I remember I was trying to survive my flights for the past two weeks after I broke up with a cheating bastard pilot. These were one of those days were everything I do was an effort.
Feeding myself was an effort, taking a shower was an effort. The only thing that makes me not drag myself up from my bed was going out with my friends.
Love sucks. And yes, what a cliché, we hear it every single time from a mouth a shattered human being and yet you see them the next day or two totally moved on, totally happy with their new squeeze, as if they were not miserable the day before.
And you wonder? How do these people do it? How can they move on so fast?
And I contemplate on how to be this kind of person; the kind of person who changes their mindset in a snap and totally forgets about every thing. I remember myself praying, begging to God every single night, crying myself to sleep hoping one day I wake up without having to kiss my pillow pretending it was my ex I was saying good morning to. Then snuggle with it for the next five minutes hoping it was my ex lying next to me and not smelly my pillow.
I wonder how many people do this kind of weird shit. Or maybe, I am the only one.
Who knows, maybe I’m unique.
I spent my days alone in bed trying to figure out a way on how will I get myself back on track. The status “Single” isn’t for me. At least this is what I thought before I finally enjoyed being on my own. I know deep down I am meant to share this awesome life with another gorgeous human being. But where the hell is he? What’s taking him so long? Has he gotten stuck in traffic or missed a flight to Dubai? Where the f*ck is he for crying out loud! –At least this is how the voice in my head screams at me.
And then one day I wake up, and I realized maybe it was just the idea of wanting to be in a relationship that is making me so darn unhappy with my life. And maybe if I try to change my perspective maybe just maybe I don’t have to make myself feel like I’m trying to survive each day.
And then I started writing and I bought a journal. Okay, let me rephrase the first sentence. I wanted to start writing, so I bought a journal. That journal sat on my bedside table for the last 10 days after purchasing it. Simply because I couldn’t think of any subject to write except on how fucking bitter I was, so scratch that! I’m not going to write about how my relationship went on downfall once again. There’s no point of doing that. I am trying to move on.
Next morning, I woke up at 3 in the afternoon after sleeping for 12 hours. I found myself thirsty so I went back to kitchen to grab a bottle of water and sat down to my bed with a heavy sigh. ‘Where the hell are you?’ I whispered to myself again. Thinking where my future lover could be. Then I saw my journal and thought to myself ‘Hey that’s a brilliant idea! I’ll write to my future husband instead of writing to my ex. (Well, yes I started this “future husband blog ages ago but I just thought to write him in real paper.)
Here’s how my first letter went on:
‘Dear Future Husband,
My name is Laiza, nice to meet you. I hope you enjoyed your breakfast or at least I hope you had one today. I didn’t. I skipped two meals simply because I was dead drunk last night trying to convince myself that I am now a party girl. Which my 12 hours of sleep + bad hangover validated that I wasn’t. I’m back to my normal miserable state. I want to start of this letter by telling you I am having a great time with my life but the truth is I am not and as my future husband I am not going to lie to you. I am beyond repair and all I can think of right now is I can’t wait for you to find me. Yes, I want you to find me because I am so tired of trying to find you. Please look for me. Do not give up.
Your Future Wife,
My letter wasn’t too long and it wasn’t pleasant to read either. But what can I do that’s exactly how I feel at the moment. I probably have cried writing that letter. I don’t remember to be honest. But yeah, probably have shed a few tears there.
I closed down my laptop and went back on my bed, closed my eyes again trying to ignore the sound of my stomach and the next thing I knew it’s 7pm. Oh shit, another day passed by without doing a single thing. Yes, I was a bit fucked up. My companion during this period of my life is a bottle of water and my cigarettes.
So I rang up Camille to invite her to have dinner outside. “What do you reckon?” I asked. “Well, it’s 7:30 I just got home from work and my sister’s cooked dinner for us. We can have coffee afterwards.” She replied. “Ok. Sounds good.” I just don’t want to be a loser again and let my loneliness win over myself again tonight. Not tonight.
“Why don’t you go out and meet new guys again, Laiza?” Camille’s first sentence right after her first sip on her coffee; “I mean this is Dubai, there’s a million of guys out here. This is a city where you can take a pick on which nationality you wanted to end up with. Don’t destroy yourself just because you were cheated on by an old wanker.”
I’m turning 27 by the way. Many of my friends (if not all of them) and my family don’t understand why I had gotten myself involved with this man. Our age gap was actually a big issue to most people. We make heads turn whenever we go out in public. Maybe people were thinking ‘what the hell is wrong with this girl? Had she lost her mind?’ And whenever I tell my coworkers that my boyfriend is a pilot they would automatically assume that I dated him for money. So I can enjoy my first class suite enjoy my caviar and champagne and sleep in my made up “on board bed.” Well, that is quite an imagination I must say. I’m not going to deny that those things do sound good to me. However, that is not the reason why I got myself involved with this bastard.
Sad to say I was a victim of a pilot scheme. You know when people used to warn me to not date a pilot. Because they said they’re the world-class womanizers. I thought they were just telling that because they couldn’t get one or was dumped by one. Now I understand what they really meant and it’s just as simple as reading between the lines.
To tell you honestly, I wrote this and have not published it in a long time. Until today, I am surprised to read what I wrote. I can say that I am in a perfect state of mind when I wrote this but probably at my most vulnerable state but now that I am fine and happy I still wish that he gets what he deserves.
I am not going to bore you with all of the sad stories I had. Those were from Past Laiza. And present Laiza’s saying ‘hey, I moved on.’ I don’t need drama anymore. I no longer wake up thinking about him. I wake up from different “good morning” text messages from different guys but so what? I am single. It makes me smile knowing that someone thought of me in the morning. And it makes me hopeful that one of them could be you, my future husband.
And I may have been a little too desperate to meet you when I was in my broken hearted stage but you know what? If I had met you at that time, things would probably have not worked out so well. I wasn’t ready at that time clearly. I was just desperate to have someone on my side. But now I can totally say that I am ready to meet you. But only God knows when. I probably have met you already or just about to for the next coming weeks.
I must admit, my schedule sucks. And it’s making me a bit anti social. But I am definitely working on it.
And we probably won’t get married just yet because I have lots of things to work out on with myself. There’s a lot of unchecked boxes on my “things to do before I get married” list but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to know that you are already in my life right? That I don’t need to look elsewhere; that someday it’ll be you and me against the odds plus some minions.