On Closure: The Ex Who Shall Never Be Named

Hey guys!

So this is going to be a follow up post from my last Update post here. My goal is to make this post as full of positivity and a lot less "rant-y" than my previous post on the matter. Plus, with Valentine's Day just around the corner, I figured this post is both therapeutic and helpful, since it's that time of year again and, arguably, the worst time of the year (whether you're single or not, let's be honest *shameless plug* read my Valentine's day post from 2014 to see why!)

Okay, moving on to the point of the post. Like most women, I have surrounded myself with friends and alcohol in an effort to console myself in light of recent events. During this important time, I decided that a 30-day no contact period would be the best way to handle the situation. Until I realized I was using my no contact period as a crutch. I was counting down the days until I could let myself talk to him again.

People, particularly those who have been broken up with by their SO, are under the impression that closure is needed before one can move on. But when the possibility of closure is impossible, or non-attainable, I feel like people get wrapped up in the idea that they need answers to move on. This is false.

I probably, at this point, understand very well the burning need for answers and the curiosity that eats away you. Thinking again and again that if you could just meet up one more time, the stars will realign and everything will be fine again. Well, that's false and I am not saying that from experience. I am saying this coming from a place of rationality and understanding. Try to empathize with the person who shattered your heart, try to see what they saw was wrong with your relationship, but you'll never get answers that way.

Dwell and grieve for as long as you need to, but pick up your head after and realize that brighter days are ahead. Even if those brighter days revolve purely around your next glass or six of cheap wine. Because sometimes in life, it's the little things that count and I believe in keeping hope alive no matter what. Whether you're swamped with school, heartbroken, or in a rut, realize that things will get better.

It doesn't get easier. You'll always love them, every little inconsequential thing might remind you of them, and there will be days that you feel like you can't breathe unless you have them back in your life. When that happens, take a deep breath, have a drink or two, and move on. Acceptance is a key part of the grieving process and it's often the part that is the hardest to achieve. But it's possible. Keep your chin up, embrace a new hobby or rediscover an old, surround yourself with people who love you, and let go of the past. Treasure the memories, look back fondly on the good times, but don't try to recreate them. You can't.

There's a quote that floats around the Internet that I see sometimes:

And I don't think nothing could ever be more true. My ex truly was my first love, even if I wasn't his, but to the next man in my life, I hope you do better than your predecessor because he left you a wreck to deal with. As if I wasn't enough of a wreck as it is! (That was my sad attempt at humour *hint hint* *nudge nudge*)

I've also come to a very enlightening conclusion which was this: It is not my responsibility to be the first one to reach out to him. Having been the person to break up with someone else on many occasions, I have always known that being the one to do the breaking up holds a certain amount of power. And with great power comes great responsibility. So, if your ex broke up with you and wanted to get back in touch, as the person responsible for the break up, it is on them to try to reach out first. They left a gem behind and when they realize your worth, you'll have already moved on.

Bottom line? Be kind. 

If they reach out and you're confident in your own feelings, reach back (in a friendly manner) and if you're not ready for that step, tell them that you're not ready to get back in touch, and when/if you ever are, you'll reach again and this time, the ball is in your court.I believe that if you emit positive energy, karma will be there for you. So simply be kind to one another. (Unless your ex is a crazy criminal, in which kindly but urgently call the cops, a lawyer, and get a restraining order).

I am making this promise to myself today: This is the last post I will make about my most recent fail of a relationship.

And in spirit of that promise, I will be posting a makeup review type thing next week! I'm going to try and make Wednesdays my blogging days.

I hope this post helped you and that my advice made some sense? If you guys have any suggestions or ways you get over a semi-serious/serious relationship, please leave it in the comments below or tweet me @aly_bean

Thank you so much for reading!

Love and Light,
A. Bean

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"Wow, You're So Exotic"

Hey guys!

So, I realize it's a bit ironic for me to do a rant-type post after just going on about self-improvement, but, like I said in my last post, old habits tend to die hard, and I am a very stubborn individual. Also old, so you know, old dogs and new tricks don't go together. But, I have justified this post in convincing myself it is for the greater good. Also, it just really, desperately needs to be addressed. I was going to do a video on this topic simply because my mouth moves faster than my fingers, as do my thoughts, but my background is kind of shady, and the whole video would be an hour long rant. This has the semblance of more structure, I think.

For those who don't know, I am biracial. My mom is Vietnamese, and my dad is Canadian (read: a whole mishmash of cultures where there is some percentage of Scandinavian and some percentage of Aboriginal and some percentage of Ukrainian. I think.) I only offer this information because it is pertinent to the discussion and gives me some amount of authority on the topic. Otherwise, my race shouldn't - and doesn't - really matter.

Since reaching adulthood and branching off into a world outside of my parents' circle of influence, I have been confronted more now than ever about my race. From questions like "What are you?" and "Where are you from?" they get more and more intrusive depending on the person asking them.
These are all usually asked before my name is even known or is usually the next question after "What's your name?" To go up to a person who looks, and I'm purposely being generic here, white, and ask them where they are from is laughable and ridiculous. Well, the same thing when I'm asked where I'm from. I am from Canada, I was born here. I have never permanently moved anywhere else - I had a two year stint in Ontario, if you recall from my earlier posts. I am a human being, that is what I am. More specifically, then, if that doesn't satisfy the question, I am a biologically female human being. Not a martian, surprise! I am exactly what you are, so when I am asked, "What are you" you can only imagine my shock, amusement, and annoyance. The other person's reaction is even more laughable when I answer that I am human and that I am Canadian.

People say"what are you" or "where are you from" as a means to be more politically correct, but what they don't realize is that to even ask the question damns them. I won't fault their curiosity, but at the same time, why does it matter what my race is? I am fully aware that I maybe don't look like a "typical" white girl (again I am being very general and loose with that term). I am also very self conscious of that fact and when it is pointed out to me, I feel even more awkward. Which I shouldn't. I am very proud of who I am and where my parents are from and I love my culture. Both of them.

Being mixed race is hard enough as it is - you feel like you don't belong anywhere - without having people interrogate you about it.

That lengthy backstory brings me to what I really wanted to discuss which is the use of the word "exotic" when referring to someone "not from here". For the purpose of this post, we will use "not from here" to refer to people who are not physically different (either in skin tone, hair texture, eye shape, etc.).
The other night while I was at work, near the end of my shift, a single middle aged gentleman(ish) walked in - he's clearly "from here" - and as I approached him, he asked about my hair texture (naturally curly) to which he seemed to enjoy - apparently he has a "thing" for curly haired gals (ew...) - and then asked about my race - again using the standard "where are you from" line - to which I replied as nicely as possible - because despite hating my job I still need my job - that my mother is from Vietnam and my dad is from here with some sort of Scandinavian background - hence my accursed curls. He widened his eyes in delight, ooohed and ahhhed over my race and proclaimed me "exotic".

PS - Dude, if you're reading this by some gross chance and sick twist of fate, I might work in a restaurant, but I still have a small miniscule shred of dignity left that I guard like a starving, rabid dog over a masticated bone. In other words, I don't want/need a sugar daddy. Yet. And when/if I do need one, I certainly won't be asking you to step up.

Upon being called exotic, I nearly threw up in my mouth. But, because I am great at my job, forced a tight lipped smile and proceeded to avoid eye contact and approaching his vicinity for the duration of my shift. I am not "exotic". I am not some imported rarity. I am a person, not a thing, and I think that is my biggest issue when I am faced with this question of race. I feel like a thing. An exotic thing that is there only to be admired and ooohed and ahhed over.
The problem with this is that I am reduced to being a thoughtless inanimate object. Which sort of sets back decades of feminist movements and advances. Hey, Emma Watson, speak up for the "exotic" people, too, okay?

When someone is reduced to being just "exotic" my ideas, dreams, pursuits, goals, and thoughts are irrelevant. Because I am exotic. I am like a Siberian Tiger placed in a zoo. Just there to be looked at and cared for and never free. I deserve to be more than caged. I deserve to be more than "exotic". Or a car. Cars are also described as exotic. I am, sadly, not a transformer.

This is a problem not just with strangers, but also in my sad pursuit of love. Boys only want me because I am exotic, men only want to creep on me, and I am left stranded in the middle, wanting neither. I deserve respect.

Not really, but you get the idea....

And that is something I thought was my right as a human being. But I guess in the eyes of mainstream "from here" society, all I will ever be is "exotic".

Love and Light,

A. Bean

PS - Leave your thoughts, comments, and experiences below! Am I alone in feeling this way? Have you ever been called exotic or has your race ever been questioned?

A Poor Start: First Post of 2016

Hey, guys!

        If you couldn't guess by the title of this post, it won't be as lighthearted and cheerful as my other ones. Following the New Year, my boyfriend and I parted ways. Having read my last "Life Update" post, I feel foolish now, but I won't delete it. Those memories will be memories that I will hold dear to my heart for a long time despite parting on less than amicable ways with my ex. I won't go into details, just know that it didn't end as well as I thought it would if we ever were to breakup. Also I always thought we would breakup face-to-face, but thankfully, Facebook is available to the cowards of the world (#stillnotbitteroranything).

Preach, girl, preach!

        Life, however, does have a funny way of introducing other things to occupy your mind. The passing of David Bowie and Alan Rickman in addition to some school drama all served one purpose: distraction. Not to say that I didn't grieve the loss of my supposedly perfectly imperfect relationship. I definitely did. For four days I wailed - not even cried, wailed - my heart out, my parents can attest to this, I'm pretty sure I scared them a little. And in the days following my initial grief, I'm still overcome by sadness, but I'm moving along.

Well, Carrie, it gets sucked up into a black hole called grief, and then
if you're lucky, it fades from an all consuming fire into a
small little ember. In other words, it never goes away completely.

I've gotten really into the whole "self-improvement" kick. It's a slow process, but at least I'm not as depressed. This week I've really made an effort to wear makeup again. I didn't wear a speck of it for a week, and I caught my reflection in the mirror while on a pity shopping spree with my friend at
Sephora. I'm glad I caught that reflection of myself - though I wasn't at the time. With my messy bun, bare face, and decidedly perma-sad expression, it really kicked me back into gear. I cry less and less everyday, and I've reconnected with my friends, whom I shamefully neglected during my relationship.
       It really taught me that no matter how perfect something or someone may seem, no amount of love or attention you give them will ever be enough if they don't love themselves.       Or if they loved themselves too much.

Amen, Elle.

       So to that conclusion, then, I've decided to take a step back, reevaluate, finish school, and focus on bettering myself. Admittedly, I did jump into my last relationship fast, and didn't really make myself or him wait or work for anything. Mainly because I was on an "I'm an empowered, modern 21st century woman, dammit, I can sleep with whoever" power trip. Which ended up being my biggest failure in the relationship and doesn't really set the right tone for the rest of our time together. Give me a tall, dark haired, tattooed, broad shouldered guy, and I'm pretty much weak at the knees and reduced to a giggling school girl.
      So, maybe 2016 didn't really start out the way I wanted it to, and maybe I no longer have a date to go see Deadpool, or Batman vs. Superman, or Aquaman, or anyone, really, to occupy my time with and spend the cold winter nights with, but I have me, and for the last 21 years, that has always been enough.

I am enough.

Love and Light,

A. Bean

PS - You're all enough.
PPS - Shoutout to my friends and family who dealt with my broken hearted sad self for the past two weeks and counting. You're the real MVP.

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