Valentine's Day. All about couples, cuteness and shit. And, this was the first valentine's that I actually was in a relationship. (I mean, no complicated I'm mostly with you, on your good days, and pretend I'm with you on your bad days. Yeah, current relationship=actually functioning.)
And it was crap.
Nothing to do with half-asian. Nothing at all. Just, I had a crappy morning, he had a crappy afternoon, and the combined evening didn't make anything better. And neither of us could even cuddle afterwords we hated Thursday so much. So... valentine's is officially my least favorite holiday. (And trust me, with the how much I hate Christmas music, this is saying a TON.)
So... I promised a story I think. Unfortunately for you slightly less "liberal" readers out there, the only stories from my past that I have not told have adult themes in them (or teenage themes, because I was only a teen then, but still, continue on knowing that sex might be brought up.)
After a brief scan of previous posts, I don't think I've ever mentioned my cousin! Blond, blue eyed, looks exactly like my sister fourth-cousin. The guy I was friends with and didn't know I was cousins with until my grandmother from Idaho visits us and pulls out the family history books to prove we are related. We'll call him Jamar.
Jamar is straight as they come. (Okay, cliché. Don't kill me.) He had a girlfriend that lived a couple hours away. He recently had moved to my ward in Southern California. Didn't think much of him. He hung out with an old childhood friend of his often, so... I just let him be, I guess.
But then, he went on a bike trip. And I talked with him. And thought he was funny. And cool. And not my cousin. (Seriously, what are the chances?) So, we hang out. Become friends. Play video games together. (Mortal Kombat, storyline version for whoever is interested.) And I'm better at bosses, he's better at killing the normal bad guys. We were... well... for lack of a better term... and I really hate using this word... bros.
Spent all of our time together. Literally. I was in high school, he was a year older and thus graduated, and he would wait for me to get out of school so we could hang out. Then we would go to crap. Like strip poker (with females, of course.) And paint houses. And chores. And, well, anything that exists in real life, really.
Then he starts sleeping over (I mean, we spent 24/7 minus high school time together anyways, so sleeping over wasn't that big of a deal.) Until he climbed into my sleeping bag on night. Then... our relationship (though still resembling bros by MOST standards) became more sexual. For months it remained this way. And I didn't have a shred of guilt. (Remember the girlfriend.)
A year later, my conscious catches up with me. And, after a letter to him on his mission (of which he was serving "unworthy") I got over it. I didn't get depressed. I didn't get mad at myself. I got sad, and moved on.
I don't know how I did that. Logged it away like it was nothing. However, ever so often, I see Jamar's girlfriend (they are still together) post on facebook links to her blog "Waiting for my Missionary" and I get sad. Go to dark places.
Still the most solid advice I was given was to just avoid the blog. Because that is when the guilt returns. However, like tonight, sometimes I just HAVE to see it. And get all sad.
Life continues. I kinda still see Jamar as a good friend. And maybe, if I could, I should visit him when he gets off his mission. Maybe. Sometimes I decide I won't see him. Sometimes I decide I will. But usually I'm left wondering if I will ever decide. For how long? Who knows. I've got a few months before the mission is up.
And wow, the length of this blog post got out of hand.