, that’s because it was. I didn’t have many standards then. “Lindsay” only filled out the bare necessities in what I was looking for at the time. I was being an idiot. Like it’s not even funny. I told myself I would hold myself to the highest standards and I wouldn’t go for anything less than the “model wife.” I was looking for smart, cultured, beautiful. I wanted a girl with a personality, goals, and a passion. Lindsay literally had none of these qualities. Looking back at it, I was a complete idiot for being a heartbroken lil bitch over this girl.

Three

Hit the fast-forward button until that Summer. I was over it. I planned on living for myself, something I had lost touch on how to do. Women were supposed to be secondary to everything else. Coming up on August, I started to love myself more. I was on my way down from being the heaviest I’ve ever been (At 270 pounds. I had really let myself go). Women started to take notice more and I was having fun flirting with all these bimbos.

I met “Sophia.” Like Lindsay, I had disillusioned myself into believing that maybe this girl was the one for me.

Lather.

Rinse.

Repeat.

The only thing that changed for me here: I kind of recognized that I was catching feelings and that I had to separate myself. And that’s exactly what I didn’t do. Like Lindsay, Sophia saw me as her best friend. Unlike Lindsay, I didn’t cut Sophia off completely from my life. I have yet to decide if this was a good move for me or not: my relationship with this person has changed. I began to irritate the person more, not on purpose, but sometimes it feels like my mere presence annoys her. Our conversations are one-sided; I even believe our friendship is one-sided. I’ve become nothing but a “Yes-man” to her. I don’t share with her the aspects of my life anymore, but it’s not like she asks anyways. I can’t say she’s there for me as often as I am for her.

I kind of regret not making the nice, clean cut, yet, at the same time, we were at one time great friends, regardless of how I felt towards her. A large part of me wants to salvage that friendship, but realistically, I know it’s probably not going to happen. We’re both so far gone from that point, and I know it’s my fault for catching feelings and ruining the status quo.

Quattro

I don’t know what my future will hold. I do feel like I need to slow down, and focus on what’s more important for my own self-growth, and I don’t mean to sound misogynistic, but I don’t see how chasing women will aid in my quest to improve myself.

Funny, as I write this, I completely contradict myself by responding to this one prospective girl. I know I shouldn’t do anything with this one, but goddamn this is entertaining. I guess it’s just something to keep myself busy; it’s a nice distraction from real life issues.

I like to put my life into perspective every now and then by questioning myself, “Will this matter five years from now?” It’s interesting how many things pass this test, most of the time the answer to this question is a resounding “no”. Only the truly important things in my life have actually answered yes to this question. Sometimes, I add an extra word to the question, so it turns out to be “Will this person matter five years from now?,” and once again the answer becomes a no.

Will these three specific people matter to me five years from now?

Who knows? I sure as hell don’t. The experiences I shared with them will forever be life lessons for me as a “What Not to Do” guide.

V

So I have this incredibly special friend. Yes, this one is another girl. No, I’m not chasing her. Totally kidding, I’m absolutely in love with this girl.

We’ll name this one “Ella.”

I have a unique relationship with Ella. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to a woman without “falling in love” with her. She knows me through-and-through. The trust I have in her, the trust she has in me… sometimes I’m completely stunned at how much she shares with me, the weight that her words bare, some things I’m sure she hasn’t told others.

I’ve only known Ella for a short amount of time; It’s only been five months. She may or may not have asked me to write about her, but ultimately, I made the decision to reserve this space for her. I had taken down many mental notes on which of her features I would be sure to mention, but right now, I’m completely at a loss for words. Can I describe such a dynamic person in such few words? She deserves a whole post to herself…

I like to joke that I’m the father of one of my group of friends. However, when it comes to her, I like to think I’m her older brother. Ella. My elegant baby sister. She is more of a sister to me at times than my biological sister.

I’m having trouble describe her. Words don’t do her justice. To sum her up in a few terms: she’s one of the few people I know that’s beautiful on the inside (personality) and on the outside (Gahd damn is she gorgeous. Homegirl’s racking up a bodycount of guys that have been into her, and he first year in college isn’t even halfway through yet).

Never before have I seen someone like her: The same girl who stays away from drugs, yet bumps to Future’s latest music. This is the same, small girl who hilariously repeats the motto “Fuck bitches, get money.” Her twitter bio reads “I tweet some gangster shit, but I’m still scared of the dark.”

Her simplistic beauty has left me dumbfounded time and time again. She doesn’t deal with shit. The women who revel in drama will always be the first ones to pipe up and say “OMG, I hate drama. I can’t stand it.” Ella, on the other hand, doesn’t even come near any drama. She deals with her problems in a mature manner. I even have to implore her to tell me what’s bothering her at times. She focuses on what really matters in life, and doesn’t let the side shit get to her.

It’s kind of funny to hear about how others perceive our relationship. I’ve had multiple groups of people ask if Ella was my girlfriend. I can’t help but laugh a bit as I give my usual utterances of her being like a sister to me. In a way, I’m absolutely honored. First, because people can actually believe that I can nab someone so clearly out of my league. Second, that our friendship is so adorable that people can visibly see how close we are.

I could go on at length about each and every facet that makes her great, but it’s finally time I get this published. Besides, I know none of my writing will ever do her justice. It’s just not possible to describe such a phenomenal person with just words.

But here I am, finally signing off. Until next time.

Peace, and much love to ya

 

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