EPT
[Girl Blog] Free
I wrote this a while ago, and never published it. After my showmatch against Yoshi Kirishima (link) (VoDs), as payment for my loss, I said I would write a massive girl blog. This is that blog.
There are a lot of bad ways to find something out, but I think I just have some personal scorn for learning things via facebook you know? Maybe it's the impersonal nature of the thing, or the fact that typically facebook tells independently-- nobody actually cared to inform you, you just found out. It's really an ugly thing, the professionalized data transfer from reading someone's facebook profile. Or maybe I'm just a facebook hater. Haters gonna hate, amirite?
That brings me, though, to the other problem: hating. You see, I could have hated him if he was anyone else. Well, not anyone else, just almost anyone else. It would have to be Chris, wouldn't it? Chris' fault is that I can't hate him. His fault is that he's a great guy, we share a lot of interests, and when we met, I immediately liked him. I'm... I'm happy for them. They deserve each other, in the best sense of the phrase. I just wish I could hate him. It would make it easier, having someone to hate.
Jen and I didn't even date for that long-- at least, not as far as dating goes. It was a chance meeting, sitting down next to each other on the commuter rail. Well, it was sort of a chance meeting. I sat down across from her because she was cute. I'll admit it. I don't know how it happens in romance movies, but I assume it usually starts something like that. I tried to strike up a conversation with her, but she seemed more sleepy than interested in what I had to say. I had a few jokes and funny stories up my sleeve, eventually she was smiling and laughing and I was glad I sat down next to her and not someone else. After talking for a bit, we exchanged phone numbers and AIM addresses and promised to stay in touch.
Like me, she was an insomniac, so we had our conversations, and our laughs. We linked cat pictures to each other at 2 am, played crappy online video games, and met up for coffee or lunch once or twice on the weekends. We were both still single, but we were definitely dating. I'm not really sure how much I liked her at this point as a romantic interest. She was cut from a different cloth, more into art and music than I ever was. Things with her were comfortable, though, and natural. At some point, I was meeting her friends, and we went together to parties, and gradually we weren't two people but a couple. She didn't play Starcraft, but she watched me play, and watched casts with me occasionally. I was happy.
I think we wanted different things out of a relationship. That'd be the more diplomatic way of putting it, I suppose. I'm in (and was) in a transitional phase in my life. Even though we're the same age, both adrift in that sea between college and life as the recession washes away most career opportunities, we drifted different ways. I had something to cling to, and she did not, and it filled her with uncertainty. I was lucky, I suppose, to get the internship and subsequent coding job I have now. Maybe if I were still adrift I'd be like her-- looking for anything solid to grab onto in the flow of life.
And as time passed, we grew apart, drifted apart even. As imperceptibly as things had began, things unbegan. I was busy with work, busy trying to get promoted, and busy with all the burdens of life. At some point, we began to spend less time together. Maybe I was less interested in her, or maybe she was less interested in me. We would still see each other, of course, but eventually I stopped visited her after work during the week. At some point, time together stopped being play and became chore. And then, time together on the weekends began to fade. No more parties, no more friends, no more being a couple. Eventually we weren't seeing each other any more. Then, we weren't speaking. Every step was so gradual it was almost imperceptible. Finally, we weren't even talking on AIM. We had run out of things to talk about. We had run out of reasons to be together.
She had left her jacket in my closet, and one day on the way to Oakland I dropped it off at her place. I didn't knock, I just left it in a paper bag at her door. We weren't talking any more.
It had ended with a whisper rather than a bang, a gradual erosion rather than a sudden rockslide.
And maybe that was okay.
Maybe I was okay.
Maybe, in part, it was the suddenness of it. After weeks, months of not seeing her or hearing from her, it was quite a shock. Chris Rodriguez was a great guy. A lot like me, though a sous-chef instead of a QA engineer, if that's even a comparison. An artist instead of a corrector. A writer rather than a fact-checker. Probably more in her style. I could always take pleasure in the fact that he's in Platinum league while I'm in Master League, I suppose. He's also a Protoss player. He would be a Protoss player, wouldn't he.
I suppose I would have liked to have known earlier, too. I don't really go on facebook much-- I check it once a month, basically, but you can imagine my surprise as Jen Rodriguez uploaded a second batch of wedding photos. I didn't have a moment of disbelief, like they do in the novels, and there was no double-take or confusion, or furiously checking to confirm the truth of the matter. My feelings were pretty simple. Just surprise, really. She never struck me as the settling type. Maybe for Chris, though. A cynical part of me speculated on whether she got knocked up. It would make sense.
Cynicism is a pretty good shield, but it will only take you so far. It shouldn't have bothered me, you see? It had been a long time, and he was a good guy, and they'd be happy together, and we didn't even talk any more and I'd be damned if I let her ruin my day.
I fucking love GSL. Tasteless and Artosis would cheer me up. I fucking love beer. All I had in the fridge was Pilsner Urquell, and I was planning to save that for a special occasion, but fuck it. I didn't pay for this season ticket and this beer so I could spend my Saturday night NOT watching Code A VoDs and getting sloshed alone in my room.
This is what it means to be happy. I'm happy and this is what I'm doing, all on my own. Don't even think for a minute that I'm upset-- because this is a damn party. Tastosis is so funny. Go, TheStC! Cmon, MKP! You can do it, GuMiho!
I finish my second beer and can't get up the motivation to get drunk. I slouch in my chair and shut my computer. Dual Site is a bullshit map and ZvT is a bullshit matchup. Sniper ain't shit and Bomber should beat him 9/10 times.
I get in bed. I'm happy. I keep on telling myself that.
It's 8 am and my alarm starts blaring violin music. I haven't turned it off, and there's no reason to be up this early on a Sunday. I sit on bed and contemplate the pale light sliding in through my blinds. Everything reminds me of her, and for no reason at all. I want to not care. If I am assaulted by old memories, I have only one option: make new ones.
I'm going to have an adventure today.
After a rinse and a shave, I shrug into the same clothes I wore yesterday. Jeans. Button-down shirt. Thick Jacket.
As I get into my car, I remark on how perfect the position of the dead pedal is. My left foot rests easy until I need it to depress the clutch. The car roars to life and I found I've left my radio tuned to NPR, unnecessarily loud. It'll do. I roll down my windows and blast public radio onto the Sunday morning streets, like some in-his-20's nerd version of a teenaged punk, making sure everyone can hear about the new center for the arts. I've got half a tank of gas and 40 dollars. A coffee and a scone make breakfast for me, and I get onto the freeway, and head north to San Francisco.
I pull into a parking space off Mission. I don't really know what I'm doing, or where I'm going, so I walk uphill. At first, the slope is shallow, but ahead I can see it curve steeply upwards. After a moment of consideration, I've made my decision: I will climb to the top. I will climb to the top and look out over the city.
As I get closer, I can make out the top of the hill, flaunting a green pasture rather than the grey and red of the city. Even though it's a chilly SF morning, I'm clothed for programming, not walking, and a sharp feeling in my lungs reminds me how out-of-shape I am. I take off my jacket and rest it over my shoulder as I climb.
The boulevard becomes a street, and the street an alley, and the alley a stair cut into the side of the hill between tall compact SF homes. I pass two small play areas, and a slide from the top of one stair to the bottom. I contemplate taking the slide down, but I'm not looking forwards to climbing this section of stair a second time.
After a dozen infinities climbing, I reach the top of the stair, and am presented with the park atop the hill. Of course, there's a road here, and parking, and I curse myself silently for walking all this way. Nonetheless, I venture into the yellowing fields of grass and make for the top of the hill. This would have been a good day for tennis shoes.
It's cold, at the top, and the sun is finally breaking through the stark San Francisco morning. I can't see most of the city, but I can see out over the bay, and to the south and west quite a bit. I fumble with my phone and try to get it to take a panoramic photo, but then I stop.
I'm not here for photos. I'm here for memories.
For 30 minutes, I wander the park at the top of the hill, drinking in the beauty of the place, the views, the plants. The wind chills me uncomfortably, but the jacket stays off. I try to memorize the color and shape of every blade of grass, every tree, ever flower in the park. The air is beautiful here, and clean.
I descend, and wander into a cafe I've never seen before and order chicken and waffles, a dish I've never had before. I order a beer I've never had before, and absorb the new flavors and sensations. I learn and forget more nostalgias that day than all the days together in the past week.
For that day, I don't look back and frown on my mistakes. For that day, I don't wallow in the past and wish for things to be different. For that day, I live a new life and experience new memories.
And for that day, for the first time in months, I am free.
