My Heart is Open

I do not really know how it happened. One day I was lost, enclosed in a seemingly impenetrable bubble of despair and regret, uncertain as to why I allowed myself to fall so far for a man who did not intend to plummet with me. The next day, however, something awoke within me; it was a new feeling of hope and promise, something I had not felt in a very long time. The awakening did not erase the past. No, life did not work that way, and I do not really want it to. But to be free is an overwhelming sensation; one I had forgotten existed in my plan to live my present-day life within the comforting arms of history.

Yes, a new guy was the basis of this change, but I am convinced it was actually so much more than that. You see, when you persuade yourself that the past was a happier time—a better, more complete, less dysfunctional stage of your life—you lose everything that is beautiful about the present. For several months I was stuck in such a funk, unable to see a way through the walls I had built myself, fearful of losing everything that once made me feel on top of the world.

But that is the funny thing about life and the action of carrying the past with you. The past needs to be there for one to move forward, to make it possible to continue living. What makes up a person’s history occurred for a reason: to shape a person into whom they are meant to be.

I have changed over these past few months, even more than I realize.

But I am still a woman; a warrior, a dreamer, a rationalist.

I was in an unhealthy relationship for about ten months with a guy who lived three hours away from me. We met at a conference our junior year of high school, and while it took some time for us to romantically take the next step (he was unavailable at the time, after all), we both knew we had something special from our first interaction. I had never before felt such a strong and natural connection to a guy, and before long, I knew I was in love; there was simply no other diagnosis for the way I was feeling.

However, you obviously can infer things did not ultimately work out. For one thing, the entire relationship was long distance. We visited each other a few times that year and communicated daily back and forth, but the entire process was utterly exhausting. I, however, blinded by love, was not bothered by the strenuous effort it took to keep the relationship going. Somewhere along the way, though, I lost my counterpart, and he never really came back to me.

It was hard facing this truth—not really knowing where I went wrong. We had actually ended up at the same college, and while we had "broken up" at the beginning of summer before our freshman year, this was a difficult development in our relationship. We had never before been so physically close but so otherwise disconnected.

I remember vividly the first time I saw him since we ended things. It was late at night and he was definitely drunk. I am not even sure how we crossed paths that night, but that is not the point of the matter. What is important is what he told me almost right away: “This girl I met yesterday totally ignored me.” I was shocked by this revelation, recalling the fact that when we unofficially ended our unofficial relationship his reasoning was “he wasn’t ready,” being still not completely over an ex he dated for three years. What hurt me more was what came next: “I’m just impatient, I guess.” These words cut deeper into my soul than anything ever had. I really had not been enough for him. Something about me was not sufficient for this brilliant young man with infinite capabilities. I was not the savior his soul needed. Nevertheless, with this statement I realized that I was done wasting my time believing that we could begin again, that another romantic relationship between us was ever possible.

And this was surprisingly easy. The metaphoric cuts I mentioned—the ones that were the deepest I had ever felt—they healed quickly, as if all the time I had wasted stuck in one place caught up with me and brought with it inner peace and strength. It seems strange even to me now, but I went from being so very much in love with a man to no longer being bound that strongly to him, essentially overnight.

But I do not want you to get your hopes up about this other guy; it is nothing, really—just some small, coincidental interaction that left me with a bit more hope for my love life than before. However, the complexities of a theoretical relationship far outweigh the possibilities. My parents absolutely adored my first love—he was rich, charismatic, handsome, and extremely intelligent—and they are still pushing me to reconcile, as if it was my decision for the relationship to end in the first place. As a young girl on the quest for self-identity, it is unfair for them to ask so much of me and to expect so much. I am not my sister; I could never be her .

The incident happened quickly. I was in physics class, the first one of the new school year—in my freshman year of college—and my closest-thing-to-a-friend Elena and I were busy setting up our lab for the day.

“Damn, have you noticed the way that Ted guy has been looking at you? He hasn’t stopped looking this way all period, and it is certainly not because of me.”

Elena’s comment surprised me greatly. Firstly, because I thought her to be one of the most naturally beautiful girls I had ever met, but further because I had never noticed such a thing and did not believe a word of it. No one paid attention to me at school. I was just “Amber’s little sister” and “that girl who dated that Jack guy.” I could not have admirers, friends, followers—I was a lonely, wealthy, snotty girl with a prearranged future. My parents would never allow me to be anything else.

“Don’t be silly, Elena. That's ridiculous."

I was not insulted, though. How could I be? Although I did not believe her, the simple possibility that someone besides Jack had looked past the fake exterior I presented and saw something else in me was something that excited my soul to the extreme. I passed a glance around the room and met the soft green eyes of a guy with fair hair and a lightly freckled nose. Upon eye contact, he turned away, speaking with a friend nearby and fiddling with the circuitry equipment right in front of him.

Of course I knew who he was. Ted, he liked to be called, but most people knew him, humorously, as Tongs. We had had two physics classes together and it was impossible to forget too many faces.

I had not the slightest clue as to why he was indeed staring in my direction so often today, as Elena seemed to think he was. However, I found myself doing the same thing, hoping for another look at his piercing green eyes. The lab book in front of me was becoming increasingly ignored as I turned my face in Ted's direction more and more. What was making today so much different for both of us? I could not deny the fluttering in my stomach as I recognized that there was a probable chance that he kept looking at me at the beginning of the period because he thought I was pretty. I knew that I was physically attractive—while my parents certainly angered me with their constant nagging and superficial dependencies, I could not fault them entirely, for good looks can carry a person far in life and leave them feeling entitled to certain amenities, and that is the path they decided to take. However, I felt somewhere deep within that there had to more to it than that, for I could not deny that I was in fact a very beautiful girl, at least in terms of modern standards. There was an electrical charge in the air that was new to me today, urging me to recognize that these were no ordinary looks, that this was no typical situation—this was that spark that people tell you about, something I had only ever felt with Jack right away in our relationship.

Yet here it was, licking at my face, tickling my fingers, and ferociously enveloping me in a cloud of hope, of promise, of exhilaration.

I saw before me past memories of Ted, of our interactions, of my opinions of him—how had I never noticed him before? Of course I knew the answer was my parents, but all I cared about in that instance was that there was someone so nearby who was feeling this too, and I would be a fool to let that go without a fight.