On being fleabags
For some reason I hear your voice randomly invading my thoughts during quiet moments. You saying our favorite proclamation this year is like a brainworm: “the red flags within ourselves”. I’m not complaining, I just find it funny. What are we going through and why are we starting our new decade covered in crimson banderitas, not knowing which ones belong to whom? Are any of them even ours or are they just things we’ve collected the way tourists collect mementos? Maybe a bit of both?
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Fleabag’s monologue at the end of season one made me ugly cry— gobs of tears and snot and whatever else my facial orifices could offer. I cried because I remembered our conversation about fundamental faults. Strange how we’re aware of what’s healthy for us and for others yet we still find ourselves doing and chasing after things that might hurt.
The thought of finding someone healthy for me terrifies me. I imagine it feels like holding a small bowl made of thin glass, your hands cupped around it. It’s terrifying how precious it is. Terrifying how no matter what happens, you have to handle it with great care. Terrifying how you don’t even know why you were given a small bowl in the first place, how you know exactly why you have to keep it safe but have no idea how because it didn’t come with a manual.
I suppose some of us choose toxic people because it’s easier to feel less alone that way. Two broken people nursing their own wounds, pretending time spent doing that is quality time. But of course when you’re in the middle of it, you don’t know that. It’s only when you’re far away and free of it finally you realize that, despite being with someone, you were still all on your own. Wounds and all.
May we find the courage to trust ourselves with the small bowls we are given. May we be find the strength to face the truth and accept that, despite of ourselves, we are worthy of the same amount of love and energy we give to others. The bowls aren’t small because small is what we deserve. The bowls are small because the most precious of moments are small. The bowls are small so we can give and receive love with moderate passion. The bowls are small because they fit perfectly in the space between our palms and we can keep them safe and warm the way we would a lover’s hand. The bowls are small because when we let love nourish us in just the right amounts, we don’t have to second guess ourselves and think ourselves needy when we say:
