I saw this old comedy called Secretary the other day, I've saved the DVD for a while now, but was never in the right mood for it. I was blown away by Maggie Gyllenhaal's Golden Globe nominated performance as mousy sceretary who finds her voice and dignity in the pain and humiliation. I laughed, cried and nodded my head in recognition of myself in the roles.
So now that I have an hour to kill, let me indulge in my lifetime of pain and humiliation. Like true Masochist, I do nurture them, and go over them in my head again and again. And it reminds me that I'm alive.
1999 July: I forgot the exact date, but I was unceremoniously dumped by someone I really really liked after just two dates. I spent all night in a park bench overlooking the Chicago Lincoln Park apartment building, hoping to get a glimpse of the object of my affection. Around 5am, it started raining, and I was stuck there and spent about an hour until the rain knocked some sense into me. I left for home around 6.30am, and never returned.
1999 December/2000 January: New Years' Eve. I was in love, and part of a couple. This was the perfect evening. We had a lovely dinner at Kate's, a friend in the apt next door. And then watched the Sopranos (the episode was Isabella, one of my favorite), which I never saw at that point. Then we had a disagreement about how to spend the midnight, I wanted to stay inside, although the others wanted to go to the rooftop in the cold and watch the fireworks at Wrigley field. I was gonna go back to the apartment to look for my love, and found my red jacket dropped in front of Kate's door. I finally went up, and when the clock struck midnight, we didn't kiss, and watched the fireworks separately on the same roof. I kissed Wendy, the other neighbor with the cute dog. We didn't make love that night, and I woke up at 3 in the morning, wishing that I was in my own apartment, alone with my thoughts.
1996 Summer: Robbins dormitory at Bard. We were staying there to work on campus. I was in my room with my first love. My friends were outside in the corridor chatting away. I didn't tell my friends about the relationship yet, so I was caught off guard, and insisted that we both get out through the window so that we won't have to run into my friends. I sneaked out the person that meant the most. I didn't think much of it, but felt like crap for treating someone I loved like that. The next summer, I made sure that we walked out through the front door, tall and proud.
What did these humiliating moments teach me? First that I'm not above emotions, I am petty, just like anyone, I hurt and bleed, just like anyone else, and I also heal and move on, just like anyone else.
What better way to validate our existence?
