Posts tagged ‘love’

February 25, 2011

In Your Arms, I Am Home

by feyruhan
For Fey’s linked post, Waiting, please go here.

Image via Wikipedia

My home is in your arms. My home, is in your arms.  I am at home when I am in your arms, and when you are away I can’t help but be homesick.

How can a person be a home?  How can a person be a home, when a home is walls, and doors, and windows and portraits, and furniture, and so much baggage?  You are my home; you are my furniture, my windows, my doors, and my portraits.  You are the baggage I carry around, waiting to be found, by you.

The heart of it is that I’ve been lonely, a long time now.  Maybe I’m hungry, or horny; I could say I’m tired.  And, sure enough, all those things would be true.  I’m listening to a song that breaks my heart, because feeling my heart break is the best I can do.  It’s the most I can manage.  It’s hard to simulate solace when there’s no one around.

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December 24, 2010

This has to be fake.

by f

courtesy Postsecret Favorites via Flickr

Read: “I want an Arranged Marriage”.

No, you don’t.

No, you don’t want an arranged marriage.

(I understand it’s an emotional argument to make. I also understand that I can’t make blanket statements. I am going to violate every cardinal rule of argument or political correctness — you know, that convention that prevents us social anthropologists from saying that one tradition is inherently better than the other.)

The writer has chosen not to reveal her name. This is smart. She is clearly confused and her thoughts are badly organized. If she gave her real name, she would have been pilloried across the internet.

This story was a mishmash of disjointed orientalist stereotypes, and it should not have been run. I love the Frisky’s GirlTalk segments as a rule, but this is awful. I hope against hope that this doesn’t turn into a farce of Gilbert-style proportions.

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December 21, 2010

Dear Mr. Right,

by d
One more love ticket (Lovers Project)

Lovers Project at the Yohohama Landmark Tower SkyGarden. A huge heart made of love tickets put together by lovers.

How are you doing? How is your health? Are you meeting the goals you set for yourself or has life got you mired down, too?

I am well, for the most part.

This week has me thinking. My parents will have been married for 34 years come the weekend. That’s a helluva long time. They got married when they were younger than I am now, which is how they’ve achieved this amazing feat. I have no doubt they will make it to 50, which will be in the year 2026.

In the year 2026, I will be forty. In the next sixteen years, I want to find you, Mr. Right, settle ourselves somewhere we love, and have babies. (Not a lot of them, Just Enough. And maybe we’ll adopt, but I want one of my very own–one of you.) In 2016, our kids could be anywhere from preschool-ish (pleasegawdno) to preteens. It’ll be a great party, with all of us and my parents together.

You will love them, I promise. (My parents, not the babies. You’re obligated by biology to love the babies.) And they will love you. I couldn’t love a man who wouldn’t fit into our existing unit. So don’t worry, you’re going to love them and they will love you.

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September 6, 2010

Touching Base/ September ’10

by feyruhan
Vector image of two human figures with hands i...

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve been thinking, maybe I don’t want a relationship.

Not right now, anyway.  I’m happy.  I’m happy with what I’ve got, which is a lot: school, intrinsically rewarding volunteering in my field of choice, paid employment that doesn’t involve morally or socially reprehensible activities (such as drug trafficking, prostitution, or one of those phone-fundraisers who call you at home when you’re broke to badger you for money that will go mostly towards maintaining the operation rather than supporting the cause) or insultingly mind-numbing (like working at a grocery store).  I’ve got a really great friend, S, who enjoys watching my favorite shows with me and not only allows me to narrate or interject on the action or sequence of events, but gladly partakes in the discussion while we pause the show. We can talk about anything, whether trivial or deep, including everything I post here and the few things I haven’t got the balls to post here.

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August 24, 2010

“I feel as if I am standing on a giant precipice, screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one even looks up…”

by dahliarosemonroe

The week before last my boyfriend SB and I had a blowing out where he lied to me to get the combo to my room. He took all of his stuff out without telling me. This led to me being incredibly pissed off and heartbroken. I actually took a personal day from work to go spend it at my Mom’s so I could escape for a little while because I was so hurt.

We decided that living together in that small room was too much for us, and his financial issues were not at the right level for him to contribute fairly and still be happy. Plus, we acknowledged that us living together after barely a week of dating was not the best idea. After that cathartic talk with him, I felt like the slate was wiped clean, and we could get back to the awesome relationship we have had in the past.

Not so, it seems. In fact, I feel more upset. I thought living apart for a while and saving for own apartment would bring back the romance we had initially. I hoped we would go out on more “dates” and that he would value me. It turned out to be the exact opposite – or at least that’s how I feel.

Yes, he will come over and call now and then, be he comes over just to get a vacation from his parents/family. He knows I will take extremely good care of him. (Either that or he just wants to get laid.) He comes over and says that he missed me and he’ll hug me and hold my hands and all of that, I will give him that. Honestly, I feel like I am just an insignificant sidenote on his life as of right now. And that bothers me so much that I want to cry and I just feel heartbroken. I’ve always tried to put 100% into our relationship, but I feel like I get less and less.

And last night, it became glaringly apparent.

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August 19, 2010

Let me let go of this feeling / August ’10

by feyruhan

via Flickr


Reading about werewolves–Pack, mutt, Change–I slowly start to feel about S.  He’s my Pack.  We cuddle, we’re frank with each other, about all the important things.  We’re safe.  We have a safeword.  S is safe: he’s comfy and I’m not attracted to him and he knows I’m beautiful.

Then I start feeling about J.  Sadness.  Mourning.  Not once, not even once since that Sunday did he try calling me.  He doesn’t care.  I don’t matter to him. Did I ever?  It’s like we never were.

Tell me something.  Tell me something about what I meant to you.  Did I–mean anything to you?

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August 16, 2010

Fingers / July ’06

by feyruhan

Thief of Emotions

I’m wanting, now that I’ve been away and reading; but only mildly so, and besides there’s my cycles to consider.  Never mind that he doesn’t care, but I do, though I can’t say why, except that it’s disgusting to think of; and if I don’t care to do it now, what with my cycles, then I’ll not do it now, what with my cycles- and I’ll leave it at that.

I’m worried that my appetite is unhealthily lacking; it’s been that way for a very long while.  I remember cravings when I was younger- fifteen, sixteen- a number of occasions I could count on one hand when I truly wanted.

I want to go to a… woman’s doctor.  To check some things, nothing particular, nothing to worry, just to make sure all is right in that place where the sun doesn’t shine. 

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August 15, 2010


by d

I will never be in danger of becoming a crazy cat lady. Much as I quite like cats, I’m also very allergic to them. Every Thanksgiving I come back from our cousins’ place with itchy eyes and a streaming nose. That’s one stereotype I never have to worry about. I might, however, be the crazy pig lady.

This post may be off-topic — it has nothing to do with feminism — but we wanted Subterfuge to be a place where we could talk about how we’re feeling.

Today, my heart was broken. For fourteen years, I have had pet guinea pigs. I have adopted them, birthed them, nursed them, loved them, and let them go. Eight of these amazing little creatures have passed through my care, three born and given away, the other five mine to have and to hold. We kept them in pairs, and when one died we would get another, as guinea pigs are known to pine away when their partners die. This has lead to a succession of amazing animals. Babie, Porkchop (we did not name her), Brillo, Reepacheep, and Belle.

She used to fit IN this teacup.

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July 13, 2010

She’s not a slut if she didn’t want to do it… at first.

by d

Oh darling, no, we mustn't! Not 'til you put a ring on it!

I was over at F’s earlier, and picked up a book I keep seeing around but haven’t yet bought. It was a romance by Judith McNaught, with one of those mild covers that doesn’t indicate anything vaguely erotic, unless you cought the castle thrusting up through the clouds. As I flipped the pages, my eye landed on tongues and other such things, and I found myself smack dab in the middle of a love scene. As we’re wont to do, I began reading it out loud in a melodramatic voice.

“What,” F demanded, “is so enjoyable about RAPE? All these love scenes are rapes!” (She has read the book.)

“Ah, but you see,” I explained, “it’s to avoid being a slut. She can’t want it. But if he rapes her and she enjoys it, then it’s ok, because she’s not a slut.”

F shook her head in disgust.

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July 9, 2010

One End of the Spectrum to the Other

by dahliarosemonroe

via Flickr user mdezemery

I decided that my first “real” post would be concerning my relations with members of the male gender. I haven’t exactly had the best exposure to those toting sausage, starting from when my father beat the shit out of me when I was younger, and also telling me that nothing was ever good enough. I would get all A’s in school and not do the typical stupid shit that most my age partook in, but I was still doing something wrong. Certainly that whole experience gave me a great head start in my relationships with men.

Fast forward to late 2008. I was living in Las Vegas and working in a casino (and no, it is not on the Strip, so stop asking) as a cop/floorperson. This casino was stuck in the ’70s and apparently still used its budget from the ’70s, so I pulled double duty. My first day of work I walk on in, and see two guys power washing the outside of the casino. One I noticed in particular. I remember thinking, “Wow, what a mighty fine piece of man meat!” Something just hit me about him, almost like a slap in the face. I remember checking him out whenever I could, asking my co-workers what his name was and what they knew about him, and trying to figure out what nationality he was. One night when one of my co-workers was talking with him, I decided to jump in, and promptly made an ass of myself. That still didn’t deter me. I was damn persistent, which I never have been before. I have always just sat on the sidelines when it came to men. But with JR, I jumped right in. Pretty soon, we started talking pretty frequently, and not long thereafter, we were inseparable at work. He would wait for me to get to work, we’d catch up on our lives over the past 17 hours, talk more when things were slow, hang out on our breaks together, and pretty much always stay near each other the whole time we were working. I remember one day I gave him my phone number. Let me repeat that: I GAVE HIM MY PHONE NUMBER WITHOUT BEING ASKED. I have never done that. And not too long afterwards, I get a text from him. That was it. I’m glad I had unlimited texting and calls because otherwise I would be working to pay my phone bill. He would pick me up from my apartment to go to work (with my crazy roommate, who thought we were an item, getting drunk nearby), and bring me back after I got out and we spent a little time together. Mind you, he left work at 8 AM, and he would come back to work just to pick me up at 11 AM. We got in trouble so much for spending so much time together at work, and we seemed to be quite the hot ticket for gossip at work. I remember even having management look at all of the cameras outside to see if we were leaving together; we played it slick and met a few stores down the road. He made me love going to work, but only just because I got to be near him.

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