Sometimes people simply ask you questions they already know the answers to, just to annoy you or hurt you. It requires a calling out sometimes, but other times it’s just like….”okay, keep the peace. Let them create their own bad karma.” Still, it hurts. As a Buddhist, I know it’s my job to also help people find their happiness. It’s hard, though. Especially when you can feel them wishing you the worst, or hoping for the worst.
This week, I truly fought myself not to let my genetically-earned temper explode at a question. Oh goodness, I reached deep within myself to be the better person. This doesn’t always happen. I do get mad, I do go into rant mode. I can admit that some things truly dig into my emotional skin. This time, I wasn’t going to let it happen. I’d been days off of finishing my SGI Entrance Exam, hopefully passing with flying-ish colors. I’d learned so much about the mission of the Buddhist, and what it means to be a bodhisattva. So how could I turn around now? No human is perfect, and we can all fall off the trail, but my mission for kosen-rufu starts with me, right? My human revolution has to begin somewhere…and it all has to do with the internals and my actions to change my life for the better.
I could feel the question digging into my soul like a knife, fully aware that the person who was asking me was satisfied on their own trail, simply grabbing me by the fluffed twist-outs and dragging me into the mud. Indirectly saying—“I have what I want over here. I know you’re not close to having what you want over there. How does it feel?” Hmm. I had a pained grin on my internal face, knowing full well their bitterness and happiness over my failures was looming over my head. Still, I did not give in to expressing my anger. Even now, the old me is pushing behind a sealed door to come through. The ranter, the scathing writer with so much to say. The one full of hurt but turning red hot. I already let her through once today. Not again.
No, situations aren’t where I want them to be, pertaining to the question I was asked. Persons involved have been MIA from convos for almost two weeks. Of course I’m feeling bad about that, trying to combat pouty feelings. I’m also pushing to keep positive, realizing that their illness or finances or technical trouble could be an issue. I wanted to talk more, wanted to send them a card, but haven’t gotten a reply back. So, it was purely awful and interesting timing for someone else who hardly gave a crap or care to ask me how they were. I sat there wondering “what was that about? Why are you acting like you care?” I knew this wasn’t a “just asking” type of question. This, dear readers, was to see if I was romantically involved or in some kind of erotic tryst.
This other person, the asker, was hoping for my failure. Basking in their own, probably feeling all kinds of good that I had nothing and no one. Also failing to realize that the one they were asking about was intended to be a friend and nothing more. I was hurting because I hadn’t heard from them, not because of some failed attempt at romance.
So, the other person has this “thing” or “things” going on, and that’s great. They always have set up when another plan fails. For the sake of my own sanity and the healing of a broken heart, I decided to stop talking to them. They’re in another place right now, happy and looking back at me–their past–with nothing but malice. There’s no true love or concern. There’s no hint of friendship. I already know loyalty is an issue.
I devoted a lot of feelings toward this person, tangling myself up in their promises and trusting with faith. Once reality hit me, I made some strong moves to sever ties. They held on until finally deciding to play this game of dipping in and out. Which…is twisted, not special. It makes me feel like an object on the high shelf, not one of desire or respect.
There are people I haven’t known as long who give me respect and love in a friendly, direct way. I am so thankful for them. They have their own lives, but sometimes stop and say “Veronica, you’re all right.” That’s a special feeling never to be taken for granted. It takes me away from the pain of waiting and hoping for old friends to show up again, and trying to purge other relationships which have no label…just emotional scars on the heart.
Just as I said to the person who asked me how the other friend was, I say it again. He is who he is, and you are who you are. The two of you are separate people. What you have in common is me–and I am who I am.
Someday, who I am will put me in a place with people who don’t see me as an object on the shelf. They’ll see me as a person in constant motion, always available, accessible, and as a friend. Not a project, not bread to be buttered up…and…not a piteous object to fix.
They’ll see me as Veronica Rochelle, and love me.
The story continues.