Wall

A while ago, The Boy bought me a present. He bought me a few presents, but this was the one I actually liked: a beautiful sarong from Indonesia, covered in birds and trees. In fact, I didn't like it: I loved it. I loved it even when he broke my heart: I couldn't find it in myself to blame the sarong for the state he made of me. And so - when I moved away from him, and destroyed everything else linked to him - it was the one thing I kept. And, when I decorated my new apartment, I pinned it on the biggest wall and built everything else around it.

It caused a lot of internal fights. Every time I looked at it, I would struggle with myself.

Why is that there?
Because I love it.
Take it down.
Why? It's so pretty.
You know why. Because it hurts you.
But if I take something beautiful down because of him, isn't he just taking something else away from me?
If you don't take it down, you're still holding on to him and you damn well know it.
No! I want to keep it. Why should he take away everything I love?
You wanted to keep him too, but it's not always your choice. Take it down. It is not helping you.

And, every day for the last four months, the argument has ended the same:

Not yet. Just let me have it a little while longer.
Now.
Just a little while longer. I'm going to miss it.
And that is exactly the point. 


Last week, Baba stood at my bedroom window and yelled at me to come and say hello, and I suddenly knew what I needed to do. I couldn't throw the sarong away because it was too beautiful, but I couldn't have it on my wall, because my heart can't be broken anymore. So I abruptly took it down, and gave it to her.
"It's a present," I said. "From Indonesia."
Baba looked at the sarong.
"For me?"
"Yes."
"It's so beautiful."
"I know. Please have it."
And then - in an impulse I didn't see coming - I threw my arms around Baba and gave her a kiss. For taking the sarong away from me, and loving it for me so that I didn't have to.

The wall has been bare all week: staring at me every time I walk anywhere in my house. Empty and ugly. And I missed the sarong, and I missed the prettiness, and I missed what it had meant to me: the one thing left over from the only romance I've ever given my heart to. I missed it, and I missed him, and I hated the utter blankness that kept accusing me whenever I looked at it.

Now what? Look how empty the wall is.
Wait.
I want it back.
You can't have it back. What are you going to do? Wrestle it from an old lady's arms?
No. I hate you. Look what you made me do.
You just need to fill the wall with something better.
There is nothing better.
There is. Just don't wait for somebody else to give it to you.

Today, I found a second-hand shop, full of unwanted treasures. And, at the bottom of a box at the back of the shop, I discovered the most beautiful silk kimono I have ever seen. It was a little bit smelly and faded, but it was gorgeous: cream and covered in hand painted flowers. I wanted it so badly that when I carried it to the lady at the front, my hands were shaking. And - when she eventually sold it to me for 2 British pounds - I walked outside and did a little air punch and hop in the air, for getting something so utterly perfect.

I took the kimono straight home, and I put it up on the wall. Nobody else had wanted it - somebody had given it away - but I love it. And I will love it forever, because nobody can take it away from me: not another person, not a broken heart, and not a memory. It is something to put up in that empty space that is mine. That is from me, for me. That I found for myself, when I was ready to let go and fill the blankness.

My kimono is a hundred times more beautiful and more precious to me than the sarong it replaced. And, because it's mine, so - too - is my wall.