To not see this reminder again
Now when I think about it, I wonder why didn't I look it up any sooner. Perhaps it is in part the internalized lesson in childhood from a mother who believed the only mode of relationship in the world is slave-master and a father who had justified his avoidance for taking the risk of going after his dreams by adopting the world-view that considering one's heart's wishes worth to be pursued being a privilege beholden only kings and princes.
Perhaps I would have not been so keen to avoid even seeing a photograph of Cœur de Pirate, not to mention any detail about the personal life, the soul behind the pen-name, wasn't it this conviction that any further acquaintance with Cœur de Pirate, and I will be in great danger of falling in love with her for the rest of my life. Coming from such household, I hope you can understand that I wasn't capable of considering any worthwhile outcome from desiring mutual lifelong admiration, respect, trust, and intimacy with someone who isn't prescribed for me by someone external authority figure. I have been reading Hafiz's poetry for years, even before entering puberty, and maybe because of that, I couldn't see the earthy aspect of the loves he had composed poetry about. The notion that "a heart is gifted to us in order to love" was, and still is, my preconception, but that "love" was preserved for the God. As written elsewhere, I was living out someone else's identity those years.
Perhaps the last window of opportunity to revive one's self-sense in childhood is to fall in love with someone who seems to understand you and be genuinely interested in who you really are; but when it was my turn, the first woman who treated me so kindly that her presence almost seemed to undo the effects of imprints of my childhood on my abilities and beliefs about relationships, love, and attachment left me without any explanation and everything that followed: I, instead of finding my way out of such childhood, was buried even deeper under lack of meaningful attachment and mistaking non-existing interest for ultimate ideal of love. Perhaps, I have never experienced meaningful attachment, otherwise, I wouldn't first get to know Cœur de Pirate's real name because the style guideline I have set for myself requires to find out the name of individuals referenced, especially if the purpose of text is [in part] to honor them as the individuals behind the art-works and I was publishing a post about her. I mean, attachment-healthy human beings won't avoid someone they feel like they might be interested in getting to know closer.
My incipient response was to tune out the little info box on Google search that contained the information that she has been married since quite a while; but then searching for a photo to use as the thumbnail for the post, I stumbled upon her wedding photos and the recurring little girl in those photographs ...
Weeks of dolor frequented by misty eyes were followed ...
I couldn't stop regretting and forsaking all the years of my life since I knew the artist Cœur de Pirate, incensed at my parents, disillusioned by their lectures about how anything in life would become unachievable if I don't follow their command: Here I was; the woman, I could have loved, married and a mother with another man as beloved. What hurt the most was the fact that from the day I learned my father is about to move to Germany till the early weeks I was stuck there in a hotel room with no plan for my future other than attending a German course, I couldn't grasp "How could he imagine one would ever want to learn German, of all the languages in the world!" I barely spoke out to my parents my disagreements the older I become, but about this one matter, I have had raised my voice once that "how could on Earth anyone think not first English, then French!". If that was all, if they had just given up on their commitment to decide my life for me: their comments, their lack of support for me whenever I wished to follow my own visions, and their coercion forced me to submit to their adjusted plans regardless of how ridiculously unfit those plans could be a future for an individual with my inborn qualities and my past.
Not rarely, my parents and many other relatives in my environment would tell me that I'm finicky, impossible to please and so I'll never find a wife. When I grew older, studying mathematics, aspiring to write philosophical commentary about state-of-art social and political challenges in the society, or the barely ever revealed desired of mine to make films only encouraged those very people to reassure me with additional justifications about how unsuccessful I'm going to be and how the lack of materialistic success would make it impossible for me to ever have a family.
Now when I look back, trying to reconcile those comments as some forms of motivating a child to change his course, I can't help but see they never worked but the more unsuccessful those remarks, the more frequent the use. It wasn't that I had an ironed self-esteem and self-trust that didn't allow any of those predictions to get under my skin, by contrast, they quite formed my views about my own self to a big part, but the reason I did not catch on the horror those remarks were supposed to cast on me, was the fact that "family" wasn't something I aspired to have or be part of, at least, not consciously. I can't altogether condemn myself for such disability, after all, the one family which I was officially a member of had treated me such that I couldn't hate being part of. I always liked and still like my siblings, but being the oldest makes it impossible to find that feeling of security in them for yourself, and about my parents, at times, I can't bear to be in the same room with them, especially now that I'm old enough to think about their actions and possible motivations from an adult perspective.
I don't know why I could never imagine it happening that Beatrice Martin would have a family of her own. Never; Just as with myself; Never.
To Beatrice: when you're happy ...
That's all that matters.
Those couple of years ago when I first listened to your songs and later bought your first two albums, even though I spoke no French. It's not that nobody in my environment who had been my age had married, or that I hadn't received the news of someone I like and felt some affection for in my heart being pregnant and having a son or daughter, but somehow in the back of my mind I felt like you and I are these people who are labeled by others as constantly sad and outsiders to life, who would never marry or have kids or etc. or at least, I couldn't imagine those things about you or me.
And it isn't that the news of someone being married had never made me sad: I couldn't sleep the whole night when I heard about A. S.' marriage. Now, if I were to give an evaluation, I would say I was gravely mistaken to consider it is an affection from the heart that motivated her exceptionally affectionate and attentive treatment of me. But back in time, I had no other interpretation for how she had treated me in the past, for other I couldn't mentally cope with the idea of someone who had been so loving to me marrying someone else and, all in all, not telling me a word about it, and all the mutual friends who had been silent about it. So, I was extremely sad for a day and totally lost regarding my life plans, my future, and more than everything whether I'm of any value and whether suicide isn't really my only remained next step for years that followed. Perhaps for the suicide fixation is a mutual friend of ours responsible than every unusual interaction between me and A. S. but that's a story for another time. Anyways, seeing your wedding photos, I couldn't stop crying for days. When I was a kid I had attended few weddings, oh, I was forgetting, actually as a teen I also once attended the wedding of a friend/teacher whom I value personally, but I couldn't picture myself in similar settings. I just couldn't.
There are a lot of things that I find wrong with Twitter and Facebook and the rest of the so-called "social media" but seeing your wedding photos, for the first time I had some sense for what I wish for, in my personal life; finally, I had some sense of what kind of wedding I could picture myself in it. About A. S. and her marriage, I never wished or regret not being in her boyfriend's shoes and marrying her back then, I was only sad because I believed she loved me and that I have ruined the only love from the only person who had ever loved me all my life. I couldn't imagine there might be the possibility of being the recipient of such treatment by someone else; But your wedding photos and I just regret it any more why I had never known that I wish to have a family of my own, I couldn't regret it any more all the years I have lost, all the years spent on crying, waltzing, daydreaming and never taking any serious action to change the course of my life to a life that I could tolerate living it.
I haven't seen any photos of you giving birth, or maybe I saw one with you and the father and the newborn in the hospital, but regardless, dear Beatrice Martin, I'm sure, my heart would have told me: I can totally picture myself in an exactly similar situation, and what a desirable imagination.
Talking about unfulfilled heart's wishes, I don't wish to indicate there would have been no alternative path to happiness for me than having been in the shoes of the man you love. I mean, even about the fabulous little half pirate's heart, I think, I could have been just as happy, if me and a woman we loved each other, have had a daughter that was your daughters' best-friend. I never intended to be married for the sake of growing up or checking an item on a todo-list, or fulfilling society's implied expectations of a respectable citizen, but had I known you were expecting a baby, I would have looked for a romantic partner proactively instead of hoping one day me and my soulmate would end up together regardless of how unprepared I'm to actually be a husband, how unfit my internal and external life for such role and the duties and accountabilities that comes with it.
You wrote in a tweet that "I still feel that 8 years later," I have no real idea what has happened, but supposing you and I be as alike in character, as in fate, probably you have been as passionately in love in a man as Marianne Dashwood from Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility", and perhaps both of us similarly lacked an older sister like Elinor who could have been a role model, an emotional anchor, the guide in romance to return to calm after hitting into the wall and perhaps we both lacked a Willoughby style clarification in chapter 44. Alas, the world is too big and so full of people that men and women can get away while never making amend to those whom they have hurt, and never being socially punished.
But there is something I do wish to talk with you about. If it be indeed true that you and I are as similar as it seems to be, then I guess this applies to you as well: "Marianne could never love by halves; and her whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had once been to Willoughby." And having seen beautiful captions about the man you married, I can't but expect you to love him with all your heart. I don't just look back and it is that I have waited for that person some couple of years, worse that never truly existed love I believed in, I feel like I have lost the past thirteen or fourteen years my life, and that's the discovery only after seeing your success both in professional life and personal life. I can't accept you talking about your life like that when you already have a husband and a daughter you honor and admire, these are not nothing ... they are very much something. Gravely vital and consequential things, indeed.
I think one of the quintessential lessons from comparing Jane Austen's novel to my life is that men and women who act like Willoughby, who act like having no conscious, and whenever reminded of their hurtful actions towards others they put the blame on the other person or say: "they knew it but allow me to get away with it" or consider themselves blameless because everyone else is motivated by self-interest as well, and their dozens of other descriptions about why one shouldn't regard them as morally evil-doers. I think people like that, whether male or female, will never ever ever try to explain themselves or their motives unless it serves him or herself, or at least he or she perceives it so. To them, it bears no value that saying why they did what they have done, even if consist of most cruel intentions, would actually help his or her victim(s), would save them from "x years of feeling as if it just happened yesterday." They don't care. They can't understand that other people have their past following them because they themselves have no emotional attachment to their actions and what their actions have brought into the world. I have a draft of notes about this story and my own love life, so I don't wish to bother you with a lecture more, it was just, I felt like, maybe we are similar, and maybe it would benefit you to see that whatever your psyche is expecting to receive from that man to make it puts an end on that past, it isn't going to happen, unless he believes it will serve himself.
I have written about how terribly I fucked my life with my own hands, in so many places that I don't think it needs to be repeated here too, but one thing I have never publicly expressed my regrets for is how late it is that it's too late to have a daughter that could have been your daughter's playmate ... but I don't say these things to invoke your commiseration, just as an evidence that I do more than just wishing to turn my life around, that I'm trying to better my typical behaviors and reactions, as much as I can [if Allah will], an example: I gave up on not looking at Wikipedia in order to preserve my heart of having feelings for you by avoiding any personal information about you; so, here we go:
Belated greetings to Romy
Your mother posted something about being pregnant with you that went so under my skin. No worries, some days later actually she revealed that you're her reason to not hate her body as she usually does, even though when you were in her body, she didn't look her best based on society's criteria on female beauty, but I guess, your mother and I should you exclude from it. I mean, we both think having a totally out of shape body because a living being is "under production" beneath the surface is an amazing thing that makes all those not-nice and not-pleasant side-effects fade away.
What she wrote is:
I’m sorry but I need to vent for a second (a thread) :
Moms that feel the need to share their birth story and how wonderful it was to give birth at home, naturally, in pain, with their doula, midwives, bath tubs, husbands and salt lamps, it’s all good, you do you girl
But remember that it sounds preachy a/f and some women don’t have that possibility. It doesn’t make you less of a mother if you choose to give birth any other way.
Social media creates this society of shame without us even realizing it. Before it was just comments from peers that could get to us, now it’s sponsored posts.
I mean, I couldn't stop tears running down my eyes since I saw you in her wedding photos, but she didn't know that. Frankly, I was serene even though mournful because I know where I belong, I know there are others like me out there, I know, there is a kind of family I aspire to build.
I haven't seen photographs of your birth, but seeing you in the photos your mother posted since the few weeks I followed her on social media, and the captions beneath them, I think, however that birth was, I wished there was a girl born exactly similarly that would call me "father." I wish I could tell to your mother the way you were born was the best that it could happen for people like us, for those who are different, or maybe misfits, or if I borrow your mother's term "emo."
Anyway, I'm glad you are there, and I'm saying it not without my selfish motives having been fulfilled in advance. Here is what you, little girl, changed in my life –actually because you're Beatrice's daughter, but that we both already know how important is to me,– so, the story: I had heard about how meaningful it can be to a parent to see your child being proud of you, but I could have not imagined that ever such sentiments would resonate to me or my life, especially being consciously aware of my relationship with my parents but watching an interview of your mother where she talks about how after giving birth to you, everything in her life, I mean, every song she works on is so much about ... ah, I can't put it into words properly, look at the interview yourself:
That is where I learned how much it means to me, that when you grew up and if in such future you ever heard the story of my life or could notice its fruits, you would be proud of me. May the Lord help me top the best of your expectations in human beings ...
Dear Romy, Your brilliant, gifted mother is my reason to love you with half of my heart, always ... for the other half, you may endeavor to earn it on your own ...
PS. with some delay, an eternal Happy Birthday, for this year and every other year of your life, which I hope to be plenty, bright, inspiring, fulfilling, and lead you to true success, if Allah will