Blast From The Past.

While taking the time out to clean out my desk and my drawers, I stumbled upon an old letter that was written to me from my ex-boyfriend 3 years ago. He was a Marine and had done two tours to Iraq and Afghanistan. For some reason or another, I never read this letter and now for the first time, that I sat here and actually read it, I realized that there's a story within it that I'd like to share, which is based on a true story.

A Marine came back from Iraq to his base in California. He called his mom and his father and told them, "Hey! I'm back!" They were really happy to hear from him. He went on telling them about his friend. He said, "Father, my best friend just came back with me and he got his legs blown off in combat, is it possible that when I come home for leave, can I bring him with me?" The father replied, "Well, son, I don't think you should. He will be kind of an inconvenience. I think it's best off that you just let him get treated in the hospital because they have people that are trained to handle people like your friend." The Marine tried so hard to convince his father and mother otherwise, but got nowhere. That was their feelings about it and there was nothing more that can be said or done to change their minds. Later on that night, 0200, the mother and father get a phone call from a police officer saying their son committed suicide by jumping off a 40-story building. When they flew to California to see if they can recognize their combat veteran son, they saw he had no legs.

Somewhere after finishing this long 5 page letter, I realized I was 17 when he wrote it and I knew nothing about the world and about the military. He was suffering from PTSD and was having problems expressing himself to people. He came to me hoping I'd understand him and accept him- in the end I didn't. Throughout the entire letter he goes on to share his feelings of love for me, but while saying all of these things he also predicts the near break-up of our relationship.


The Marines had changed him forever. I remember him waking up with night-sweats, and suffering from sleep apnea. I remember him always being paranoid about the people and things around him. I couldn't understand him then, I have never been to war. I have never had my close friends die in front of my eyes. I never understood his drinking habits or why he looked at the world from a defensive point of view. Once again, I was young and naive. All I wanted was a normal relationship- someone who would actually have fun going out to crowded places and not cause a scene when a stranger is standing too close him. Someone who wouldn't become paranoid from illusions that he built up in his mind because someone was staring at him in the wrong way. All I wanted was a normal relationship, but in wanting that, I hurt him and broke him. I refused to understand him and accept him. He knew this, and because of this, he knew we were not ever meant to be- even though I thought we were. Two years and he is the only guy who's ever taught me anything about life. He was the only guy who knew what it was to be a man in a relationship.


I was the problem. That story he told, about the Marine who committed suicide, I now realized he was secretly saying that I was the parents who didn't want to accept someone who's been damaged. At 17, I had gone through my own trials and tribulations, but nothing could compare to what he has seen and done- and that my friends, is where we grew apart. My mind could only reach but so far, and his hands couldn't extend out to me any longer. I gave up on him just as much as he gave up on me.


In the end, he turned out to be right. He moved on from me in a matter of days, while I spent the remainder of a year crying my eyes out for nights on end. Getting drunk with my friends only to end my night in tears wishing I understood where we had gone wrong. I knew I was all wrong but I was too young to understand how and why.


I never admitted this to anyone but at this point I'm willing to pour my soul out at this very moment. There was one night, just a few months before things ended between us, where I had gone to visit him for the weekend. We stood up late watching t.v., and as I laid there trying to fall asleep, he broke our silence and asked me, "Ash... Are you still in love with me?" Any good girlfriend who is really in love would've have quickly responded, "Yes, I do." But no, not I. I said no such thing. Instead, I paused and felt darkness creeping up on me, telling me, "Tell him the truth." And so I did. I told him in the kindest words I could find, "No I don't think I am anymore." There it was, all out there. I broke his heart in that moment. He had known before then that I was changing and with that, so were my feelings towards him. He had known long before me that I would not love him forever, but that I will always love him at the same time. He cried that night, and I didn't know what to say or do. It was one of those moments when you're expecting a child to know how read and write instantly; I was that child and I couldn't even speak. Words just would not come out of my mouth and for that moment, I was completely mute and hopeless, feeling guilty for having torn his heart apart. I was 17 years old and I knew nothing about life.


I am 22 years old now and head over heels over some young guy who knows nothing about life. There's only so much one's mind can imagine without actually experiencing it first-hand. In the end, I got my heart broken by this Marine. What he couldn't get out of me, he got it from someone else, which I hope she was worth it. In the end, I spent an entire year grieving over a relationship that was destined to end anyways. I couldn't understand it then and now that time has past, I understand it all so clearly now. Had he known me today, things may have worked out, but everything happens for a reason and people are in your life only for a season.

Toys.

Once, when I was a kid, my mom and I were on our way home from school and on this miraculous day, I spotted a toy store I hadn't noticed before. Something glimmered and sparkled as I took a few steps past the front window. A shiny plastic object deflected the sun's light the way a shield protectively deflects swords, arrows, and lances. With just one glance of this magnificent toy I saw on display, I was immediately glued to the glass window. Like a moth flying towards the light, I was just drawn to it instantly, not at all knowing what it really was. Oh, I wanted everything in the world to get it. I imagined it could do all sorts of things and had all sorts of gadgets I wanted to play with. Soon enough, commercials played on TV for it, the jingle was quick and catchy. I'd sit up close to the TV bobbing my head to the one-minute tune, and when the commercial was done I would think to myself, "I gotta have it!" 

After a week or two of rampaging on with my friends about this toy, I finally got an up-close look at it, right out of its stiff, cardboard box. Though my preview and trial of it was brief, I realized it didn't function at all the way I imagined. It needed batteries, and when the batteries died out, it was dead; all the games and pretending would be over. The texture didn't feel right either. From afar it looked shiny and smooth, fine and durable like a brand new marble floor. In person, it felt rubbery and fake. The same way a cubic zirconia could appear to look like a diamond, but never be a real white diamond. The plastic was shallow and thin, should it fall in the wrong manner, it would break and crack. How could I confuse the toy I saw on display, and the toy I actually held in my hands? I don't know. Maybe the day I noticed it through the store windows, the glare from the sun molded and manipulated its' appearance. Maybe the toy on display was a special version of it; display only, but not to buy. Maybe the one I test-tried out of the cardboard box was completely defective; some kind of manufacturing glitch I suspected.

No matter how many excuses I came up with, my interest was already gone without me fully realizing it. Yes, some part of me still wanted my mom to buy it-- I had some small hope that I might feel different about it if I took it home and played around with it; gave it a chance to redeem itself somehow. In the back of my mind, I already knew this toy stood no chance at being my toy anymore. It was a done deal. It had none of the qualities I dreamed it had, it had none of the functions promised on the cardboard box. It was a dysfunctional, stupid toy that relied on double A batteries for its' survival. Was I just being a dreamer? Did I want and expect too much? After all, it was the same toy I saw on display, the same toy advertised in the infinite commercials I saw on television, in which the jingle in the commercial played in my mind like a broken record-- it was no different. Or was I completely misled by all the false advertisements that portrayed and promised one thing, when really it was another? Who was I to blame, I asked.

No one wants to buy something that appears to be fantastic in the front glass window of a gigantic bright store, that's actually really not amazing at all. In fact, it's just like all the other toys around it. Not much shinier, not much brighter, bigger, or better. It doesn't have any cool light-up buttons that would unlock a magical power. There isn't a cool wireless remote control hidden in its cardboard box that gives you ultimate control over it, making you feel like an almighty God. No, there isn't any of that. 


I never did take that toy home, and after a while I didn't care much at all for it. All curiosity towards it went out the window, and so I moved on to the next best toy-- or so it seemed.

Open Your Eyes.

It's 7:22AM and I am still in bed, knowing very well that I have class in an hour and a half.


I often find it difficult some days to get out of bed and get my day going; my mind is too weak to get my body up and moving. Most days, I lay in bed for about 30 minutes or so, just zoning in and out of my past and present. Everything in my room is quiet, I can even hear my heart beat- I have the heart of a runner, you'd say. I close my eyes and I'm suddenly taken back to my lost days with him.


Walking down Broadway, hands interlocked- not too tight, just right. We're wearing our favorite Sperry's, while our shiny aviators deflect the bright rays of the beaming sun. You're holding our lunch in your left hand, gently swinging it merrily. You took the time out to plan our small picnic, and for that I was ever so grateful. We made our way to the grass and laid out our small blanket, just big enough for two. Devouring our sandwiches while telling stories of our previous experiences and our individual plans and goals. You knew deep down I always wanted to be a writer. You knew it's what I was made for, even though I had fought against the idea of it and became a biology major instead. I knew deep down you wanted to be a film director and a screen play writer, even though you fought against it and became an engineering major instead. Together, we loved art. Together, we are art. We love the art of reading, writing, movies, photography, and theater. We laid out on our blanket side-by-side, belly's faced down, feet kicked-up in the air behind us, the world at our backs, imagining all of our most wildest dreams. I told you of all my favorite books, while making a list of all the books I ever wanted you to read, and you made a list of all the greatest (most classic) movies I needed to watch with you. We watched the sun set that day without realizing how much time really passed. You often interrupted me with your kisses... I shared something that day. I shared my soul with you.


I open my eyes and realize I'm back in my room. I lie wrapped up in my blankets like a caterpillar in a cocoon, too scared to step out and face my reality; I haven't transformed into a butterfly yet.


I close my eyes again. I decide I'm not ready.


You pick me up from the Metro North right on time. We finally make our way to the beach to meet up with your friends. We set up our cooler and towels, and of course throw on our favorite American Optic aviators. As chatty as your friends are, you and I are wrapped up in our own conversation; joking around about our body's, simply making fun of ourselves. You told me I was perfect; that my body was just perfect for yours. I believe you. We hold hands in the sand, until we decide to run into the water. I'm not much of a swimmer so you piggy-back me into the deep end, attempting to scare me by jokingly saying that you're going to let go, as I shout for you not to. We laugh as I grasp you tighter like my favorite childhood teddy bear. Twisting me around, so that I was then facing you- you kiss me. I keep my arms and legs wrapped tightly around you, and again, you kiss me and it tastes just the same as biting into a fresh ripe plum. Refreshing.


I open my eyes again and stare at my astronaut poster hanging on the wall. I see one man on the moon and through the reflection of his helmet, there's three other astronauts, dancing on the moon with him.


I close my eyes again.


Back in your room, watching all of our favorite episodes of "Modern Family," "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia," and "Flight of the Conchords." My head resting on your chest, while my left leg wraps across your waist. That's how we lay. Secretly, I'm listening to your heart beat. You have the strong heart of a runner; inhale deep, exhale slow.


Back track a memory ago: you lay your head on my lap while I run my fingers through your hair. You turn up and gaze into my eyes, then get yourself up-right just so you could kiss me- one more time. The eyes of a happy dog making his way back home. We're home.


I quickly fast forward to our lazy Sunday's. I would always wake up earlier than you and make a bowl of cereal and turn on the TV to Cartoon Network. You would hear me laughing and occasionally talking to myself and you'd peak an eye open, and smile. You'd pull me underneath the covers with you and we laid there face-to-face, staring right into my soul. I remember one day, I realized you had one eye greener than the other and in the middle of that thought, you kissed me. We would play for hours and wrestle around like kids. You always pinned me down and smothered me with kisses, while I laughed and pretended to want to break free.


For every moment that your eyes met mine, my heart melted just a little bit more. As cliche as it sounds, your eyes always somehow pierced right through me and found a way to make me feel fragile and weak, and at times, hopeless. How you did it?... I wish I knew.


I keep my eyes closed for a little bit longer and again fast forward to another day and place.


We're sitting on a bench outside at 11 o'clock at night. We hadn't seen each other since that day I sat on my room floor crying to you because you told me that I wasn't the one for you. I was really crying because I didn't want you to leave- but you left anyway, and I sat there for 2 hours, with my legs crossed Indian style, not sobbing, just thinking as the tears from my eyes fell to my bare thighs. We sat on the bench not holding hands, barely looking at each other, yet we were engaged in a serious conversation. Three hours later we were still sitting at that bench and we found ourselves again, talking about all of our hopes and dreams. Your hand slowly crept up to mine as you found a way to wrap your fingers in between mine. We were holding hands. My heart began to beat faster, while my mind screamed against it. You kissed me on the cheek and all the while, I did my best to act completely indifferent. My thoughts raced and my conscience was literally printing out the words in front of me in bright red letters: "WARNING: You are NOT THE ONE for HIM!... Let go, NOW!" I couldn't. I wanted to. I tried. The next thing I knew, your arms were wrapped around me and I felt at home again. Almost like a moth, blinded by the bright lights, he can't help but to continue to fly towards it.


It's 8:13AM. I have class in one hour. I haven't showered or even gotten out of bed yet. It's Valentine's Day... Who cares. I don't.


I'll close my eyes again and rewind... just one more time.