I can't sleep past a certain hour, with very few exceptions. Even though I was up till 2 last night, I still woke up before 9AM. This is the first of May, end of 36 years on this lovely planet (or more if you believe I existed before birth). I woke up again feeling the same longing and frustration and anger. I know it will pass in an hour or so. And I know soon I won't even remember waking up with this terrible feeling.
Today I get to drive to New York, drive back to New York, alone. This is the fifth drive back to New York for my dragged out move, and it is certain the last one. I question the wisdom of moving without a truck but instead with my car for multiple trips. I wonder if deep down the real reason was that I wasn't ready to go so quickly, wasn't so ready to arrive in New York and leave my people in New Haven. Of course, maybe I was cheap and didn't want to rent a truck for over $100. Maybe because it was hard to organize people to help me when the building doesn't allow moving outside business hours. A bit of everything, I suppose.
But as I remarked yesterday with the last person from New Haven to help me, this move reflects so well how I interact with friends: one at a time.
Yesterday, the last move with help, was with my art buddy. We both noticed that it was the last time we were driving back and forth to New York while listening to tango. I've known her for nearly two years now, and we've been driving like this to New York milongas for a year and a half. I can't remember the first time we went. But I think I will remember this last time, and we didn't really go to any milonga. Nevertheless, like just about every time we meet, we got closer.
On our way there we talked about life, not always in the context of love. We talked about how to bring changes we want in our lives, how merely our brains can't do the job, that our hearts have to move, too. For both of us, there's great upheaval happening inside us, even though not much happens outside. The drama in our lives have mucked up old, unresolved obstacles inside us. And we count ourselves lucky that in this moment in our lives, we have an amazing friend to lean on and to share our feelings and thoughts. This was the first time I shared with her my philosophies on listening, and how I developed it when I started "co-counseling", which I have stopped long ago. That's another story.
What brought us even closer was her meeting the man that made much of the foundations of who I am now. My Dad insisted on coming to help. I feel always a little uneasy having him meet my friends. And talking to my art friend, I realized the reason is that he is so much of my the very part of my identity that I often try to hide. I don't just mean being "Chinese" or "Chinese immigrant," but more importantly, his personality, that of not really saying what you really mean, not expressing your feelings, always be available to help (this part has, as I am realizing, made me the least sexy heterosexual man on earth!). Of course, the way he eats and just behave like he was still in Mainland China doesn't help me, who still tries to be "white".
But my friend loved him. Not only did she love this seventy-year-old man, she saw all the beautiful things in him that she had known in me. An amazingly caring man, generous, and selfless. My Dad didn't say much, but half the time he was worried about this or that concerning my friend. My friend, on our way back, said she wished she knew Cantonese so she could ask him more questions. She said that he reminded her of her beloved grandpa, which is a huge compliment for me because I am in love with her grandpa only through the stories she had told me about him. She said my Dad is actually very expressive, even if he is a reticent man. Maybe I haven't really paid a lot of attention to him, despite me being a very observant and attentive person, and that's because, I think, I have been trying to avoid him all my life in this country.
"You should be proud of him," said my friend. I realized to be proud of my Dad requires that I be proud of myself, and vice-versa.
One of the topics we talked about on the way to New York was for me to make a concerted effort to making new guy friends. Part of that effort would have to be getting closer to my Dad, the first man I have known, and equally obviously, the man I have spent most time with in my 36 years so far. It is obvious that I need to be closer to my Dad, but to have one of my closest people in the world to fall in love with him means a lot to me. Encourages me a lot. Makes me want to demolish all the walls and barriers I have set up since I was a child.
Every moment in my life has something beautiful in it. It's true I wish I didn't have to wake up with this anguish and frustration. But at least now, I no longer wake up wishing someone were by my side. Talking about my Dad, I realized that this man had it worse in his life, thousand times worse, and yet, in the end, he is perfectly comfortable being alone, and always did. I suspect that if it weren't for social moors, he wouldn't have chosen to get married and have family. He loves his freedom which he had very little opportunity to savor. But he does have a family, and at least for his children, he would love to see them a thousand times more often. Nevertheless, when he doesn't see them, he is perfectly happy to be alone.
I want to be like that. To be happy alone. To feel comfortable with my own companionship. As my art friend and I have agreed not long ago, if we can fall in love with ourselves, we can fall in love with someone else. And when I fall in love with myself, I will be happy to be alone. Love is beautiful. It's beautiful with family. And it is beautiful with a woman. Even with this latest romantic drama, I remember, seeing my Dad and one of my closest friends together, last Fourth of July and this woman that I stopped to talking to met my parents. Their interaction wasn't as intense and soul-searching for me, but that evening I felt was one of the few occasions we were really connected. Our own family conflicts and unresolved issues are one of the bonds that brought us really close, sometimes made me feel she was my best friend, when we shared our feelings. But that isn't enough to keep us close. Not enough for me to forgive her for pushing us apart. And I wonder, sometimes, if I should be careful falling for someone who has this kind of family-conflict connection with me. I think like any single but strong connection, it can skew our feelings and perspective of whether this is the right person or not. This happened with the woman before the one of the current drama.
I will probably see my Dad again today. I will drive alone with the rest of my stuff, leaving behind hopefully a cleaned apartment, and I will meet him to have him help me carry the stuff up again. I wonder if he remembers tomorrow is my birthday. I always make a big deal out of it with parties, but really, that's just an excuse to see friends, not because I truly think I deserve or need all that attention. Whether he remembers or not, I will remember to be proud of him. He's truly great!
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