Let Go

When I was 19, I accompanied Trang to a house party in Torrance with a bunch of international students. The guy who invited her was a Vietnamese dude from Belgium, so most of the people in attendance were also French speakers from Europe. We walked in and immediately honed in on Bernard, the hottest guy at the party (check out his underwear shot for proof). I flirted shamelessly, but his disinterest was apparent. Then I found out he was 27 and attending CSULB. Twenty-seven?! I was never one of those aggressive teens who sought out older men; the thought of being with a man nearly thirty was appalling to me. Besides, what the hell was he still doing at Long Beach State at that age?! The guy must've been a total idiot. I left that party with nary an extra thought of him.

Flash forward to three years later, when I turned 22. By then I had had my share of tools who used me. I was pretty jaded at that point. Romance in LA turned out to be a paradox, a chimera, a two-dimensional lie told in cartoons to naive little girls so that they might quickly fall and procreate before disillusionment set in and the human race would dwindle in number. That all changed the day I logged into my Friendster account, since my friend Mike had mentioned he left me a birthday message on it. I hadn't checked Friendster in months ever since I became a Myspace whore. It turned out Bernard had sent me a friendly message the month prior. I couldn't remember him, and looked at his profile skeptically. Good looking guy, but do I even know him? I was about to close the page when I recalled with a jolt who he was. The Belgian from that party three years ago! (The pic of him in the snow is the one I drooled over on his Friendster profile.)

Well, I was just blown away at what I discovered about him. For some reason, the day after that party, his friends were all goading him to do something about the girl who was on his nuts all night (me). The reason he didn't? He had a girlfriend! But after they broke up, he remembered and proceeded to contact me. Man, I had him pegged so incorrectly. Bernard is, to this day, the smartest man I have ever encountered. He was getting his master's in mechanical engineering when we first met; he already had an electrical engineering degree. He speaks four languages, will soon start learning Arabic (or Russian), and at times has the audacity to correct my English. He plays piano, fixes cars and motorcycles, prepares food like a culinary wizard, and holds the title as the most amazing lover ever. Ever. He even loves my feet which are, in a word, disgusting (refer to pic of him gobbling them).

We ended up together, after several dramatic months during which I had a brief relationship with Chris (it lasted two weeks!) and B fucked seven other girls (with my permission; I was trying to abate his attachment to me...it didn't work). Now, nearly three years have passed (we don't have an anniversary date, so who really knows), during which my buried notions of romance were disinterred, nourished, and set in a garden to soak up the colors of a thousand rainbows. The guy cooks my favorite dishes. He buzzed his head for my 23rd birthday because buzzed heads turn me on. He completely cleans and details my car. He's even cleaned my room for me! He always gives me oral when he's too tired to have sex. My friends all adore him. I could not have even imagined a more perfect man, a more content love.

That's all fine and dandy, but what now? Well...now is the part where someone does something to fuck it all up. And that someone is me, and that something is suddenly having doubts and confusions and inner conflicts that I need to handle before I can continue loving this man who loves me so much. So, I've set him free, because I don't want him to have to deal with my shit, as much as he wants to stay and help because he's so wonderful. This could be the biggest mistake of my life; after all, the guy is now at peak bachelor status: handsome, brilliant, witty, kind, considerate, devoted, drives a sleek Jag (I hate that gas guzzler), rides a Suzuki on the side, and is about to buy a house. Who wouldn't try to snag him up? Who the fuck would be dumb enough to drop him?!

Yeah. Me. Because I'm currently all messed up inside, and I need to figure stuff out right now. I know he doesn't see it like this, but I'm trying to do my best to be just (as in fair) in this shitty situation. And I'm so sorry for hurting him. That's what truly anguishes me the most, knowing that I've caused him such sadness. And I wish I could do this with his help, with his support, but I can't. I'm really hoping this decision will result, in the long run, in maximum happiness for us. And if some wonderful woman should come along and enrapture B's heart, while I end up as a crazy old cat lady, each person will get what is deserved. But as of right now, I definitely don't deserve him. Maybe one day I will. I'll work on it.