Date: Thu, 30 Dec 2010 15:55:23 -0500
From: Ken Mo <keneticmotion@gonowmail.com>
Subject: A Love Story

For a long time, I've tried to write the story of my ex and I. I've got
four or five tales with no tails and little to zero chance of them growing
one. But now I know what to write. Now I know where I went wrong. So here
is my story, presented to you for your enjoyment and your curiosity in the
hopes that maybe you'll learn from my mistake and learn how to write your
own love story.

It was a beautiful fall day when he and I met. We had all just arrived for
the week prior to the start of our freshman year of college and amidst all
the activity and excitement of our arrival, I fell in love. As soon as I
laid eyes on him, I fell. Our first conversation about where the recycling
bin was left much to be desired, but as it turned out, he and fate had a
plan.

As the week went on, we all ventured from our rooms in eager, freshman
fashion to learn more about our residence and its residents. One evening,
while just sitting at my computer and chatting online, he came in with a
few other people because my room was at the end of a corridor and my
roommates and I had left our door open in invitation to anyone who wished
to venture in. Immediately, he came towards me and started to make
conversation with me. I was only more than happy to oblige. We talked and
chatted for a while before someone had the idea that we all go out for a
night on the town. It was a good way to acclimate ourselves with what was a
new city for some of us, so we all got changed and headed out.

Eventually, we made it to our destination, a lounge where they had
installed closed circuit television all around the room so that you could
people watch and call them up to see if there was a connection. As it
turned out, every other freshman had the same idea and this being one of
the only under 21 places to get in, it was quite crowded. Eventually, our
group made it to the back of the room where there was some dancing going on
near the bathroom. Getting a table was out of the question, so we just took
to congregating in the dance area near the restroom.

Not very confident in my dancing skills and still afraid of embarrassing
myself in front of my new friends, I bobbed a little and just stood near my
love interest. In fact, during my slight movement, I detected a movement by
him to try and get close to me. While I learned later that he had already
known about my leanings from a rainbow ribbon that I had pinned to a bag of
mine, I was honestly still afraid to hit on a guy in person, especially
someone about whom I did not know his sexuality. However, for him to make a
move was all I desired, so when he opened the door, I was more than happy
to enter.

When we all went home after a very short stint at the lounge, many of us
were still too worked up to go to sleep, so we sat in the hallways and
talked and laughed and jumped and shouted and basically made merry. During
this time, my love interest had wandered in and out of a few rooms and
there was a time when someone came out of the room that he was in and said
that he had just come out as being bi. This, of course, piqued my
interest. I had never had an experience with bisexual men before, but at
least it meant that I had a chance more so than if he had just been gay.

As the night wound down, four of us ended up in his room, two girls and the
two of us. We all ended up getting into the bunk beds together, the two of
us on his top bunk and the two girls on the bottom bunk, to talk and joke
as we fell asleep. As we talked and our eyelids drooped, I could feel him
moving closer to me as he traced his hand along my thigh. And even as he
did this, I still had to turn to him and ask him, "Are you gay?" to which
his obvious response was, "Uh, duh." The man had his hand on my thigh, what
did I expect? But I tell you honestly and sincerely when I say that I truly
was naive about men and sex and hands on thighs. I just wanted to be sure
because my head found it difficult to trust my heart and his status had
only recently gone from uncertain to possible to highly probable to the
moment of truth.

From that night on, we were inseparable. Unfortunately for him, I was still
in love with my ex who had just broken up with me the week before
college. And also unfortunately for him, he was the one to whom I went for
help, with whom I wept, with whom I asked, "Why? Why? Why?" and with whom I
slept and had feelings for, but was unready to let go of my previous
love. Thus, for one year, he and I were boyfriends in everything but name.

Eventually, the July going into our sophomore year, he had come to stay
over in my house in suburbia and sitting on our pinstriped, white and mint
green couch, I told him that I loved him and was ready for a relationship
with him. I was finally ready to be with him, to commit myself to him, to
be boyfriends with him. And it was one of the best decisions of my life.

The next two years were something like the best two years of my life.

Staying over in each others' dorms, he would leave me notes in the morning
if I left early, so that I'd find them when I came back to the dorm. He
would go with me, support me in all of my ventures and activities, if not
for himself, then at least for me. He would love me and care for me and
hold me when I was feverishly ill and laid sweating in his bed. He was the
love of my life with whom I spent all of my time and with whom I wanted to
spend all of my life, but in the end, it was not to be.

The summer after my graduation, I stayed on in my residence hall as a
residence assistant to enjoy the last few months of my beautiful studio in
the city. He went abroad to China for a month and when he came back, he
broke up with me.

He broke up with me.

To say that I was devastated would have been an understatement. I felt like
someone had blindsided me and punched my stomach. I begged him and pled
with him not to do it, not to give up on our love. We ambled up and down
the streets of the city as I negotiated a chance to be with him again, to
be with him for good. I cried, I wept, and in the end, I won. But it was a
short victory. For when he came over the next day, I could see in his eyes
that his love for me was gone. The fire and joy of seeing each other was
dead in his soul and when I looked him in the eyes, all I saw was the
reflection of me.

When I came home that August, I told my mom in the car that he and I had
broken up, but I didn't want to talk about and not to ask me any
questions. For five years, I didn't want anyone to ask me any questions. I
wandered from relationship to relationship, searching for something that I
didn't know and leaving heartaches and heartbreaks in my wake. I loved him,
I truly did, but all I had left for him now was confusion and torment in
the wondering of why he did not want me, too.

Finally, at the end of the five years, I began to see a light. I met
someone with whom I could see a future, see a new beginning and a new
ending. He was again the love of my life and I was again, someone who
deserved to be loved. But something was not right. Underneath all the joy
and happiness of spending our time together, in all the arguing and
breaking up and getting back together, we were fools. I was a fool in love
who was not yet ready to commit and he was a fool in love who had committed
everything and finally, I understood why five years ago, my life had fallen
apart.

As I slowly started to try and piece my life together again, I learned a
lot from the past five years. I learned about loving myself, about loving
others, about loving. I learned how to hold my head high and keep myself
proud, how to value myself so that I could value others and most
importantly, how to love again: How to love me again.

And so I submit this to you, fair reader, to let you know that you are not
alone. I write in the hopes that you know and understand that there are
many of us out there who are going through this anguish, who went through
this anguish, who understand this anguish of love and heartbreak. And out
there somewhere, there is someone who loves you and who believes in you and
who knows you can make it back again if you just give yourself time. So
good luck, and so long, and if you ever need a listening heart, you're more
than welcome to come back, but if not, I hope that you leave with a little
more hope and faith in writing your own love story.