anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

Baby, You Should Know That I Lead, Not Follow

Tennis with Sicai was brilliant. It wasn't even about the quality of the tennis that I played, but about how I pushed myself to go beyond, and beyond, and beyond, to hit the next shot even though my body was screaming at me to stop, to ride the momentum and keep going even though I was dying for a drink. I was in the zone for a stretch of time, hitting forehands like a machine (but of course, a framed backhand brought me crashing back to reality). I think I even managed to implement the fundamental tweaks that I am trying to make to my forehand technique (i.e. shoulder turn, big racquet backswing, then hit the ball), but I don't think my swing was as fluid as it should be.

I will try to make the same adjustment to my backhand but for now, I will just focus on the forehand. One thing at a time.

The larger point, though, is that I had a heaviness in my heart that I wanted to lighten by bashing the shit out of my tennis balls. G was the demon that I wanted to exorcise. Recent developments have finally convinced me that I will be done with this brief romance after this week; and during tennis, whenever a memory of the amazing first week and a half we had together surfaced in my mind's eye, I would try to bash the ball even harder. I had Kelly Clarkson's Mr Know-It-All playing in my head, having just listened to the song in my car on the drive to NUS, and the combination of my own anger (I suppose I can call it anger) and her defiance at her ex who treated her badly fueled me to go even harder. I just wanted the ball to be bashed to bits. I wanted to lose myself in my groundstrokes. I wanted to feel rage at myself for messing up shots, to turn the angst to tennis so that I could forget for a while what was really bothering me.

I don't really want to go into the details because 1) I am tired and it's late; and 2) I have already written about it privately. Suffice it to say, then, that there is massive inequality of feelings between us now. That is a euphemism for 'he doesn't give a shit anymore while I am still thinking about him all the time like a pathetic little shit'. The sweet messages are relics of the past. He is no longer dying to see me; he can take it or leave it.

This is all fair enough. It is obviously the logical thing to do. I was the one who told him that we'd keep seeing each other, but from a more level headed baseline, until he left. I mean, he is leaving next week or something, or if not next week, the following week; whatever it is, he is leaving. Even if his visa gets fucked up and he stays, I am leaving and I have already said that I don't want to bring any extra emotional baggage with me to Cambridge. It obviously doesn't make sense to indulge in pointless emotions and feelings when nothing, absolutely nothing, will eventually come out of it.

I'm not surprised at the fact that he's got rid of whatever feelings he had (assuming he had feelings for me in the first place); I'm just struck with incredulity at how quickly it happened, and how he seemingly expected me to just know, to keep up, to be on the same plane as him when 1) he communicated nothing to me; and 2) he knew - and knows - that I still had feelings for him. If I was meant to take a hint from the change in his behaviour and text messages, well I'm sorry but I prefer to be told things explicitly. I don't take hints. No, make that I do take hints, but I will definitely take action to make things crystal clear.

The bright side is that this makes it easier for me to close this brief chapter and finally stop thinking about him. The down side is that it will take time for that to happen; and in the meantime, I am still nostalgic for the first week and a half. It was brief - it was ridiculousy short - but there was a genuine connection. I'm even pretty sure that he had feelings for me. He is still the most intellectual person that I have ever met...but I suppose that will change once I get to Cambridge. I suppose I will just have to bear in mind the bigger picture, and remind myself that G eventually turned out to be a part of my experimentation process too. Now I know what kind of man I don't want: someone who is too rational. Incidentally, I've always thought I wanted to be someone like him, with the ability to rationalise my way out of anything. At some point, I think I genuinely believed that I'd become that person. But American Mark exposed my vulnerability like a naked newborn baby; and G...I don't know yet, but I suppose he's made me realise I don't want to lose my empathy. I find that happening sometimes when I have no patience for someone's feelings because there isn't a single cell in my body that understands why this person feels a certain way about a certain thing. Now, it's clear to me that the point isn't whether I think the feelings are valid; the point is that the person holds those feelings, and I caused the feelings to surface in the person, and so at the very least, as a decent human being, I should be sensitive to those feelings and not simply dismiss them, or feel defensive when the said person acts out because of those feelings.

G has shown zero sensitivity to my feelings. Maybe he thinks he owes me nothing considering how brief it was, and that may be rationally sound, but for fuck's sake, I am a human being. You are a human being. We are not robots. At least, I am not a robot. Strip away the external representations of who I am - Cambridge PhD, 10 years of legal training, I don't even know what else - and you find nothing but a raw, naked heart. By not handling it properly, he's really hurt me.

Anyway. As is quite clear, I am doing this new thing where I admit when I have been hurt instead of sweeping it under the rug and pretending to be stronger than I really am, because it is important to own your negative emotions as much as your positive ones. Escaping from the truth does no one any favours. Pretending to be fortress only exposes me to more hurt because I think that I can protect myself by seeing it coming, when in fact, I was not prepared at all for how it would feel - precisely because I chose to tell myself the fantastical lie that I wouldn't feel anything.

I am deeply emotional. I feel a lot. I am not a robot or a machine or a calculator; I am a person, and I am as emotional as I am rational. My rationality does not protect my heart. Maybe I will get there one day, but I'm not sure if it's desirable; and for now, this is the way it is.


Tags: g, personal, playing tennis

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