c and i. had it out this evening. over godawful instant messenger. i guess my intuition told me early on to switch over from adium to gmail chat because adium always stops working like 3 minutes into a conversation. i suppose i was being lead to a secure medium in having an important confrontation.
what we needed to talk about is not of interest to anyone else -- everyone's relationship problems are boring -- but privacy was a key issue. he needs multiple times the amount of personal privacy than the average guy (why oh why, he'll never say why) needs. he knows of his featured roll in my china blog, where we met and spent time together, and has read it ('it' being the edited version i left on the blog once i took the blog address public, as it were, where c and others could read it).
i think i'm not realizing how others feel about being in one of my stories. they enjoy my stories but certainly wouldn't want to be in one. i'm probably being completely clueless -- when i play narrator, they're subjected to my interpretation of who they are and their actions i report. the amount of transparency i want in my life, my work and my relationships, plenty of people would want prefer to have privacy.
what one wants open, another one wants closed. it doesn't matter why, each side has its valid points; it's simply a conflict of interests. a nearly impossible one to overcome in most situations. i opened my floodgates at c in true me style, he restrained from giving any kind of reaction and kept his hand close to his chest in true him style. i poured it out of my heart; i felt as if i were tugging the lead of a resistant mule. a stubborn ass. that's not a completely libelous thing to say about him, there's some truth to the metaphor.
as i stood outside my door, looking at the gray slate clouds in the plum blackberry night sky, i recall thinking 'he's deeply insecure but doesn't want anyone to see.' he goes to great lengths to appear that he's comfortable and happy, even when he's not. after focusing on the thought that he is insecure, the strong intuition repeated 'you and he are not unalike.' yes, we're two insecure people, just like millions of others. what i've been failing to realize this whole time is that his way of dealing with that is to hide it from others, to work on it out of lookie-loos' gaze. i on the other hand feel that my way to deal with my insecurity, and somehow connect to anyone at a very base level, is to voice my personal doubts. while c is down in his lair, doing his personal work, i'm as transparent as the wind. i best deal with problems by re-connecting to the universal, to know that my pain is just like the pain of everyone else. we all bleed. knowing that i'm not alone, and telling others they are not alone, is how i measure my progress.
now that's making me think that's precisely why c likes living in china, it's all about face... and so is he. he'd really prefer to have flaws, problems and other indiscretions dealt with behind the scenes -- cracking it out in plain view is agonizing for him. it's a serious compatibility issue. at one point i didn't know how to tell him i needed some space without being cliche and saying exactly that ('it's not you, it's me. i just need space' -- code for 'this isn't working, period').
he asked me if i still wanted to be friends with him, and i said yes. the problem remained in that i didn't know how to tell him to stop being likable, to stop leading me on. but i couldn't think of specific lead-ons he's lead me on, as he's a master of walking a finely ambiguous line. i knew that i needed to signify some sort of marker point, some indication of change, a new direction, attitude or perspective. like i was sending up a flair to say 'hey, i'm not going to be bugging you as much any more.' is that being ironic -- when my actions contradict my words, when my words do not describe my actions? or is that just being a hypocrite?
it's like i'm finally coming into the ring, i conclude that after three years of hiatus and a year of follow up study, we probably aren't going to end up together, and even if we did it might not last anyways. his reaction to it all was akin to a sleepy middle aged man drowsily leafing through the morning paper, sipping his tea, responding with the occasional 'yea' or 'what?' but ultimately gives me a redundant look and sighs 'yes, i already know that,' turning the page and tilting his chin up to bring his bifocals to the headlines. even after he told me i'm important to him, i feel ridiculous and insignificant. not due to how he's treating me, but due to my own insecurities. c and i are not unalike.
all c wants is his privacy, and look what the universe is giving him -- someone writing some kind of memoir, including very personal information about him. we all have to deal with exactly what we loath, what is most difficult.
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i had a flashback of mortification; in my college creative writing class, i met with my ta to go over some of my works, and as she looked them over to recall what they were about, she said 'oh yea, you're the relationship writer.' it pained me to hear it that day and to think of it long after, i thought it the least original topic possible. now i do realize i'm a relationship writer; i write about my relationship with all things.
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