If I were more permissive, patient and tolerant then maybe I could keep a man. If I stopped asking so many questions, if I stopped yelling when I’m angry, if I were less vocal about my own needs as an individual. Maybe if I learned to smile instead of argue, maybe if I pushed their needs over mine. Maybe if I allowed more bad behaviors, maybe if I brushed off more comments that made me uncomfortable. I genuinely believe this would make me more attractive to a lot of men.
But this isn’t who I am and I don’t want to change.
I don’t have a problem with women whose personality does align with some of these traits, but I do have a problem when women are conditioned to submit in order to feel worthy of “love.”
The older I get, the more I feel most men want only a partner who will provide them companionship, sex, and domestic labor, while simultaneously giving them minimal hassle. Giving them “minimal hassle,” usually means putting up with their subpar, inappropriate, or cruel behavior. Giving them “minimal hassle” usually means compromising parts of yourself. Giving them “minimal hassle” usually means matching what is approved by society, their family, and social circles. Maybe a woman outside of this box can be well liked, or seen as "fun," but taken less seriously for the role of a wife.
I believe men have a stronger tendency to see relationships as a service rather than a partnership. Even historically, marriage is seen as a transfer of property, fathers handing their daughters over to a husband. Fathers were even paid to give their virgin daughters away through marriage, as they were selling off their own kin as both household labor and a sexual object. I genuinely wonder sometimes, has much really changed? How many men mistreat or leave their wives once they are no longer of service to them? A man is 6x more likely to leave their seriously ill partner than a woman is. You always hear about men “trading out their ‘older’ wives for a newer model.” These things alone are a huge cause for concern.
I always thought it was weird when the older, divorced women around me decided they never want to date or marry again, but now I can understand why. They don’t want to bother with this society anymore. Single women are the happiest demographic for a reason. Married women live shorter than single women, married men live longer than single men, and it’s all for a reason. I genuinely believe that if we could change how we treat relationships, things don’t have to be this way. All that I honestly want is an equitable partnership with mutual respect, trust, security, and agreement for future plans. However sometimes I feel like this is too much to even ask for as a woman.
I’m not blaming men for my lack of success in relationships, in fact I am not blaming men for anything. I just feel so much anger towards the imbalances in the society which I am a part of.
One thing that makes me sad is how almost every woman I know who enters a relationship ends up becoming an emptier version of the bold person she used to be. Although I think men can also lose themselves in relationships, it is far more extreme for women due to cultural expectations. They stop dressing cute because they don’t want to be seen as attention seekers while in a relationship. They change their style for what they think their man wants. They put his comforts, needs, wants and hobbies above hers. They drift further away from family and friends, and the comfort and joy of female companionship.
Another thing that makes me sad is when women hold onto a hope that their partners will change, when they likely never will. A person will never change if they are never pushed to change. By merely permitting bad behavior, you are signaling to your partner that these behaviors are okay. If you allow your dog to shit all over the house, then the dog will never stop shitting all over the house. You can’t just one day expect the dog to change.
I genuinely believe that if I changed my personality, it would be easier for men to see me as a potential partner. However, even if I did change, I don't think it would make me happy. Even if I become perfectly submissive, fulfilling every expected duty of a girlfriend and wife, someone will still find some way to criticize me. Maybe I will become “too boring.” Maybe if I become a stay at home mother, I will be seen as lazy. Maybe if I become a career woman, I will be seen as an unpresent mother. Sometimes I feel like the only socially successful way to be a woman is to stop existing. No matter what I do or how I change myself to best match the male ideal, there will always be someone with a problem, and I still run the risk of being betrayed or left alone once I am no longer of service. There is no point in changing when there is no winning.
I don’t ever want to put up with something below my standards again. If anything, I believe I should be even more stubborn and even less tolerant than I have been in the past. Society teaches us that we need a relationship to complete us, and due to gender roles and the institution of marriage, this rhetoric can prove especially dangerous to women. Once we overcome the fear of being alone, I believe we can also reach a boundless state of happiness and freedom.
I fell asleep at 10pm again last night, an unusually early time for me. I have felt so sad and engulfed with laziness recently, and though my mood is slightly better than it was earlier this week, it is still causing me to oversleep. I had a lot of crazy stress dreams as usual, as well as many dreams I can’t remember. I woke up at 8am to a text from my mom asking me to accompany her to the flower mart.
10 hours of sleep and I still don’t want to leave my bed.
Today is the day of my baby sister’s senior prom, and my mom is on a mission to make her and her friends corsages. I promised her I would come along, and would like to be there for my sister on her prom day. I tell her I’m on my way but lay in bed a little longer, mess with some html on my blog a little bit, and make my way to shower for the first time in several days. There is a sticky note on my door from my roommate saying that she misses me and she hopes I’m doing well. I guess I’ve been in bed the whole time. Maybe she thinks I’m not home. I appreciate the gesture, and leave to meet my mom.
By the time I meet my mom in Downtown LA, I am in a pretty good mood just by being outside. We make our way towards Santee alley, an area full of wholesale vendors, on a block with primarily fabric shops. Some sellers are pushier than others, trying to catch our attention when walking past. Some look old and almost frail, hidden behind spools of polyester lace. I hear a variety of different languages, English, Spanish, Arabic and one that I can’t recognize. I notice an extremely soft plush fabric printed like Fred Flinstone while my mom talks to herself, unsure of what direction we are going.
I follow her around the corner, and suddenly we are surrounded by shops selling ribbons. I look into one, manned by a cholo veterano, most likely in his 50s pelon y todo. His skin is painted in tattoos, a teardrop on the eye, as he delicately adjusts spools of ribbon. My mom notices him too, and later in conversation with me gives him props for being reformed and having a job. She then continues the story, and gives him even more props for working hard in his family’s business. I mostly agree but also notice she is making a lot of assumptions about the guy's life, probably reflective of her own experiences and values.
I remember that I forgot to take my birth control yesterday. I almost never forget, but I guess with my constant moodiness and exhaustion, it slipped my mind. What’s more, I forgot to bring my pills with me when I left the house today. I realize that if I forget two days in a row it will cause my hormones to spiral, and period to start early. A hormonal crisis is the last thing I need at the moment. I bookmark it in my mind that I need to be home by 6pm to take my pills.
My mom gets a little more lost but eventually we find the block where they sell flowers. We enter a handful of stores, and while I provide feedback on some flowers to pick, I sort of leave it up to her. I feel a bit like a kid, or a boyfriend who was dragged along for shopping against his will. I notice each store has a unique hand drawn sign at the counter. One has a drawing of Goku holding flowers, another has one simply written “please don’t tuch.” Sooner than later she buys all the supplies, flowers, elastic bracelets, and flower tape. She then suggests we go to a local Italian restaurant for lunch, and once again I find myself following her through the chaotic street.
I immediately found the restaurant decorations to be funny and interesting. There are fake flowers everywhere, from floor to ceiling. There is a fountain in the corner with artificial mist smoking off of the water. We wait to be seated, and a couple walks by bickering in Mandarin. Were they bickering? Were they just talking? I don’t know the language well enough to say but they looked unhappy together. The man was very skinny with feminine features, and dressed in a tuxedo that seemed to belong at either a wedding or costume party, finished off with Louboutin designer shoes. The woman looked slightly older but not by much, and was dressed fairly normal if not frumpy. Their clothing didn’t seem to match. The woman walked down the hall to the restroom, but instead of entering to use the toilet, spent a long time inspecting the giant red door that said “EXIT” and “ALARM WILL SOUND.” A server came up to greet and seat my mom and I, and I almost forgot about the bizarre couple.
He explained the specials to us, as well as his personal recommendations. My mom and I worked out what to order and share, as to get the most value. Suddenly, I get the sensation that occurs when either discharge, period blood, or semen leaks out from you. My feminine intuition tells me it has to be discharge, and I excuse myself to the bathroom to clean up. The bathroom is in use, I assume by the woman of interest I mentioned earlier. I wait a little while, and eventually she comes out, a look of shock on her face when she opens the door to me, as if I had jump scared her by waiting. We did not exchange any words and I entered the bathroom and she walked back to her table.
The bathroom was decorated just as funny as the rest of the restaurant, with head to toe pixelated murals of Italy… and more fake flowers everywhere. Even the toilet was wrapped in faux vines. I pulled down my underwear and noticed light pink discharge, weird.
“Light pink discharge– an indication of hormonal fluctuation or an early sign of pregnancy,” I say to myself almost immediately in my head. I’m obsessed with medical facts like this. I figure due to the birth control situation, and even my moodiness, it must be due to hormonal instability. Briefly I wonder what I would do if I were pregnant. I would have to get an abortion, right? Would I even tell my ex? He couldn’t even stay with me or commit to me or be there for me as is, so why would he be there for me through a pregnancy or abortion? What’s more, to tell him would just be interfering with his life, a life he lives with another woman. I get a brief feeling of alienation. I remember that I’m the same age my mom was when she was pregnant with me. Then I stop thinking about pregnancy, wash up and head back to my mom.
We ate cheesy pasta with mushrooms and a beet salad, and it was honestly delicious. I drank a full glass of water with no ice through a clear plastic straw, and cleaned off both plates with my spoon. Although I can’t handle eating it everyday, and am not great at making it myself, I love Italian food, especially pasta. I remember how just earlier this week I was too sick to even eat, and I feel grateful that I can now keep food down better and enjoy this meal. Food makes me so happy, and I had a nice lunch with my mom. I then cradle the flowers we bought as if they were my own, and we head back to her apartment.
When we get back, my mom almost immediately runs to her computer and starts to google “how to make corasage for prom.” It’s at this moment I realize she has no idea what she’s doing. She watches a video on youtube from 7 years ago, with royalty free Christmas music as its soundtrack.
“I knew I should have gotten wire!” She exclaims in frustration.
She starts to rummage through every drawer in her apartment, and I feel a familiar and unique form of chaos in the air. It is the chaos felt through divorce and separation, the chaos of missing objects, and an existence spread out across multiple households and timelines. She was just divorced again last year, and is still adjusting to a new apartment and environment. My mom spent all this time digging around her apartment for objects and tools that were never really there at all, that she probably had at some point in her old home but not anymore.
She never found the wire, but we started to make the corsages anyway. The ones I made looked a little off, less like a flower arrangement and more like a bizarre and rare bug species camouflaging with plants. I started to exhale loudly out of frustration, and I just resigned to watching my mom make them. I loved watching her, she put them together so delicately, with so much care. You could have almost never imagined she was so clueless and spastic about the project just 20 minutes earlier. Time flew by quickly, and before I knew it we were on the road again, bringing the corsages to my sister’s friends home.
She got on the 110 freeway towards Northeast LA. For those who don’t know, it is the oldest freeway in Los Angeles, with winding turns and sometimes bumpy pavement. Due to its archaic design and unsafe layout, there are always a lot of accidents on this freeway. My mom doesn’t care though, as she drives at full speed with music so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts. I have mixed feelings towards this freeway. I grew up really close to it. In this moment I remember pictures I saw of my ex laying down on the pavement of this freeway. They were taken on a day that they closed it down for pedestrians, and the photos were taken by his wife. I wonder how their relationship was at the time those photos were taken. I think about our breakup. I think about how he is probably at home with her right now. I think about how even if I claimed not to be, I was so invested in an impossible future with someone who knew he couldn’t stay with me. I feel like the idea of having “more” in our relationship was always dangled over my head, and after a year and a half that “more” was nowhere to be seen. And now I am alone and he is with someone. It’s so hard for me to accept that those things are not only over, but not for me. I feel engulfed in anger and jealousy, and I hate myself for being this way.
When my mom pulls off the highway, and up to my sister’s friend’s street, I get an insane rush of nostalgia. I have never been to this girl’s house before, but remember back in high school my best friend's mom, who was a housekeeper, cleaned a house on this block, and we went there together. The street is a long and winding hill, with sweeping views of the city and other surrounding hills. I felt just as in awe of it back then as I did now.
The girl’s house was so nice. It was large with amazing views. It’s my dream to live in a house like that, in a neighborhood like that, a very expensive dream that may never come to fruition. I tell my sister’s friend I love her house and she makes a weird face at me. Why is it that rich people can’t ever just say “thank you” about these things? She tells me it was a house people shot pornos at back in the day. Interesting, I don’t watch much classic stuff but I guess I’ll keep an eye out.
I played with their cat while waiting for my sister to get ready. She took forever, but eventually finished. I didn’t like her outfit. I don’t want to be mean so I didn’t say anything. I thought her makeup looked pretty but she told me she wasn't wearing enough. Then all the girls put on the corsages for photos, thanked us and left. That was sort of it. To my surprise, my sister chose to wear one of the crazy looking corsages that I made.
Before I knew it, I was back in the car with my mom. She knows how much I love houses like that one and told me, “You never know what can happen. It may feel difficult to imagine now, but maybe someday you will actually have a home like that.”
Then we are back speeding on the 110 North, and I am back to my same angry thoughts. My mom drops me back off at my car, and I head home. I try not to think more about the things that make me upset.
7:47pm
This is the time I arrive back at home to take my pills. It’s off nearly two hours but still okay I hope.
I think about my day, how much time and effort was spent on a small decoration, which will likely die and break tonight. I still don’t feel it was a pointless effort, and feel the fact flowers don’t live forever only adds to their beauty. I’m happy I spent time with my family. I’m happy I left the house today. I would rather have bitter and heartbroken thoughts with fresh air than bitter and heartbroken thoughts in my bedroom reeking of my own sweat. I feel better than I did earlier this week, and I guess that in itself is a win.
I hope my sister has an amazing night.
Obviously I am not ready. This may go without saying, but in this day and age you never know. How many people jump from relationship to relationship without taking time to heal the last one? I know that I have been one of those people. I don’t think I have properly handled my time single, ever. Obviously, deciding a healthy time frame for moving on is subjective, but I think that in a world of constant dopamine addiction and rampant codependency people don’t sit alone with themselves long enough. I really want to do things right this time.
There are plenty of things that I want to personally improve.
I have made the decision to go back to college while also keeping my full time job and career. I understand that not only am I now heartbroken, but I will also be busy these next two-ish years in this school and work process. I don’t have the time or capacity to date, and would like to focus on myself, and so I have made a commitment not to date or have sex until I finish school.
There are three other future things I would like to notate wanting, which would be that I want to live abroad for at least a year, I want to get a pet, and I want to own my own property. These things are not associated with my two year focus plan, as I cannot leave the country while still in school and I should not get a pet or house with intentions to leave the country. However, they are things I want to stand strong in making a reality.
I don’t think I will have a lot of trouble adjusting to being alone. My last two relationships both involved some type of disconnect and distance, and so I have been spending a lot of time alone these past four years anyways. I actually prefer to have time alone. I have wondered if I tend to choose men who are disconnected from me because I don’t want to give up my sense of self. I think ideally, I would like to be with someone who allows me that space in a healthy way, rather than a strained and constricted one. However, I tend to pick the latter.
So besides my plan to remain focused on studying, remain focused on myself, what are smaller things that I can do to keep myself happy and growing?
For one, I am writing about it. Writing makes me feel better and I like writing. It was a big hobby of mine as a kid until I stopped at some point in high school. I started to become busier, more self conscious, and more adjusted to a world where writing is a dying skill. Especially now at a time where writing is done by AI more and more frequently, there is something that feels almost rebellious in doing this. Language is like a puzzle, picking and choosing various words in the order that expresses yourself best. Designing the most fitting structure, selecting the most appropriate words, and taking the time to truly share my emotions on my terms feels deeply human.This cathartic experience is something we as people will likely have less and less of as time goes on. To me it feels important to preserve my sense of humanity, and again, self identity. These are some reasons I am so drawn to creating this project.
Another small thing that brings me peace and joy is cooking and cleaning. As a feminist western woman it sometimes feels like a loaded thing to say I enjoy, (lol!) and so I’ll explain a little more. While I don't mind cooking or cleaning for others, I would hate to do it as an expectation. Too often than not, women end up in domestic situations where the housework just “gets done,” and the men don’t really question who did it and when it happened. I have seen it happen in my own family, and even situations living with couples as roommates. Women cook for a man nonstop, but even if they enjoy cooking they get exhausted if it becomes a never thanked expectation, and he never at least offers help with the dishes. I understand that everybody’s individual and cultural expectations may differ, but for me and those around me, I think desire for labor acknowledgement would be a collective sentiment, even if it’s labor we enjoy. I think both men and women should be equally acknowledged and appreciated for the efforts they put into a relationship. But back to why I enjoy cooking and cleaning.
When I cook for myself, and I clean my own space, it makes me feel appreciated. It makes me feel a little more in control of my surroundings, and a little more accomplished. Doing that labor for someone else may be an act of love, but doing it for myself feels like an act of self love. Not only this but I can do it on my own terms. I can clean, organize and decorate the way I want. I can be as messy or as clean as I like without the standards of another person in mind. I can cook for my own preferences and cravings, without having someone else’s in mind. These things feel so good to me. This is the freedom that comes with living on my own without my family or a partner, and I want to embrace it.
I also enjoy going out on my own, to events, to eat, to nature, or even to travel alone. I want to do more of this. I also want to spend more time with my family and friends.
I also have various hobbies, both creative and technical that I would like to give some attention to, such as studying languages. Ever since I have been heartbroken and unemployed with a lot of time on my hands, those language textbooks on my shelf have been looking attractive. Although there are other things I would like to study in my spare time such as Math, (I know, this may sound strange to some people) when it comes to studying, I would now like to focus solely on my classwork in college and my foreign language learning hobby.
I am hoping to also write blog posts regarding some of these hobbies and activities, rather than just heady and emotional things. I am writing about life! And what would a blog about focusing on your time alone be, if you don’t write about some of those things you are doing alone?
I am not ready to date. I am not interested in dating. Although I’m also sure sexual feelings will come up, I do not need to have sex. There is a lot that I need to do for myself, and I think a lot that I need to process about myself alone in order to grow. Hopefully this project can assist me in providing an outlet, self reflection, and seeing my progress. Maybe some people can even see what I write and connect to it. Although I feel some hurt feelings now, I am still looking forward to all of this.
He was always the reason I wanted to wake up in the morning, and now that we don’t talk, I find myself sleeping 12 hours straight. Sure, it could be the liberty of unemployment, but being so lethargic feels unlike myself. I feel like even if I get out of bed, there’s nothing worth doing. I remember so many days where my alarm couldn’t wake me up, but the vibration of receiving his texts could. The thought of seeing him, confiding in him, laughing with him, these thoughts were what encouraged me to start the day.
Since we broke up, I lost my appetite. I can’t keep food down, and even when I can it gives me stomach pain. From the second I wake up, there is a feeling in my chest as if it was shattered into one hundred sharp pieces. It keeps me from eating, and it worsens whenever I overthink our relationship, when I imagine him with someone else, when I wonder what he truly thinks and feels, the anxiety causes physical pain.
I’ve been spending a lot of my time awake, (when my Mom isn’t worried about me and forcing me to eat,) just laying in bed and watching movies. I’ve had a lot of silly rewatches lately of things I haven’t seen in nearly 10 years. I find it relaxing. When I see couples on tv together, living together, sleeping together, investing their time in each other, it makes me sad. These were all things we didn’t have, and maybe I am also grieving the loss of what never happened.
When we would still talk, I felt like I was always demanding answers that he cannot give me. “Do you want to spend your future with someone else?” I ask, he says he doesn’t know. He doesn’t provide much with clarity, and can’t help but feel he would if he truly loved me. Maybe my perspective is self centered. Who am I to judge though? I myself am not flawless or crystal clear on my future desires.
I need to learn to accept the “worst case scenarios” and move forward with my life. I need to accept that this chapter, while unfinished, must close. I can write forever about him, our good times, bad times, my emotions, my questions… and even if I spend forever writing about him I will always think of more to say, feel and ask.
Until crying over him now, I haven’t cried about a breakup since I was a teenager. I think there are probably a multitude of reasons for that, but if I wish, I can interpret it as a testament to how much I cared. Unfortunately, I am an adult now with more responsibilities than the average teenager, and most of those responsibilities resume next week, including the start of a new job. I must stop rotting away at some point, work on what needs to be done, and reclaim my own life. Because I ask myself, how did I ever reach a point where I was so dependent on another person for happiness? How did I get here, where the thought of another person is what pushes me to wake up in the morning? It honestly snuck up on me. In the end I realized I was far more attached and invested than I could have imagined. I think as people we get attached to things that make you feel good. He made me feel good, and now I need to learn to feel good on my own again.