To All the Men I’ve Loved Before
( and those who got left off the list )
I used to say that I had no game. I imagined myself like a flytrap catching boys who unexpectedly got caught in my spider-web… with no agency in my picking or choosing; both parties just feeling along blindly in the dark. I think this metaphor has shifted in my mind with maturity, compassion, experience, self-awareness and an understanding of how we move and heal ourselves in the world. I recognize now that getting attention is not the same as love, flattery is not the same as intimacy, and there is no disappointment that cannot be healed with self-love. After many trial and errors, I got tired of losing “best-friends” and being paralyzed by the fear that I couldn’t ever love as deeply/fiercely/tenderly genuinely with another lover.
They say that time heals all wounds. But that is only true if you take responsibility to do the healing it takes to truly move forward. The mother and father wounds I carried did not dissolve with the mere passage of time. They transformed with commitment and dedication on my part. They shifted through hard learned lessons in relationships with friends and lovers. I know now that it is important to walk with humility, compassion, and the utmost self-love.
To those of you who bore witness to the struggle and stumbling, thank you.
To those of you who felt the awkwardness and sloppiness, I ask your forgiveness.
To those of you who kept showing up despite my limitations, I am eternally grateful.
For those of you who left with a bad taste in your mouth, I’m sorry.
Part II: The Getdown
In the 6th grade I had a crush on Steve Khamis. I was 11. He was a skater with a sweet disposition. We ended up going out for a week in the 7th grade. I broke up with him because he wouldn’t kiss me. Steve taught me that boys can be shy and crushes are fun.
At 12, Joey taught me about the pain and angst of unrequited love. I became obsessed with him when he came to my school play the saxophone with his school band in 6th grade. I continued my infatuation for a whole year. Calling him on the phone and hanging up because I just wanted to hear his voice. I eventually got to make out with him at a 7th grade party, but I was so retarded I pretended like I was asleep half the time. We went out for a week until he got bored and moved on.
At 14 Grant taught me that boys will use you to get off and sex does not mean love.
At 14, Dan taught me that heartbreak could make you throw up.
At 16 Seth taught me that sometimes friendship is a thin veil for infatuation. He acted like he was my best friend and in college we would spend every New Years Eve together, bridging thousands of miles between us. We were never romantic beyond a short period when we were sixteen (we attended each other’s junior proms), but we shared what I thought was a deep bond of friendship. Little did I know that he was secretly in love with me and instead of communicating that he would skillfully orchestrate our meetings around his current girlfriend so she wouldn’t get jealous. One year I called in preparation for my visit and he let me know that he had to severe all ties. It broke my heart. I learned that men can objectify you when you are simply seeking the solid support of a man friend.
At 18, I fell in love with Francis. It was a romance full of infatuation, ecstasy, codependency, bongs, passion, and shoplifting on shrooms at Disneyland.
Francis was my first real boyfriend. His friends called us “Batman and Robin.” We were partners in crime and loved each other with all of the abandon of teenagers. We loved each other until our sense of self was lost in the oblivion of passion. We loved hard and fought hard. I remember feeling like I would NEVER love as deeply and I clenched onto this idea even after I found myself crying more than laughing. We were such little kids we didn’t have the language or self-awareness to articulate why things weren’t working. It took an eternity for us to break up. We lived across the street from each other and we would end up prolonging our misery by hooking up during our passionate fits of nostalgia.
Francis taught me about passion and romance and what it felt like to be intimately connected to a man. Two years after we broke up, he officially let me know that he had cheated on me with his high school girlfriend. We were sitting on a ski lift over Mt. Baldy. It was brave of him because we had nowhere to go. Francis was my first boyfriend and he taught me that no matter how much I thought I would never love anyone as deeply, I did. With him everything was a first and I was convinced those feeling would never be shared with anyone else.
Mike taught me that sometimes being smart isn’t enough. I met Mike in the desert at Joshua Tree. He was shrooming with his best friend Joe Valdez and we had deep conversations about circles of life. He reminded me of Che Guevara (who I was pining over at the time). He never became my boyfriend, but rather a steady booty call. One of my most vivid memories of him was driving to San Diego to see the Beastie Boys. He was super sick and all doped up on NyQuil and I came through like a bandit in the night – on ecstasy. It was some of the most bizarre lovemaking I ever had. Mike never really showed up for me in any real kind of way. We would meet in different California locales and have good conversations and mediocre sex. I wanted him to like me more, just because I felt empty. He taught me that sometimes boys are band-aids; nothing more and nothing less. Everything else we attach are our own projections and fears.
When I was 20, I started dating Jensen. He was an emcee and smoked several blunts a day. And he was smart. We were part of the underground Hip Hop backpack scene. My dad hated him. And he wasn’t really ever THAT nice to me. But he was my best friend and we dated for four years. Jensen taught me that I had my limits. And even though a Sears portrait of us hung in his mother’s house, he couldn’t hold it down for me the way a man should. It’s probably because we were 20, and he wasn’t really a man. I wasn’t really a woman yet. I thought I would never love anyone with as much passion, but I did.
At 24, Chris taught me that timing is everything. Some people are in love with you and you don’t love them back. It’s not always a game of trying to get the man. Sometimes the tables turn and you can’t reciprocate. That can be the seed of compassion.
At 24, D taught me that confused men make confused decisions. D was a doctoral student. We took classes together and organized the 10 students of color at the School of Education. He was sweet and considerate and made me laugh. We smoked blunts, played dominoes, had sex and waxed poetic about Hip Hop – all of the things he was struggling with as he converted to Islam. One weekend he went away for a BSU reunion and after ignoring me for several days upon his return, he let me know he got engaged to his best friend over the weekend. He’s married now. Just had his third daughter. He still calls and Facebooks me, romanticizing the love we never had an opportunity to cultivate. He taught me that sometimes men do regret their mistakes and live to apologize.
At 25, Rot taught me that I could be broken into a million pieces and still rise like a phoenix from the ashes. And no matter how disappointing the man, you may be projecting on them the entire disappointment of your lifetime. Rot was the first one that told me everything I wanted to hear. I was amazing, beautiful, smart, evolved, and captivating. Now I know it was everything he wanted to hear. He was 30 years old and getting a divorce. I was young, single, and naïve. He was infatuated with me so he wouldn’t have to feel the pain of his own loss. I started running into him and his ex-wife at random public places. One day I had to sit and watch them cross the street in front of my car, arms wrapped around each other, totally oblivious to my presence. He started to withdraw and I had a breakdown. He taught me that 30 doesn’t mean mature, “I love you” doesn’t mean I’ll do you right, and most importantly don’t believe the hype – especially if it comes in the first month. I thought that I would never love as tenderly as I did, feel as safe as I thought I was with him, but I did. I thought no one would ever promise me those things again, but they have.
At 27, Joe taught me that phenomenal artists don’t necessarily make phenomenal boyfriends. Joe caught me in perpetual flirtation with his can control and brilliant productions of cyber Mayans. I wanted him to be the first graffiti president of the United States. But he lived in a dark haze and I sensed a deep sea of depression living in his body. He was always interested but not enough to make a move. Eventually living in that limbo lost my interest. I thought I would never meet anyone as fresh, but I did.
At 27, Mask taught me people only love as deeply as they love themselves. I met Mask while I was deejaying for a Youth Speaks event at Project Blowed in Leimert Park. He was a poet, a spoken word artist that spun a web of intrigue with his good looks, political rhetoric, and spectacular metaphors. I was entranced by the way he could capture a room full of people with his elaborate prose. But he hid behind the political analysis and I longed for him to be passionate about me the way he was about the attention he got from his audiences. I let him go, to take care of my own needs. I left for a month to Mexico to paint murals and when I returned he had moved into my neighborhood and he wanted me back. But by that time, I was looking for a band-aid, some attention and dedication that he couldn’t deliver.
That’s when I met Tonto. At 28, Tonto taught me not to date mental midgets. I was feeling empty. I was hungry for connection and I fooled myself into thinking that this little bodied, little minded man was an appropriate match for me. He ended up cheating on me with a 19 year old. He taught me that pathological liars lie to themselves before they lie to anyone else. I thought that no one would give me that kind of attention ever again, but they have.
At 31, Amadou taught me that sometimes I don’t need to be in love to make love and project love into the world. We painted political messages throughout Dakar with graffiti letters and clever metaphors. He called me his queen and guided me through the Hip Hop underground. He met me when my load was light and I was able to coliberate with him.
At 32, León taught me that sometimes love isn’t enough. León always felt like a soul mate: easy and light and tender and love. When I was with him I felt like I was on vacation: no responsibility, carefree, and enjoying every moment of life to the fullest. He was like a childhood friend. So much of us was playful and celebration. I remember thinking that I wished we had grown up together. Now I wish we could have grown more together. Growing apart felt like losing a piece of my past and future at the same time. Losing him felt like losing my own ground. And even though it was my choice to step away from perpetual Never Never Land, it devastated and disappointed me. I learned that I want someone to be grown with me and that I need to temper my disappointment with the pride and love I have for myself.
León won’t be my friend anymore. He has moved on to a new girlfriend who I find to be sweet, loving, and open. I have spent a year and a half mourning our friendship, wishing that he could at least show up to be the friend and family that he grew to be in my life. Instead he ignores me, keeping conversation painfully superficial and dialogue awkwardly distant. He also taught me that sometimes we lose family in the midst of losing love.
At 34, Homebody taught me that we all have a lot of healing to do. Homebody gave me a safe haven; sheltered and fed me when I felt tattered and torn. I was down and out emotionally and he was a soothing salve. He was a palate cleanser and obviously not my match. But he helped me heal a part of me that felt like it had lost any resilience. I loved him because he was learning that his struggle didn’t have to be private or shameful and it was a beautiful process to witness. I learned that showing up emotionally for a man doesn’t mean they’ll show up for you. And that’s okay. Just keep it movin’…
The same year Chump taught me that there is a threshold where my compassion wanes in the face of malice. Chump was one of those guys that can only be epitomized in a bad hyperbolic Hollywood movie character. His ego was way bigger than his accomplishments, sincerity, integrity and wisdom combined. Manipulative, deceitful, arrogant, and mean-spirited- he gave himself away before I was even trying to figure him out. He told me that he was falling in love with me the second week he knew me, which I took as a sign of immaturity at best; insanity at worst. When he dishonestly tried to convince his homey that I was sprung on him, the levees broke and they both showed their assess. But it all made me feel empowered and grown; grounded and supported. The bullshit inspired me to rise above and build solidarity with my sisters. Chump taught me that men can be their own worst enemies, and want to take you down with them.
Part III: I am a Work in Progress
Now it’s clear to me that I have to be my own best friend. And the loneliness that I fear is a loneliness that is universal. As long as continue to love myself deeply and with compassion, I will always have the potential to love and connect with another person in the same way. Time has allowed me to look at these relationships with measured wisdom and humor.
There is a direct correlation between the quality of love I cultivate for myself and the quality of love that I can cultivate with another person. I am walking on this path, trying to weather the bumps and bruises of this journey, focused on building a whole community dedicated to this process.
The Quick and Dirty Thirty Lessons Learned:
- Boys can be shy and crushes are fun.
- There is pain and angst in unrequited love.
- Boys will use you to get off and sex does not mean love.
- Heartbreak can make you throw up.
- Sometimes friendship is a thin veil for infatuation.
- When I think I won’t ever love anyone with as much passion/tenderness/connection/intimacy, I will.
- Sometimes a man being smart isn’t enough.
- I have to be my own best friend, because no other person can adequately fill that role.
- Sometimes boys are band-aids. Nothing more and nothing less; Everything else we attach are our own projections and fears.
- Timing is everything. Some people are in love with you and you don’t love them back.
- Confused men make confused decisions.
- Sometimes men do regret their mistakes and live to apologize.
- I can be broken into a million pieces and still rise like a phoenix from the ashes.
- No matter how disappointing the man, I may be projecting on them the disappointment of my entire lifetime.
- 30 years old doesn’t mean mature.
- “I love you” doesn’t mean I’ll do you right.
- Don’t believe the hype – especially if it comes in the first month.
- Men will promise me things (as part of their game) that they wont be able to deliver.
- Phenomenal artists don’t necessarily make phenomenal boyfriends.
- People only love as deeply as they love themselves.
- Don’t date mental midgets.
- Pathological liars lie to themselves before they lie to anyone else.
- Sometimes I don’t need to be in love to make love and project love into the world.
- Sometimes love isn’t enough.
- I want someone to be grown with me.
- I need to temper my disappointment in the loss of a partner with the pride and love I have for myself.
- We all have a lot of healing to do.
- Showing up emotionally for a man doesn’t mean they’ll show up for you. And that’s okay. Just keep it movin…
- There is a threshold where my compassion wanes in the face of malice.
- Men can be their own worst enemies, and want to take me down with them.