03/11/2010

It’s 3:40 pm, I turn over in my duvet-heavy bed and sluggishly glance towards the door of my room. BB is standing there. Am I dreaming? I ask myself and try to sit up. No I’m not. Oh dear God. Panic. That is BB standing at the door.

Then it hits me. What???? No, no, no, no!  This man did not just ambush me in my place? I did not remember any talk of  meeting him today. He’s appeared unannounced, to find me at my most undignified. A stinking room, dirty bowl and spoon with dried weetabix bits on them,  on the bed beside my head, a packet of sainsbury’s basics sultanas next to it,  bits of used tissue and dirty clothes all over the floor and my menses stained knickers hanging at the corner of my bed. I’m ashamed. I want to die. Oh the humiliation! It’s unbearable. I want to get up but I’m incapacitated with self loathing.

“Hello, I wasn’t expecting you, how did you get in?”

“The woman opened the  door for me”

“Oh, eerrm…I was reading then I fell asleep”

“I can see that, is it warm in there? I’ll join you”

No, please no. You wouldn’t like the smell in here. At this point I’m thinking…hide the dirty stuff on display…hide that bit of the second duvet that’s worn out…do something…save yourself from this shame. But I can’t. He’s already removed his clothes and has jumped next to me. Feelings of rage start to creep up within me. He has no right! He can’t just turn up. He has no right to turn up like this and make me feel less of a human being due to the conditions I live in. In times like these I want to be alone. I don’t want anyone to see the crazy state I’m in. When I’m alone, I don’t have to pretend. I can wallow in my depression and continue fighting a loosing battle with my insomnia whilst indulging and entertaining my glorious disturbed sleep patterns. Then he comes in like this. This is not a part of me I want him to see. Then I calm down – it’s not my fault after all, I didn’t ask him to turn up impromptu.

Up until now he had only been to my place once – after I had done a massive clear out and cleaned the place up and now. And of course after apologising profusely for the state of it – most of which wasn’t my poor self’s fault – the stained and discoloured roof for starters. Ugh. On that occasion it went well though. He didn’t seem to mind and even helped me take out some rubbish that The Witch thought convenient to tell me off about in front of him. But this was different.

One hour after he got naked, I put my hand over his torso  and a few minutes later I hear:

“We should stop doing this”

“What?”

“Having sex”

Oh dear me. This is it.

“I don’t spend quality time with you”

So why the hell did you fucking come over today? How about you should have told me this via earlier and not turned up. Or how about you should have turned up and NOT got naked, but just you know…tell me this and then go?

I remain silent. I play with his hair a little, he tells me to stop then gets up to dress. He notices the sultanas and makes a comment about how good sultanas are. All I can think of is that they are just sainsbury’s basics. Cheap. I’m a total and massive contrast to his comfortable middle class existence. No wonder he wants out? He also mentions something about how warm my bed is. Do I like to keep warm he asks? I pull a duvet over me as he says:

“We should stop because it’s not fair to you. I don’t make enough time for you”

He leans over to kiss me. Tears start forming. God please no, I can’t start crying now. Not for this man. Please.

“But you are funny, you don’t care”

I do. I fucking care. I fucking care so much. I fucking care so much that I’ve had to suppress my tears. He said I didn’t care because two weeks ago, while apologising for yet another flying visit I told him it doesn’t matter when he sees me. It was his life I said and I will not force him to see him. It’s not like I was married to him or was his girlfriend, I continued, matter of factly. I didn’t mean that. I was hurting and angry…and needy so I just said this to appear ‘cool with it’. He remembered it.

“It’s not that I don’t care”, I smiled faintly and swallowed a huge lump in my throat. He stood up to put on his jumper and said that it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t see me enough but would make sure to find sometime for us to do something ‘more’. So what is it? Is that it or do I have to wait and see if he has found the time to do ‘more’ things together?

He blew me a kiss and left. I lay in bed  thinking of that scene in Bille August’s The House of the Spirits, where Esteban visits a prostitute and asks her  to be tender with him and pretend to care for him, just for that day. Substitute  the prostitute with BB.

I wish I’d never met him.

**An hour letter I check my emails and see one from him, sent at 2:32 pm, without a body, titled ‘Hello are yyou home at 3.30pm?’ I wasn’t online so I couldn’t reply, but why would he just turn up? If you don’t get a reply you wait for one!

Advertisements

29/10/2010

I live with a bunch of loonies – well some of them. Let me first eliminate the non-loonies:

A meat loving Brazilian couple who judged by their frequent mirth filled weekend evenings with visiting fellow countrymen seem to be a very fun-loving couple on restrain mode . Restrained because in this  shared flat, they can’t always do what they want, and they too definitely – I can tell – consider some of the housemates loopy. The girl’s english is not well, as she told me. She’s probably 1.99% fluent.

Now to loony number one. She’s a witch. Honestly, even this petty girl does not compare to her. Why am I even comparing? This witch is, in the literal sense, an old witch! I can’t tell but I’m guessing  she’ll  soon  be welcoming her 60s. A fact that continues to puzzle me day on end. What is she doing here? Doesn’t she have a family? There was talk of a daughter and a son a while ago  but I didn’t get the details because at that point I had decided to switch off whenever we found each other in the kitchen or any other communal area. I never even say hello sometimes. It may sound harsh but her behaviour towards me has been very weird. I moved in and she  seemed so friendly, showing me around and telling me I was free to use her stuff in the kitchen as long as I cleaned everything afterwards.  I do this for about a week, next thing I know, she’s marching in the kitchen at every opportune moment muttering about ‘there’s somebody ‘ere stealing my things’ or ‘using my things without my permission’ at which moment I point that I don’t know who said culprit is and I’m only using the things she let me use. My statement is then followed by a blank silence before either one of use walks back to their room. That bothered me but I reckoned at her age, her head was just doing things so I didn’t think any think of it. You can imagine how pissed I was when she started accusing me of pilfering her food, and her other kitchen paraphernalia. I fumed and told  her where to put her stuff.

I mean, for the love of Jesus, just toddle off! I literally starve these days, just about surviving on baked beans and frozen rice and then she comes at me with this stupidity. Fucking ridiculous. At this point I’ve got nothing to lose and I really can not tolerate bollocks because I’m just thinking about survival.

Once I stopped acknowledging her, she grasped a hint but alas, this hasn’t curbed her crazy. She still hovers around the house complaining about anything and everything to anyone who’ll tolerate her waffle. And she’s always going on about the cleaning, which, since I moved here , I’ve never seen her lift a finger to do!

Then there is the two Italian sisters with their penchant for taking up the whole  kitchen space preparing their meals. Oh, and their track suit wearing mother who’s been ‘visiting’ them since last month. Don’t get me wrong, but you don’t visit your daughters for a whole month knowing fully well they live in a cramped, and shared space. I mentioned this in an email to The Italian on the first week I moved in and he was quick to assure me that “we don’t behave like that in Italy bella. We are very considerate people”.  They are also very loud. On a given day, if they feel like it, they would start at around 7 am in the morning…up and down the stairs, shouting, talking, shouting, talking, munching, blocking up the kitchen space, more talking and munching. One of the sisters is of the passive aggressive stock; just like this annoying female, she leaves notes all over the house for people to read. I mean, what happened to talking to people about things in the house? She doesn’t seem to have a problem making noise for everyone the rest of the time!

Needless to say, I feel harassed when I’m somewhere in the house, in the company of this lot.

29/05/2010

You see with this girl, we don’t talk anymore. More like she stopped talking to me. I got tired of her bossy ways, she caught on and stopped talking to me. I was especially pissed with the way the landlord treated her like she was the head of house. All the information about stuff in the house like when we’d have viewings (the house is on sale) or when the plumber would come to do repairs would be communicated to her. Not the other housemates, just her. Do I really care that much about who gets to be told what? No. I just like to feel that I also matter. I pay rent here, I don’t squat. I may not be able to afford some of those fine things she and her friends have but I make sure my rent is paid on time every month.

Does it bother me that she doesn’t speak to me? No. I’ve wasted so much time being nice to people in the past I think it’s time I started being selfish.

27/03/2010

Today I went for a walk. I must admit I do love the english countryside. It’s beautiful and when the country air just hits you  feel refreshed. My initial plan was to go to a very famous flower garden that I’ve been to once before…about two years ago but I got lost on the way there, so I decided to take a random wander. As much as I enjoyed this little walk, I was left very nostalgic. Two years ago I was living in a house of three men. One of them grew very close to me. I had just started uni, my depression was spiralling out of control, I was having difficulties keeping up with my course e.t.c and there he was. We use to sit and talk about everything: politics, relationships, cooking, world cultures. Just about everything. Every night we sat in the living room talking and laughing, sometimes watching the occasional movie on his laptop. Our house did not have any TV and the living room window directly faced a viaduct. He said he liked it that way. He said it made us more social. We could sit and talk to each other. I agreed despite my incurable addiction to the box. I loved everything about him. His hair (which he was growing out), his accent (He was from Poland), his hands, his beard (when he shaved I used to grab him from behind by the neck and pretend to be playing around, when all I wanted to do was feel the roughness of his beard on my hand). I can honestly say that this was (still is) the only man I had ever been close to in my life. The only man who I got along with. Ever. He was single and it was his last year of uni in UK. I was in  a long distance relationship. I was also naïve.  He started flirting with me. I flirted back  but I was always scared of things getting out of hand. I did not want to be unfaithful even though doubts about the relationship I was in had begun kicking in long before things got intense with this guy (I’ll call him P). P would come  home from uni everyday and either call out my name to see if I’m home and find out how I was doing, this would then be followed by him making me a cup of  tea and us sitting down for a chat, or upon seeing me in the living room  he would call out jokingly “Honey, I’m home.” We would laugh together. I used to sit across him sometimes in the house and he would look at me and I would feel as if  I was naked before him. Sometimes we would talk and then he would stop and look at me with those eyes. It got to a point where it was so intense and the only thing I could do was rush home to him. He was all I kept thinking about. I wanted him to make love to me. I looked at his hands and imagined how they’d feel on my body. I started deliberately doing things  so that I could touch him. I commented about his hair and  touched it. He did this too.

I remember one day we were at home with the other guys talking and laughing. It was really late. I said I was sleepy but didn’t want to go to bed. He joked and said that I must go to bed, because I was a child (he was six years older than me). I laughed and messed about and before I knew it he grabbed me by my waist and carried me upside down on his shoulders taking me to bed. I started screaming and laughing all the way. I’m not sure whether it was the intense feeling of pleasure I was getting from his hands on my waist and partly on my back or  the feeling of the house spinning as we got upstairs. At the door to my room I wanted and hoped he would come in. He put me down and as he did this, our bodies came together like we were hugging. I was going crazy inside. He patted me telling me to go and sleep and kissed me on my leg (random I know, he was very playful) I went to bed very happy. We went for walks together. We were together all the time. He told me about his work (he was  a design student) he told me about how since coming to UK he had confidence issues but he was getting better. We really spent a lot of time together. The day that he knew I had a boyfriend, he went a bit silent on me. I understood. Things again picked up but after many months the sexual tension took a toll on us. He started going cold on me. I did too, I guess as a form of payback. We had a last train journey together during the end of the winter term. I didn’t see him for a month, when we got back he kissed me on my cheek routine-like, a day later he told me he met someone. He told me as a matter of fact, like you would tell a friend in passing. He was on his phone texting when told me. He was so calm when he did it.

“We were supposed to have started something,” he said and smiled smugly.

“I’m just sending her a text. Maybe I’ll go to see her tonight,”

My heart sank. I sat there looking at him and all I could think of was how handsome he was. It should have been me. I should have been that girl he was texting. I should have been the one he was about to start something with. I just nodded, wished him luck and left him there. Days later he brought her home, they had dinner and went out. He brought her home some more. At this point he was ignoring me point-blank. Sometime he didn’t even say hi to me. I felt as if he was doing this just to spite me. He seemed to be overdoing things when she was around. The way they laughed. They way he talked (loudly) as if to  let me know what exactly was going on. I was so hurt. Really hurt. I can’t even begin to explain. Add this to the fact that at that time I badly wanted out of the relationship I was in.

The first time he brought her home and took her to his room (which was adjacent to mine) to have sex I cried. I cried so much I was taken by surprise. They were laughing and kissing loudly. I wanted to be that girl. Over time I came to learn that he had another girl in Poland. I didn’t know how this was working but he talked about it to the other guys in the house and somehow it felt as if he was in some sort of understanding with this girl he brought around. I don’t know whether the girl in Poland also had an understanding with him. It was all so confusing. I did sometimes have a slight feeling of relief whenever I thought about this. As if this girl had nothing on me, afterall she wasn’t the only one having him. My feelings for him never changed but we had stopped talking now. One day while everyone was in the house, he randomly came to the house and asked everyone to go for a walk with him and this girl, and another friend of his from Poland. I reluctantly said yes. We walked for a long time, got lost a long the way until we  finally got to this garden.

I retraced this path today. I walked along the quiet roads. Looked at all the places, flowers. Nothing has changed. They are just as they were when we were there.  I regret not taking the chance with P. I never stop thinking of what might have been. On the other hand I keep telling myself, maybe I would have ben hurt. On the walk we had I remember even though we hadn’t talked for sometime, he took a picture of me and showed it to everyone around. He said I looked nice. The girl looked at it and said yeah. I guess she just wanted to be polite. On the way back as I walked slowly behind, he urged me playfully to move faster. I don’t know maybe he missed me. Maybe he was punishing me for not giving him a chance. We went to a pub and I sat there with the others as he cuddled with the girl and they talked about how they didn’t sleep the previous night because they were busy with each other. I wanted to scream. We got back home and it was back to not talking to each other. I remember the last time I saw him. It was end of term. I was leaving to go see my parents, he was leaving for his graduation. A friend of his from Poland had come for the graduation and there was a lot of activity going on. He was smart in his black trousers and cream shirt adjusting his tie. He just came downstairs, wished me well in my life and went back upstairs to continue getting ready. Just like that, he was out of my life.