Story of a Man

This is created by me- Leafy

Once there was a man I knew who was a little taller, chubbier than the average man. The way he smiles every time had the power to take you to the moon and sad eyes that would bring you back to the earth. You would want to know so very badly what on earth would make such a man like him cry, cry in front of your eyes to say the least. That man had everything in his life you would think, by everything meaning a nice car, a beautiful two bedroom apartment, a cleaner lady who would smile all the time, a cat, a job. All the things all the other men around him would only wish for was what this man owned, except love.

This man had no one to love. Not one single pretty girl would fall for his beautiful smile. Not a girl he has met so far felt anything he had hoped and wished for. Not a soul he could catch, not even a little innocent glance. All he had was these things that he surrounded himself with. He had friends around him, too although he would categorize them into nice, nicer and bad ones. He had friends to whom he could talk to, chat with hours, text with anytime, stay over whenever he wanted to. His friends, however were not his love. He would not consider them as his love at no any level known to men.

He was a loner but an unseen one. He could talk for hours during the day, but he would get lost in his own silence at nights. He could count on so many people in his life, but not on his partner. Simply, because he did not have one. No one wanted to be his. He had for this reason tried alcohol only to punish himself more with the shadow side of it. He had his reason to become an addict but he got addicted to no one, no thing. Nothing was there to remind him that he had come along a long way since he was a little child. No one was there to tell him he got through all the dilemmas of the past. He broke so many chains on his own without being able go have a crown. He was always satisfied with his life. Nevertheless, life always pushed him around.

Now that he was old and lonely, he had decided to change things upside down. Running outside in bare foot has now become his new playground. Donating his best expensive suits had the effect of a shaking ground. He could have been leaving his legacy around before he died but he died in a hospital bed all alone.

I dedicate this to all the hard workers out there who belittle their own emotions to gain wealth.

Thank you for reading.

Pluto Type of Transformation- Thanks to his cheating

Photo by wilfried Vowoto on Unsplash
https://unsplash.com/photos/s3nSw6Hkrw0

“What is the next step? Where do we go from here? “, he asked simply. As much as I tried to stop myself from saying a word to him, I could not handle all the emotional baggage that had fell on me all of a sudden. Where do we go from here? How can he even dare to ask me this question when he is the one who cheated on me? I tried, oh God did I not try not to say a word because I knew that the moment I open my mouth, fire would spill out of my mouth, which in return would come back to me as being the aggressive one in this relationship. How dare can you look at someone in the eyes after cheating on them for the longest time? Heck, nothing is going to happen. To hell he can make his way to, but I am staying here. Oh, God! Oh, Great Universe! Dear, Buddha! What is my lesson here? What am I trying to learn in this lifetime of mine that I still, for reason cannot get a grasp of. Okay, focus, and wait until he gives up waiting for an answer. Just look back into his beautiful eyes.

“Are we not talking about our issues openly anymore? Do you want me to explain why I did it?”, he says. He SERIOUSLY says he is going to tell me why he did it. Oh, how badly I want to know why he did it. It cannot be the sex, I am sure of it. It might be because he never liked my cooking skills even though I honestly think that it was not that bad, plus he always ended up eating everything I cooked. I cooked, indeed…. From this day on, I will never cook for this guy who is now standing so close to me, looking at my eyes waiting for an answer. A stupid answer! Whatever I saying this situation will sound SO stupid. I am so stupid for believing his lies all this time. Was he texting me from other girl’s bed when he had told me that he would be working until very late? How could that be? Okay, well he is waiting. I guess I have got to choose my stupidity card now. In which way do I want to be stupid today? Am I going to feel stupid by asking him his reasoning behind his cheat story, or am I going to feel stupid by telling him that I do not want to know why?

“Do you want me to leave?

Of course! Just leave but no, not now…and surely not forever… Don’t maybe leave me because what am I saying? I should be the one to leave him! I nod my head silently. Not even a sound of that occurs from me to the space that we are both taking. He goes into our old bedroom to pack his stuff in his tiny, shining luggage that we bought together before we went to see his parents in Miami. I go to the kitchen. My tears had better gone back to my eyeballs. They should just in my head. On the kitchen table stands a big box that is obviously flowers. I should be calm. I should indeed be so calm that we do not end up in the hospital after breaking this flower vase on his head! I am calm. No, I am not. A look through the kitchen window lets everything dawn on me, makes it all crystal clear. Why do I have to be the one to think about what to do when he should have been to think about all this before he cheated on me? I might not have anyone to go to, but I have me! I feel like this is it. This is the time that I can transform. This is that Pluto type of energy that is running in me. I can hear the bells in my head, hence storm into our old bedroom.

“You are stupid! You are stupid because you threw away our past, present and the future. You are stupid for not telling me that you were with someone else. You know, I could have cheated on you hundred times more with hundreds of different men in no time. I did not do it because I thought… Well, I did not want to. I am not a cheater like you. I am not stupid like you.”, I yelled at his face looking into his deep, dark, beautiful eyes.

“Becca, we are getting married. I love her.”, he says out of nowhere. He could have at least warned!

“What?”, is the only answer that I can give him. A question is sometimes better than a comeback, I hope.

“Yes. We are getting married soon. I have already.. well…proposed to her. I just want to apologize to you for being an asshole to you all this time. I am sorry. You are an amaz…”

I run to the kitchen breathing fast, faster to pick up the stupid flowers that he sent me earlier. One hit on his head would finish him. It would make him stop talking. I grab the stupid flowers to break it in his head, fast walk to the stupid room. Now, I cannot breath. I am not sure if my breathing stopped or it didn’t. I don’t think I can breath. I can’t even feel my hands anymore. It gets so bad that I drop the flowers on the floor. He rushes to help me find my lost breaths. I see him but the fire from my chest does not let me breath. There is only one way, one way is the only way to get rid of this pain. With my hands shaking; I cover my face, fold my legs in my stomach and just let all the memories of him go like a high speed waterfall. I finally cry. I cry and cry. One tear follows another on my cheeks to my sweater. Every single memory with him now a block of lego that I step on to hurt myself even more. The legos do not end anywhere visible, the pain goes on. He just watches me for couple of minutes, then stupidly looks at my face and says he is sorry, and that he is leaving me because I deserve better, and he deserves a wife. Did he just imply I am not a wife material? If he had ever asked why, I could have told him I was but scared. Since when women are not allowed to be scared to be a wife?

“I opened the windows to help you out with your breathing.”, he mindlessly comments on my situation, and looks down to his ringing phone. Someone is facetiming him. I never facetimed him because.. well I never felt the need to, I guess. Then I go back to remembering all the things that I probably should not be remembering when he is there standing. I thought he was going to leave. “I am sorry but you need to leave me alone. Please never call me, text me. Don’t even dare to conversate with me if you see me at a random restaurant, okay?”. The moment I say these words becomes the same moment that I realize how downgrading it was to be in my position. I wish I could just dig these carpets and hide from everything and everyone forever.

“I understand your frustration.”, he says.

“I’m not one of your customers. You don’t have to talk to me that way.”, I respond.

“Sorry, I was just..”, he tries to finish his sentence but I interrupt him. “You are not sorry. You are a liar and a cheater for sure, but not sorry! I wish we had never met!” Instead of paying attention to my hurtful words, he looks down to his still ringing phone. He never looked at me like he looked at his phone at that moment. I think he has to go as soon as possible!

“I feel better now. You can go.”, I tell him without looking.

“I loved you, you know.”, he says before I close the bedroom door on his stupid face.

He leaves.

All of a sudden, I feel as if a thousands of pounds of a weigh gets lifted off of my shoulders. The sun that was shining so bright on my face when I was in the kitchen earlier slowly is getting ready to set.

Later on that day, as I was cleaning his mess from our old apartment, I pick up a card that is from the flower place. It has a note on it. I flip the card to see the following written words. “You are promoted!”. Just like the Pluto type of energy, I believe I have transformed myself into a brand new woman who is better than the woman that I was before. I killed the one who thought she was stupid, and let the strong woman in me live. Thanks to my ex.

Of course, a BIG Thank YOU for reading! 🙂

I READ MEN WITHOUT WOMEN by Haruki Murakami

I had read two different stories by him by the time I started reading Men Without Women. Haruki’s stories always took me back to my teenage years. It should not be a surprise since he writes about his own teenage years in his books though his are called fiction, my past had actually had happened. Who knows maybe his fiction is not very fictitious after all.

I was very excited to be reading Men Without Women at first. Every story left me with suspicion of what was to come. Since I only have spare time on my way to work and home from work, those were the only times I could read my books. Every time my stopped was announced, it felt like the story I was reading at the time was screaming, “Finish reading me!”

Now, for some stories I felt so deep down in my spine, I actually missed my stops. Rather, I had to take the train back to my missed stop, which in the end gave me more time to read while waiting for the next train. I never complained. However, some stories made me ask more questions. The one with the snakes for example. I had a dream about it the night I started reading it. I had the second dream when I finished it. Nights followed days, days turned to nights. I finished the book with that one story on a day that I broke up with him. Men Without Women… What a meaningful word order he put them in, combined, wrote and kept writing. You would think it ends there but it does not. Your spine gets tingly, your hands sweaty and your tongue dry. Like a drug addict, you want to read more of his books.

After finishing the last story, I turned to Youtube and Google for some answers. All I could watch was the comments that degraded the author. They made him look very unprofessional and careless about his writing. I have to admit seeing good comments made me very happy. Not all were letting him degraded like that. On the other hand, every bad comment about him made me more furious. I agree that he uses a lot of ancient metaphors at times. However, these books are translated from Japanese. Can we set aside all the “professional writing structures and rules” and feel what he is actually trying to do? After all, by using simple rules he is getting his stories across to millions of people-in which same process he shoots at the center of the heart. Does it not matter at all? I guess it depends on those teenage years one had, how open one’s heart is and whether one looks for beauty or ugly.