I really believe Mercury is in remission, or whatever the hippies say. Either that or Barney Stinson was right about the day before Valentine’s Day being Desperation Day. That would make the week leading up to Valentine’s what? Desperation week? Yeah, let’s go with Desperation Week.
So whether it’s the moon aligning or Desperation Week doing its thing, two of my former gentlemen friends reached out to me last week. Listen, if there’s a group chat of past loves bonding over how much I failed them, I wouldn’t be too mad at that. Anyway, these two men, who shouldn’t know each other (sans the group chat) made their re-entries within days of each other. Guys me I am hot material endaweni zami.
I found both attempts underwhelming at worst and exhausting at best:
“there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love” (Oscar Wilde, year I don’t remember)
Naturally, I didn’t respond to either of them. For two reasons. Reason one: I recently watched Is This Thing On and they explicitly said, taking back an ex is the equivalent of shoving your poop back up your butt. So no, we are not touching that with a ten-foot pole.
The second reason, which I believe is the actual reason I do not want myself back in either of those situations, is that I remember what it was like in those relationships. I remember what I was like. And I remember what they were like. I remember the fights, almost to the word. I remember that I wasn’t always the kindest and they weren’t always the most patient. I remember feeling misunderstood- having to explain the most basic parts of my being. I remember feeling abandoned. I remember being dismissive and condescending and disengaging emotionally while still in the relationship. What part of that am I supposed to want back? More importantly, how come they don’t seem to remember that?
That brings us to the title of this week’s blog: I Remember Oranges. It’s from the song I Remember by Molly Drake. This song ironically found me on the morning of 14th. In the song, she talks about experiences with a past lover. She reminisces about their time together. Once, they sat by the fire; while she remembers the firelight, he remembers the smoke. One time, they went to an orange farm, she remembers oranges and he remembers how dusty the area was. Another time, they went to the meadow, she remembers the willow trees while he remembers the bugs around the trees.
So perhaps I am too committed to the dust and smoke and bugs. Perhaps there is something to be missed, something to be wanted. So let me remind myself, I wasn’t unloved. I was considered, I was fussed over. They did the best with what they had. I think I did too. So there’s something to be said there.
That something is not to say you should go back to your exes!!!
1. Awuhlanyi!
2. You’re holding up the queue
But that is to say, sometimes we commit to the memory of how bad things were to a point where we can’t appreciate how good they equally were. There is room for both. Sure, it was dusty, but that was one hell of an orange. Sure, I choked on the smoke, but the firelight that night…unbelievably beautiful!
Both things can be true. Don’t go back to your ex though. Thanks and bye!
