number 10
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Packing

She is packing. Complaining and packing. I just returned from work. It had the appearance of an ordinary working day, as it was only a month ago. She even called me at work, to complain about the difficulty of finding a removal-company that can do the job in a reasonable period of time and for an acceptable price. I walked to my work, feeling pain in my heart. Being at work gave me at the same time a feeling of identity and a feeling of "I don't belong here". It characterizes the distance I have to my work and the lack of personal involvement. I simply felt shattered, in a deep shock. The fucking bitch has destructed my life, and her own as well. I keep thinking -- what did I do wrong, should I have gone back with her, what could I have done differently. All to no avail. Her decision is definite and the process of destruction goes on at full speed. What is the cause for breaking up? An impossible fantasy, a clash of personalities, pretensious feelings, cultural differences, the difficulty of living in another country. There is no way of telling. And I forget to mention, of course, budget problems, a difference in style, an obsession with money (shared by the both of us). Anyway, an explanation does not solve anything. There is no other way than to accept the situation as it is and act accordingly. When asked, whether this would be the material for my new book, I smiled. Maybe a little one, I thought.

Yesterday, #1, her partner and my son came for a visit. I could not help but express my anger. May I be angry? I did not get a fair chance. After returning from our holidays, I was confronted with a decision. She had her mind fixed and despite all the emotions we went through, it could not be changed. Now, the feelings between us are rather cold. Polite, but nothing more. Despite what I still feel for her, in a way, the chance of getting anything out of this seems nil. Maybe, another woman to make love to will cure the pain.

After the visit, we went on our bikes to the Vondelpark. It was such a lovely day. Just like an ordinary sunday. She bought a joint and we sat on the grass, smoking. Smoking got us in this different reality, in which we have been often during our relation. She did her superiority-act, saying that she has already helped me a lot, and that to her the cause of our failure lies simply in the fact that I am narcistic, having looked at our relation too much from the outside. Later, I wrote her a note saying that I had to admit I enjoyed that, but that I loved our intimacy too. She did not remember what I was referring to. Nevertheless, I was struck by the remark, or was I simply stoned, and I had to lie down. This feeling of paralysis has still not completely left me. So, whatever way I take it, there must be a truth in it. Before the marriage, external affairs took over. Getting dressed up, be friendly, organize 1001 things, and keeping up the image of a couple. Indeed, she is a beautiful girl. It especially strikes me when we are in the company of others. On our holidays, however, I did not like the view of us as a couple at all. Neither did she, I think. It felt like a burden, she seemed to be out on flirting with the guys, when I was worrying about almost anything: our next destination, the money, the heat, my son, my skin, how I looked, etcetera. I simply worried non-stop, at full speed, my head spinning like crazy, playing out all possible options, trying to meet the demands I felt being imposed on me. Help! Help! Why did she not simply caress me and say "calm down", as I have so often done to her? Simply, because she did not love me enough? Because for her this was a simple dream, an escape from another reality, a fantasy that she went in without thinking, without strategy. Realizing that she would be trapped in a fully-cliche marriage -- with the husband going to work and the wife doing the cooking and the washing, waiting to be made love to in the evening after a day full of boredom -- she cracked after processing this all on her own (with only the support of her ex-lover), and she decided that this could NOT go on. Well, it didn't!

"When I am gone, you will feel it as a relief", she said. Probably. Anyway, the situation as it is cannot go on, not after everything that happened, the divorce and abortion. So I will drive her to Paris with her stuff, to end our relation as elegantly and efficiently as we have begun it. But what remains is the feeling of a loss. Immensely. A bitter truth. I am the looser, because she did not accept my love. She was the strongest, as always, because she didn't commit. The one who is leaving simply has the strongest cards. Is it a mental problem? No, she said, it is a real problem. And I must admit, given the fact that I have not been able to share my life with anyone (she was the seventh), there is not much left than to blame myself. I have been on an ego-trip, a fit of narcism you may say, all along. But not without loving her, though. Neither can she deny that I did commit. I kept every promise I made. That does not mean I am a good guy. I have stumbled on my inability to share my life, my thoughts, my feelings in a way that satisfied her. Apparently, I could not do it. Could not, due to a lack of experience, an inability to love, not loving her intensively enough, a self-centered mind, an appearance-driven attitude towards life?

She had been feeling lonely. The days I was at work, she was desperate, unable to start building up a new life, not motivated to develop new roots and disappointed by my lack of attention for this. She found me too much centered in my own world, I left her out. And yes, in a way I did. I did expect more effort from her, more questions, more attention. Instead of shopping, she should have done something seriously. But that proved to be difficult. Anyhow, with everything that came on top of that, she cracked and fucked up. "I don't want to wait all day for you to come home", she said. She wanted to have her own life, in Paris.


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(C) Æliens 2005

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