Message in a Bottle

I’ve been having dreams about my grandfather lately – nightmares almost, rather. In them, I find him dead in the same disturbing manner every time, even though he died peacefully over three years ago. I wasn’t sure what to make of them – is it suppressed guilt emerging for not being able to resuscitate him, as I watched his life slip away in disbelief? Or is it a sign of things to come? With nowhere to turn for answers, I turned to the next best source: Google. Turns out that dreams about death, on the contrary, actually symbolize rebirth – the start of something new and fresh. According to most sites, dreams about death are common and often mean that some part of the self needs to be radically reworked – whether it’s one's attitudes, emotions, or relationships. Bingo.

Suddenly it all became clear; I had a startling epiphany a couple of days ago. On my way home from work, I was recounting to a friend the turn of events of the day, and at one point, I just broke down and cried. I cried – not because of what was said or done, but because I finally realized the person I had turned into. As if someone brought forth a mirror that I had feared gazing into for a long time. This isn’t me or who I wanted to become, I thought – then how the hell did I let it happen? Too many chick flicks, I presume, but that’s the easy answer. At some point during the last two years, I embarked on a voyage in search of finding the guy I was destined to be with. I wanted someone to love, and started holding on to any guy who gave me the faintest notion of “this could be it.” And with each pit stop on this long road, I’d wonder, “Are we there yet?” One thing I became really proficient with overtime, was the ability to deflect blame onto others and circumstances, rather than the one person who was at fault the most: me.

Posing as the victim allowed me to curse everything and everyone but myself. Long distance, age gap, no spark, incompatible, insensitive, insecure, arrogant, unattractive, boring, too nice, too short… the list of excuses is endless. After all, there’s a perfectly reasonable correlation between every cause and effect, but I never dared pointed the finger at myself. Anytime I ended things, I’d justify it by telling myself, I’m not breaking hearts… I’m just crushing egos. Yet, whenever a guy ended it, I’d be relentless in my pursuit of happiness that I intrinsically believed lied in his companionship. That was me Friday. Time of death: 6:12pm.

After reflecting in that X-ray mirror long and hard, I finally came to terms with the fact that I’m a victim of my own crimes. “Whoso diggeth a pit, shall fall therein” as the saying goes. Well, I’m finally throwing my shovel away. I’m tired of dating, going through the motions, hoping to be interested, and acting surprised when things don’t end in “happily ever after” - especially when I could anticipate the outcome all along. Maybe there is some truth to too much of a good thing, and that’s why I’ve decided to stop dating. Yes, indefinitely, and no, I'm not kidding. Sorry boys.

Somewhere in this search for “him,” I lost myself. And maybe moving thousands of miles away isn’t the answer, but it certainly asks the question: what will be my legacy? When Tim Russert died this week, people around the country mourned the loss, because we lost a brilliant man. When my grandfather passed away, hundreds of people were moved because of the lives he had touched. And it makes me wonder… what will become of me when I’m gone? What will I be remembered for? Beyond a eulogy, what words will be uttered in my memory?

Only time will tell but for now, I’ve decided to join the Peace Corps. Go ahead… I’ll give you a moment to scream out “what?!” Well, it’s quite a lengthy process so I’m not going anywhere immediately, but hopefully, I’ll be leaving soon enough. A seemingly dramatic and an impulsive thing to do – I know – but I need to remove myself from what I am, and be the person that I can become. Maybe I need to make a difference in order to become a different person. After all, the people living in third world countries are the true victims of humanity…of natural catastrophes, atrocities, and maladies. It’s time to stop playing the victim, and start helping them. It’s time to turn that recurring dream into a reality.