Missing People

Just a preface. I am hoping to have something revelatory come out of this “Di-Journal” post, but I can’t guarantee anything profound. Fair warning.

I had a dream last night that was stirred up by a conversation with a friend a few days ago. The conversation consisted of me asking her if she missed any single aspect from her previous relationships. She mentioned a few of hers and I mentioned a few of mine. One of the people I mentioned was my first girlfriend, who was Chinese. I went on about that if I hadn’t dated her, I would not have been able to get a real glimpse at the Chinese lifestyle. But being that Chinese names are confusing to a majority of westerners, my friend mistook one of the names I mentioned for Jessica [1], a girl I originally met in middle school, but continued to see into the first few years of high school because we rode the same bus together (she went to a different school). After that, we continued talking until my freshmen year of college.

Isn’t it odd that a simple misunderstanding like that can trigger your subconscious in such a way that you can have a dream about it a few nights later? I should have watched that episode of NOVA on dreams, then I would have something better to say here.

Long story short, Jessica chose religion over me. Looking back, I could have approached some situations differently, but it was inevitable that this was going to happen. There were a lot of unanswered questions that rose out of my relationship with Jessica, and a large number of those answers were knowingly withheld by her.

Anyway, back to the dream. The scene that I still remember was me approaching this multistory, brown hotel. It didn’t look very big from the outside, but when I got in the elevator there were at least twenty-five floors to this thing; she was on the thirteenth floor. I went up to her door and knocked. When she opened the door, I quickly hugged her and in close quarters, I kissed her neck. While still in the embrace, I whispered in her ear, “I have always loved you.” We hugged a little while longer and then I woke up.

The residual feeling I had upon waking up was a longing for the emotional connection that came with that hug. I reminisced on some of my memories of Jessica, thought of this video, and ultimately resolved to hash things out through a blog post. And now you’re caught up.

So, let’s briefly talk about religion as a whole, then about my fond memories of Jessica (as a whole), and whatever else is left.

I grew up in the church. I have been saved since I was five. It was largely a routine while I was home, but in my sophomore year of college, I really got in touch with the feelings that Johnny Cash poured into this song. But as many a twenty-somethings are wont to do, I became disillusioned to the shortcomings of church and now it is difficult to go to a service without my family.

Now, I’m not discounting the feelings I felt at that time, but I see organized religion now as a giant club. Not every club is going to have the same credo that you do, and not every member for that matter will believe the exact same things you do. [2] But where organized religion succeeds, just like any well-bonded group of friends, is that you get to be a part of the shared experience, which will hopefully strengthen the connections between each other as a whole. Religion adds the benefit of providing an answer to many of life’s most difficult questions. I think Jessica felt like she needed to belong, and diving into religion was her choice.

Now that all of that laundry has been hung up to dry, Jessica… All of my memories with her feel idealized, probably remembered more fondly than they were felt in the moment. It was probably also that a lot of those experiences were my first time: first kiss, first time asking a girl out, first time fixating on a proper response after a perceived slight (I actually wrote her a letter, never gave it to her). In this world of social connectivity, it’s easy to remind myself of her existence. And I’m torturing myself by doing that, but is it better to feel pain than nothing at all? [3]

Quick tangent, I don’t know how to feel about posting that song. It’s catchy, but does it really fit? I guess it’s an indirect way of quoting, even though I would have written “it’s better to feel something than nothing at all” if  I hadn’t searched “it’s better to feel than nothing at all” and this song popped up. Is there a preceding quote stating something in the same vein? Would someone with more journalistic experience please comment on this quandary? Thanks in advance.

I must say, I feel differently about this whole situation now (at 11:43 pm) than I did when I woke up this morning (7-some am). Writing about this has served more as experience to grow as a writer than therapy in whatever way. I’d like to open up the floor for discussion. Let the worms flow from the can.

But I digress…

1. Don’t worry, that’s not her real name.

2. Hopefully.

3. I call this music Nu Folk, just as System of a Down calls their music Nu Metal.