Platitudes (and Some Non-Platitudes) About Love

I think the thing about love that angers me the most is its lack of closure. And I'll tell you what I mean, because I recently had an experience with it. Actually, no. I've been experiencing it since I was sixteen. And I guess I don't really mean that true, ever sought after love that coils around your heart and catalyzes some sort of dormant or fateful catharsis. I just mean any sort of cultivation of a romantic connection between two people. There's always a remainder, I think. There's always leftover pain and longing. I don't really think it ever goes away either. Not unless you happen to find that one person you're "destined" to be with. The perfect "fit." The "missing puzzle piece." Your "soul mate." Or, as Stephanie Meyer, the author of the famous Twilight quadrilogy so famously stated, the person you're "unconditionally and irrevocably in love with." But we'll talk about that completely theoretical and highly idealized individual later.

Since I came to terms with my own sexuality at age sixteen, I'd say there have been three significant romantic endeavors. Of course, there a a great number of flings and things sprinkled and mingled in between, but they can all be arranged around these three greater happenings. And these three men have all changed my life in such profound ways, without either of us even realizing it.

The first boy I ever found involved myself with was EP. I walked into my Tap Dance Class one day (you think I'm joking) to find him sitting in a chair expectantly watching. I think I must have known he was gay immediately. Either way, he was unbelievably adorable. He seemed to me to be an escape from everything in Oak Park, and I took solace in the fact that no one could know him unless I let them. It didn't take long to find he had come to the class with my Tap Friend, JJ. And it didn't take much longer after that to find out that EP was brought to the class for the sole purpose of sniffing out my homosexuality. Needless to say, a tall, lanky dancer with long blond hair and a flair for broadway shows and the dramatic isn't very hard to sniff out. But hey, I'm not complaining. EP and I exchanged AOL Instant Messenger screen names and talked almost every day after I met him. It wasn't long before I asked my father to drop me off at the Topanga Mall under the guise of meeting some friends from the valley. Little did he know it was my first "date" with my first ever boyfriend," and I only use scare quotes because my first relationship merely lasted the better part of three weeks.

It was so short, but everything happened in those three weeks. Hands slipping into jeans, the minted taste of his mouth after he had just chewed gum, meeting his mother and his sister, playing Evanescence for him on the piano, coming out to my friends and introducing them to him, panicking when people began to find out about him, trying to hide myself from my parents, hearing my first "I love you.", and feeling I had no choice except to return it. And suddenly, I had gone on a cruise to Alaska with my family and it was far, far away. I never saw EP again after I left for that trip. I always blamed it on my getting sick. But that didn't happen until well over a month after I got back. I guess in the end I just got scared, overwhelmed. It's true that my illness officially prohibited me from ever reaching out again once I was ready. The last few threads of out connection were severed in there moment.

And I still think about EP. Almost every day sometimes. He still seeps into my dreams when I least expect it. These crisp and vibrant images of our sixteen year old selves endlessly reaching and yearning for each other. And I don't know if it will ever go away. I don't know if I'll ever stop wondering about him.

Then, in my freshman year of college, I met MH. Online. And he unleashed a whole box of crazy on my life. Strangely enough, I think I'm most thankful for what MH has given me. Our relationship stretched a little beyond the appetizer that I enjoyed with EP: two months. It was so passionate and desperate at the same time. I found myself incredibly attracted to MH at the time, but things got bad, fast. His insecurities unraveled the secure self he projected for everyone else to see. And I found myself in this nightmare of accusations and picked fights and instability. I found in MH everything I didn't want or need, and that having a boyfriend didn't make me feel any better about myself. That's my job, not someone else's.

MH and I had an explosive break-up, to say the least. It ended in the most ridiculous fight I've ever participated in, and I still believe to this day that he had so many underlying issues to work through, and they were surfacing in the most illogical and unreasonable ways. No matter how far away I get from that incident, I still can't see MH's side of the story. It just leads to absurdity. We literally haven't spoken, or even corresponded, in over a year and a half, and I have no desire to find him. And yet, there's still something lingering. I still wonder where he is or how he's doing. I still wonder if he's crazy or if it was perhaps just me who brought it to the surface. I wonder if he's happy, or what I would do if I see him.

And the same goes for my most recent relationship with JG. Our relationship was the longest and most passionate I'd ever experienced. It wasn't something I sought out. It finally felt like I had attained that organic connection that just sort of happened. And I learned a lot and grew up a lot the entire time. It doesn't matter that I have a lot more growing up to do; I treasure everything this relationship gave me. I thought I had made the right decision in ending the relationship. And now I'm not sure. All of these leftover feelings materialize, as if from nowhere, and suddenly the feelings and thoughts from yesterday seem no longer valid. As if they just vaporized off the surface of my brain.

And it's frustrating to me. It's overwhelmingly frustrating because these relationships all bring new revelations to my conscious mind, but they leave in their respective wakes more and more leftover feelings, and less closure. Is it possible to ever get this closure? Could I settle down with someone completely different, only to have my whole world deemed irrelevant in a single moment with someone I was once involved with? And that's what brings me to the notion of a supposed "soul mate."

Maybe it's because I've been experimenting too much with cooking lately, but true love seems to me like that perfect recipe you're searching for. There's this precise combination and measurement of ingredients to make your own tailored recipe for love, and it's going to take forever to get the recipe right. And every person you meet is a different combination of the ingredients you need for this recipe. The people you don't connect with are a completely different dish altogether. And the more you connect with a person, the more proper their ingredients are for the recipe you seek. And maybe it's possible to find that person who is the exact combination of ingredients you need to make your own love dish. But if it's meant to work out that way, does that mean you have all the perfect ingredients for their recipe as well? I want to believe that this person exists so bad. That one day my master recipe will be complete. I believe if I find that person, all of my loose ends and past relationships will suddenly dissolve. Because once I taste that perfect dish, nothing else will compare. There won't be room for doubt.

It's such a time sensitive situation, too. If I truly want to unearth this mythical recipe, I'll need to experiment so much. And the more I experiment, the more unsatisfactory leftovers I'll leave in my wake. And I can't hope to absolve all of these failures until I find that perfect recipe. The farther ahead I forge, the more faith I have to place in my ability to find this recipe. In a perfect world, all of my ex boyfriends and I would find it. And in that one singular moment, that moment where dinner is ready and everyone's tastes are so succinctly met, the moment where we all have found our true loves, maybe in that one singular moment we'll find closure. Of course I won't know if they ever find their recipe. I'll only know if I find mine. At least I hope I will. Because if I find the perfect recipe, crumple it up, and throw it in the trash, it will be an incredibly grave oversight on my part.

(In)visibility

The first time I realized I wasn't the only person my age who had experienced something devastating was only a few years ago. It was a moment crystallized in the loneliness of my room, reading the tiny, pixelated letters on my glowing computer screen. And I guess it was normal of me to think I was the only one suffering. I had experienced the kind of reversal that people couldn't have experienced like I had. I was physically withdrawn from those I loved most, and that literal separation was the one thing I couldn't help but focus on in the worst moments of my illness.

What I failed to realize, however, was that people can be scarred in too many different ways to count. That a person's health isn't the only thing can can crumble within them. That the skin isn't the only part of the human body that could hold scars. Until I realized these scars existed, I couldn't see them. And to this day I still can't see them sometimes. But they usually end up surfacing, one way or another.

Ariel Price is a person I hold so close to my heart. I wasn't even close to her for a long time, but I still decided to come out to her (via AIM) before a lot of other people. It's remarkable how much of our friendship was kindled and nurtured online, but it worked for us somehow. It didn't really numb the interactions online. I think we just function on this weird level where we can really easily feel out what the other is saying, even with the liminal tonality and expression that communicating online elicits.

One day, Ariel asked me to read her speech for a senior retreat that our high school organizes three times a year. It's kind of this rude awakening for the students that says something along the lines of, "life can suck sometimes, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't embrace it and love it with all your might. So love hard and live strong." Anyway, people who have been on the retreat before give speeches about life, and Ariel was selected to give a speech and tell her story.

Minutes later, the email patiently awaited my eager eyes in my inbox. I opened the attachment, and the thirty page composition filled my screen, and I began to read. The thirty pages of typed text seemed so daunting, as I had never written something so long myself. But before I knew it, I was entirely engrossed in the story of my close friend. In that half hour, I simultaneously realized that Ariel Price was not only an incredibly talented writer, but she, too, was a person with a scarred soul, forced to grow up faster than pace of life's natural rhythm. And I finished her speech in awe. Half in awe of what she'd gone through, and the other half in awe that I had no idea until she told me. It was unreal how much closer I felt to her once I had seen those scars, and how much more I appreciated her now that I could see her scars.

It happened again a little while later with Michelle Wicklas, another person I can't imagine life without. I don't remember quite as vividly how she showed her scars to me, but I was again floored by her revelation, perhaps even more so this time because I had known Michelle for almost ten years when I found out. And suddenly so many things about her made sense to me, and so many mysteries about her were put into context. It was like that moment in a movie with the plot-twist, and it flashes back to all these tellings moments in the movie that you couldn't possibly pick up on without foreknowledge of the ending. And then you can't watch the movie again without seeing the signs. And Michelle and I had that moment, and again we connected on this somber level of dull, painful remnants. But I clung to that connection because I had never felt so close to or so strongly for Michelle before.

It felt so good to see that I was surrounded by people who had been through just as much as I had all along. But I couldn't help but envy their ability to conceal their scars until they're comfortable addressing them. I have these scars inside and out. And they're there for people to see. I don't feel inclined to lie to people or brush it off when they ask about them, but sometimes I wish I could show them my scars on my own terms. And the visibility of my scars, I don't know if it helps or hurts me. Whenever I see outside scars on another person, I'm scared of offending them when I ask about them. I see them differently before I know them. I associate their scars with who they are.

And there's some degree on unavoidability in that, of course. My scars have shaped who I am, and I can acknowledge that. But there's a line between being defined by your scars and letting your scars define you. Sometimes I wish I could wipe away my outside scars, just so I have a choice of when I want to show my inside scars. Sometimes, I'm afraid of seeming too candid when someone asks about them right away. I'm afraid I show too much of myself, more than the asker bargains for.

My outside scars are the only thing that stops me from feeling like I'm 100% normal, or like I'm better than ever. They mark my weakness, they put my insecurities on the outside. Maybe it's a blessing of some sort. Maybe the more I'm forced to talk about them, the less they'll matter. All I know is that sometimes I get tired of looking like the boy with a story to tell. I've got a story to tell, all right. But I want to tell it on my own terms.

Why Jesus is Funny

I signed on to "jack'd" again. I was bored, avoiding my homework, and I'd already refreshed Facebook like 36 times. So I signed on to "jack'd." "jack'd" is a homosexual iTunes application. All it takes is a profile with some flattering pictures and decent statistics. You sign online, find a Prince Charming in your area, and he'll come over and plow you into the wall. People sign on to these applications so they can feel loved. They want that Prince Charming to come, and cling to the feeling until it's real. Consider it a really grown up yet fucked up fantasy. We fuck and get fucked until we find that one person it feels magical with.

I mean, that's the primary use for it, anyway. There are plenty of stages and variations; the older man who's likely married and permanently locked into his closet by his oblivious wife, the predators who just want to feel young again, the straight guys who can't come to terms on the outside with the person that lives on the inside. They're all on there. And then there's me. I've never pursued a disposable, one time use person from this application. In fact, I rarely do anything at all with it. Sometimes I answer, but it's only when someone really sparks my interest. My primary criteria isn't a big dick, or a six pack or a golden chest. I look for someone who stands out among all the "ur hot"s and "let's fuck"s. I guess my Prince Charming doesn't need to put on a glass slipper and fuck me to show me he's the one. I just need some sort of thoughtful or intelligent provocation that shows me that maybe there are other people on these sites who function on a level higher than sexual pleasure.

I rarely ever find them anyway. I guess the difference between me and other people is that I'm looking for a real Prince Charming, not a single-serving throw away.

Well, it appears that I have finally found my man. Last night, I got an incredibly profound and meaningful message from one Jesus Christ, and he penetrated my heart and soul with his eloquent and brilliant speech. I love nothing more than to hear about the damnation of my soul. It really gets me hot, let me tell you.

All joking aside, I'm used to the antigay enthusiasts. They don't even bother me in the slightest, vaguest sense. I actually just thought this was completely and totally hilarious. First of all, let's actually pretend that this is the Jesus Christ who has reached out to me on this fine evening. This must inevitably mean that Jesus H. Christ has purchased an iPod Touch (or even better, an iPhone 4). After his brand new purchase, Jesus eagerly unwrapped his pristine and innocent toy, and proceeded to download the "jack'd" application. Then he sought my profile out, and messaged me.

Jesus's profile wasn't the most well executed endeavor, but you know, I can't expect my dream man to be absolutely perfect. His only pictures are of cross with lightning bolts shooting down behind them. And don't get me wrong, I'm not against the appreciation of powerful imagery, but I just would like a visual of who I'm talking to you know? Who knows how Jesus looks nowadays? Also, since you're all curious, Jesus currently lives in Modesto, California. He's 99 years old (not too shabby), 8'2" (love me some tall guys), and only 200 pounds! Damn, I bet Jesus is in pretty good shape. Like, he probably looks slammin' in some skinny jeans.

So I got an email from Jesus. It was like a sign from above. Who cares if the words were anally raped in a grammatical sense? Who cares if most of the message was completely and totally misspelled? Jesus spoke to my heart. I opened the message, hoping to get a "Ur cute," or a "Hi ;)," but instead, I got something much better. Something that changed my life forever:

Jesus Christ

2010-08-31 01:00:31

REPENT THE is hope for your soul. it's heaven or hell after you die. JESUS CHRIST IS COMING BACK EVRY EYE WILL SEE HIM EVERY KNEE WILL BOW & EVERY TONGUE WILL CONFESS JESUS CHRIST IS THE KING OF KINGS LORD OF LORDS! REPENT AND BELIEVE IN THE GOSPLE. GOD BLESS YOU

I know he's Jesus and everything, but does he really have to refer to himself in the third person?

Ryan Roschke

2010-08-31 01:01:32

Thanks Jesus! You're the best!

Sadly, I never got a response after that. I guess I didn't have everything Jesus was looking for. And it's sad that I'm not Jesus's Prince Charming. But it's okay. Jesus will find someone someday.

In all sincerity though, who's better off here?

Brb, I'm gonna go convert to heterosexuality.