Not Of Your World
Dec. 11th, 2010 04:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talonkarrdeWe will always be different, you and I; I know this now.
But let me explain something.
Before you, I was different from everyone else, in every way I could imagine, in new ways that I learned about, every day. My time spent with others was not easy, not enjoyable, and did not happen without me fighting myself, every step of the way.
But even as I despised it, I knew that it had to be done, that I had to - what is the word? Assimilate. Such an ugly word. But it was necessary, or eventually, I would be too much of an outcast, and I would never be able to truly live.
That was the choice.
Even so, how it hurt. My every action and every moment spent with them only convinced me how hopeless it was. I was foreign. I was alien. I was not of their kind. I was different in appearance, in dress, in behavior; more importantly, I was different in the views that I held, the thoughts that I had.
In all the time that I spent trying to fit in, I was never accepted.
And then — of course, and then — I met you.
And it was the light of day after a long, dark night and it was peace after a thousand years of war and it was getting to the promised land, and so many more allusions that you’ve taught me, if only I could remember them from our talks late at night. It was being safe and known, something I had almost given up on.
I came to view the night as the only time when I was truly awake, even though I was sleepy and incoherent; I came to think of our conversations as the only ones where I was truly talking, even though I was always of few words; I came to think that what we had was what life should be, even if it was for only a few hours, and only sometimes in person. I loved you, then, which I’m sure you knew; I hoped, dreamed, dared to believe that you loved me too.
Every day, we grew closer and found out more about each other, learning things that we already knew but had never said. You were more than just a gift, though; you saved my life.
You see, each day, you explained a bit more about where you came from, how you were raised, what you thought, and it let me understand them a little more. What I had seen as cruelties you showed me were simply habit, a different upbringing, a different culture. And you revealed in me the cruelties that my own culture had, and it broke down the walls, so that I for the first time, I realized that I could, eventually, fit in, that I would not be an outsider for all my life.
There is nothing greater you could have given me.
And then it all unraveled, the careful tapestry that we wove together. It was a disagreement over something we both thought carefully about, and that made it all the more jarring, that we had examined the same facts and came to different conclusions. It was a moment’s worth of shock that turned into a night’s worth of anger.
But looking back on it now, I wonder if it was anger or just pain; I wonder if it was realizing that we were different for the first time, that we would not always agree on everything. And I was at fault: instead of trying to find a middle ground, I did what I had always done in the face of a challenge, and I insisted that I was right. I tried to bring out facts and figures and instead of thinking that it would be okay that we disagreed, I took the position that it was only okay if you ended up agreeing with me.
I was wrong, and I drove you away, and I’m sorry.
We will always be different, you and I. But what you taught me, what I never truly learned until now, is that differences between people are not insurmountable, that with time and effort, what divides us can be bridged, if not eliminated, and that cultures and upbringing should never doom us to be trapped by them. And what I learned about you and I is that even though we will not always agree, we share more in common than anyone I’ve ever met.
And I write this hoping that maybe, just maybe, it gets a bit slow at work sometimes and you sit, staring at your screen, wondering if I’ll IM you; maybe the phone rings sometimes at night and your heart speeds up for a second as you answer before you realize that it isn’t me, maybe when you hear a car stop outside, you take a look out the window, hoping that things have changed.
So, this is my apology, and this is me, knocking at the door.
But let me explain something.
Before you, I was different from everyone else, in every way I could imagine, in new ways that I learned about, every day. My time spent with others was not easy, not enjoyable, and did not happen without me fighting myself, every step of the way.
But even as I despised it, I knew that it had to be done, that I had to - what is the word? Assimilate. Such an ugly word. But it was necessary, or eventually, I would be too much of an outcast, and I would never be able to truly live.
That was the choice.
Even so, how it hurt. My every action and every moment spent with them only convinced me how hopeless it was. I was foreign. I was alien. I was not of their kind. I was different in appearance, in dress, in behavior; more importantly, I was different in the views that I held, the thoughts that I had.
In all the time that I spent trying to fit in, I was never accepted.
And then — of course, and then — I met you.
And it was the light of day after a long, dark night and it was peace after a thousand years of war and it was getting to the promised land, and so many more allusions that you’ve taught me, if only I could remember them from our talks late at night. It was being safe and known, something I had almost given up on.
I came to view the night as the only time when I was truly awake, even though I was sleepy and incoherent; I came to think of our conversations as the only ones where I was truly talking, even though I was always of few words; I came to think that what we had was what life should be, even if it was for only a few hours, and only sometimes in person. I loved you, then, which I’m sure you knew; I hoped, dreamed, dared to believe that you loved me too.
Every day, we grew closer and found out more about each other, learning things that we already knew but had never said. You were more than just a gift, though; you saved my life.
You see, each day, you explained a bit more about where you came from, how you were raised, what you thought, and it let me understand them a little more. What I had seen as cruelties you showed me were simply habit, a different upbringing, a different culture. And you revealed in me the cruelties that my own culture had, and it broke down the walls, so that I for the first time, I realized that I could, eventually, fit in, that I would not be an outsider for all my life.
There is nothing greater you could have given me.
And then it all unraveled, the careful tapestry that we wove together. It was a disagreement over something we both thought carefully about, and that made it all the more jarring, that we had examined the same facts and came to different conclusions. It was a moment’s worth of shock that turned into a night’s worth of anger.
But looking back on it now, I wonder if it was anger or just pain; I wonder if it was realizing that we were different for the first time, that we would not always agree on everything. And I was at fault: instead of trying to find a middle ground, I did what I had always done in the face of a challenge, and I insisted that I was right. I tried to bring out facts and figures and instead of thinking that it would be okay that we disagreed, I took the position that it was only okay if you ended up agreeing with me.
I was wrong, and I drove you away, and I’m sorry.
We will always be different, you and I. But what you taught me, what I never truly learned until now, is that differences between people are not insurmountable, that with time and effort, what divides us can be bridged, if not eliminated, and that cultures and upbringing should never doom us to be trapped by them. And what I learned about you and I is that even though we will not always agree, we share more in common than anyone I’ve ever met.
And I write this hoping that maybe, just maybe, it gets a bit slow at work sometimes and you sit, staring at your screen, wondering if I’ll IM you; maybe the phone rings sometimes at night and your heart speeds up for a second as you answer before you realize that it isn’t me, maybe when you hear a car stop outside, you take a look out the window, hoping that things have changed.
So, this is my apology, and this is me, knocking at the door.
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Date: 2010-12-13 02:53 am (UTC)Lovely writing!
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Date: 2010-12-14 04:50 am (UTC)More seriously, I get this and feel this. And am voting for this.
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