For me.

I won't write on Valentine's Day. I'm not in love. I haven't been in love...in years. I'll write 5 days away and delicately impress upon it. I think 5 days is enough distance between Valentine's Day and me. I like the number 5, and I like Valentine's Day and I like love. So we'll leave it there.


I've been in Korea for a month and a half. Exactly. I've learned many things. I've mostly learned how many mistakes I make...all the time. Underneath the many, many (obvious) mistakes I make here I've begun sensing the smaller (tiny, barely nuanced) mistakes I make as Adriana. I make a lot of mistakes. Like....a lot. It's not worrisome. It's refreshing. I'm so vulnerable and imperfect. I'm so wide-eyed and impressionable.
I skyped my lovely Alisa today and she gushed a little about her new boyfriend and I hate that the internet connection was so bad but I love that our connection (despite the shitty connection) was so strong. Connections connections connections.
Alisa is newly in love. She's new to it. I'm new to being alone. I've done the love part so much I forgot about myself. When I left Toronto I was so wrapped up in finding someone strong, handsome, silently strong and strong strong strong. Right. He was supposed to be strong. Check.

And me? Oh...well I patiently awaited to be swept off my feet. Remember...someone here has to be strong. Someone here had to be the one doing the sweeping. Someone here had to do the pushing. Someone here had to do the hard part. I ....waited like a delicate flower. Jesus. I'm pissed off just listening to it.

I fell in love pretty young and it was magical. It was a lifetime ago. It lasted a lifetime. Sometimes I think it lasted more than it should have. Sometimes I think it hasn't ended. Because our first love changes us. It doesn't just make us better. Love makes us worse. Not because it hits us strong unprepared but because it hits us and that hit has nowhere to go but deeper in us. And the deeper we grow (even when the love ends), the deeper the first love grows too...in us...alone. Our first love keeps changing us when there's no love anymore. Our first love keeps taking and pillaging when everything's burned up. So that when we hit rock bottom, we're dragged deeper downwards until we drown and breathe in water. Until air is a dream. Then we resurface foggy, dizzy, bruised but alive. We survive our first love and it survives us. Then we wake up....and breathe air again. And it's fucking heartbreaking. And it's fucking hard. But we endure.
Ever since my first love ended, I haven't gotten over it. I'm still not over it. I think every love I've had since has been in response to that first love. Isn't it weird? But that's how it is.
Not because we're in a fairytale but because we imprinted. Like baby geese who see a mother goose and know our mirror image, our home, our Mecca. Our first love is our first grounding. We see a glimpse of who we are. We also see who we're meant to be. Mother geese are the guide, the template for baby geese. We will lose our fluffly feathers, our small cute faces, we will lose the winding dreamy glances. We give up our rosy dreaminess for flight.
The mother goose means flight. The mother goose knows freedom. The mother goose has touched clouds when it has dropped its baby down.
I thought freedom meant a new boyfriend. Then I thought it meant another lover. Then I thought freedom meant England or Oxford or Paris in the summer when I was in love. Then I thought freedom meant being reckless. Then I thought freedom meant moving to Asia. I never really saw it because I was too busy looking at shapes. At concrete things. I was so busy looking at the darker, identifiable (template-like) things I kept missing the beat. Freedom was the gap. Freedom was the tiny unidentifiable flying object in between all the other identifiable objects. Freedom was a UFO. Freedom is a UFO. Freedom is an alien. I couldn't handle being free. I couldn't fathom it. Freedom is the space, the gap. Freedom is the momentum. Freedom was everything I chose to do.
I wanted so much for freedom to be a fucking mother goose I could understand and then become.
I've been afraid most of my life. Afraid of not being enough, afraid of making mistakes, afraid of being abandoned, afraid of not being strong, or beautiful or lovely.

Then I saw myself in the mirror today doing yoga. I was holding my leg up at a fucking impossible angle sweating, face glistening, hair up, looking like I was about to take flight and I looked so beautiful I couldn't believe that was me. I was holding myself so I wouldn't fall. I wasn't flying. I was steady. That was inspiring. I wasn't going anywhere. I had my own back. Fuck, I had my own leg and my arm and my neck and my arm too. I had all of me.
I wanted so much to meet a perfect man I'd know inside out. Why?
There is so much in me I don't know. There are so many things I keep finding. Some are bad, some are good. Like I'm the most hilarious person I know. I'm also kind of annoying. I'm emotional. I'm somewhat lonely. I'm awkward and kind of a loner. I spend a lot of time in my own head. I'm also very generous and I lose myself when it comes to others. I love protecting others. I love making people feel safe. I waste money on crappy things. I'm ambitious but it's tiring and can come across as presumptuous. I used to miss Romania. Then England, then Toronto. I am now trying to make every place I'm in my home. If I have a warm bed and some music and some people I can teach and some others who can teach me I'm fine. Really, I'm fine. I might need some books and some European music and some nice perfume too to really feel fucking great but overall I'm okay.
I love knowing I'll smell fresh coffee in the morning. I love knowing my parents and grandparents are safe in their beautiful home. I love knowing my friends are where I left them. I love learning and reading. Today I learned that South Africa is home to the world's largest diamonds. One diamond they found was as big as a grapefruit. That's amazing! A lot of energy and warmth was needed to make this incredible rock. It glistens. This is random I know but this is how I think.

There's a cleaning lady who comes to our school and cleans cleans cleans and she reminds me of a busy Romanian shop lady. She's busy and bustling and earthy. I was passing her in the hallway today and I was so happy to see her. I reached my hand out quickly (I was rushing to photocopy something) and she took my hand and we held it tight midway in between the rush and hurry (on both sides) and it felt good. I connected. I felt her there and she felt me. That was love. It was a fraction of love. It was enough.

This Valentine's Day I'll be so happy for all the love others feel. I am honestly so happy I'm alone. If I wasn't alone I never would have gotten to feel this. Ever. Loneliness gave me love. Cleaning lady love. Clean love.

My first title was "For all the Love". I changed it. Because it isn't for all the love. It's for me. And I like it.