SAF Seeking… The Ghost of the Ex

Love! It only take $600+ to capture that on photo!

Facebook is one of those things, like drinking cheap two buck chuck, that I do with a certain amount of guilt. It’s so all-consuming to sit there and read all those updates and realize that your whole afternoon is done.

But as I do check Facebook every 2 weeks or so, I’m happily scrolling thru people’s adventures: Brenda’s done teaching summer camp! Elana has a new boyfriend and looks very happy! Who is this Eric and how do I know him? (Why didn’t I ever try dating him? He’s HOT in these photos!) And oh look, it’s Jeff, my ex… and his engagement photos.

(Insert sound of screeching tires.)

SAF Seeking… Learning from Our Parents’ Mistakes

DIANE

Diane Tuet is a SAF living in Northern California and making her living as a photographer, artist, Chinese herb specialist, and Food Network follower. She is the quintessential SAF Seeking ‘True Love’. (Other SAFs look for career highs, physical achievements, a really good hairdresser… it all adds up to a certain happiness… but I digress.) Nonetheless, while going through one of her first bad break ups, one of her great lessons of love came from her Chinese mother who came to stay one night with her to help her cope.  She wanted to share the lesson with other SAFs, just in case it might mean something to them.

Beds... where the truth comes out.

In the midst of despair, you wonder how you forget all the important stuff your parents tell you.

I awoke from a surreal dream/nightmare to find my mother had fallen asleep next to me. Just a little bit before, she had told me this story in hopes of comforting me from my broken heart.

Mommy always said, “you don’t get to marry the one you love.”

Breaking up isn’t beautiful.

On Monday, I wrote about an old break-up. And later that day, I got broken up with.

Shit’s a bitch. The fantastic thing about art is that it has the potential to turn the ugliest thing in the world into something poetic. That old break-up? It hurt. But it was ages ago and now I can dress it up with big words and fancy writing devices so that it goes down smooth like some expensive liquor.

But this break-up – this wound is fresh and every memento is an avalanche of salt falling over it. It’d been so long since that other one, my last significant separation, that the only way I did remember it was through those elegant ciphers that had buried actual memory.