Staring out the window, I noticed the outside mirrored my
mood.
It's one of those dreary
afternoons where the sun is playing hide and seek with the rain.
The sun's winning so the
rain continues to sprinkle its sweat down my window pane.
My eyes are currently
tracing the raindrop pellets as it slides down the glass into oblivion. My mind's already there. Five
minutes into performing this exercise, I avert my eyes and scan the room I am
currently occupying. With a huge sigh, I walk towards my packed suitcases. Another breakup.
I entered into this relationship and into this once cohabited apartment with just one bag. However, through the years, I've accumulated enough junk to now need three packed suitcases.
I zip them up, head out of the
door--albeit clumsily-- as three bags is a little difficult for one person to
carry (In the past I would have called a bell boy, a "friend", or an ex as soon
as I realized I have more than one luggage to pack but this relationship left me weary and with no backups). So with a luggage on each hand and my carry on thrown over my
body, I drudge myself out of the door and make my way to the garage.
The silk shirt I have on screams in frustration as the carry on
strangles out its once smooth buoyant appearance; it
does not understand why it should be punished once again for one of my failed
relationships.
It has the same
concerns my once youthful, wrinkle free, face has.
I finally make it to my car and with the music turned down
to an inaudible murmur my mind starts on another journey. Yes…another failed relationship and
like the last two, I am relieved it is over but fearful I will end up alone if
I don’t at least try to stop men from breaking up with me.
I am however thankful for this breakup because this one,
like all the others coming my way recently, had way too much baggage than I
knew how to deal with: an ex wife he detested and bad mouthed every chance he
got, financial problems stemming from his acrimonious divorce, and unending
headaches that reared up anytime we had plans to leave the house. These first world problems of his and the way he chose to handle them bothered me. There are no instances where the mother of your child deserves a
double fuck you or a name change to the ever endearing universal love name,
“that Fu*** Whore”. But even with all of this, I did not do the breaking up. I
was definitely not that proactive.
Like most African women, I am the Mother Theresa of relationships. I
stick to them and always view the glass of shortcomings as half full and never
half empty. As a result of this, coupled with the fact that at thirty- two, I’ve only had one relationship
that ended with me wanting to commit a Lorena Bobbit – I got over that in a timely manner— I have only a coin purse full of relationship baggage that
I bring into relationships.
The adage, “the only one that should suffer from your past
relationship baggage is your new relationship” has not rang true for me, well I
guess it has. I am the one at the receiving end always lending the ear. But then
instead of the thank you one will expect from such a valiant unselfish act; you
know, “thank you so much for being calm, drama free and listening to me whine about
everything and everyone having to do with my past decisions”, I get broken up
with. My even keel nature is like Tephlon for
relationships. No one is sticking. As a result, I started to wonder, is
my no baggage really baggage in itself? Or have we all gotten so used to airing
out our dirty laundry and holding onto our emotional bruises that anyone who
just “lets it go” is no longer a compatible enough partner? As I get older,
every man I meet has some form of baggage. Is it so bad if I cannot match you
bad mouthing your ex and coworkers with my own horrifying stories? Or better
yet, shouldn’t you love me more for not throwing tantrums due to something that
happened in my past that you have unknowingly triggered? I understand misery loves company but
wouldn’t we all be better off if we REALLY started off anew or at least tried to?
I am not emotionally battered, shouldn't that be considered prime meat? People without angst, whether real or made up, are a
diminishing sector of society and should be celebrated. Unfortunately for me now or maybe fortunately for me now… I have baggage! One down.... 10 more thirty-somethings without baggage left to go.
Written by:
I’m screwed up now; marriage should definitely be on the
horizon
