Relationships

Lived & Lost*

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment

The scent of your skin lingers

in the hoodie you left behind.

I see your smile reflected in

the window of the cafe where we had our first date.

Your hands still rest on my shoulders

when I walk backstage.

A ghostly reminder of the times before.

I still wear a ring. As though still promised.

Promised to the memory that refuses to fade.

You knew it would be hard to let you go.

You left your mark across my life

before being torn from it.

Knowing it was not your choice makes it harder to let go.

But you are no longer mine. Your hand is promised to someone else.

I had to return your heart.

You gave me mine back too, but bruised. Tattooed.

Not so easy to forget.

Even as you prepare to walk down the aisle

towards a woman you have not seen.

A woman chosen for you.

Race, religion, and heritage to match.

A pair to please both families

where your American love would not.

Opposites attract

But we do not stick.

The world achieved what we promised it would not.

We could not rewrite the stars.

We could not change the world, our worlds.

And gravity, reality, pulled us apart.

But the traces remain, love letters floating around the world.

Of a love lived. And lost.

 

*Written November 2018 and recently rediscovered (Yes, Mom I know you still read this and worry <3)

2018; A Map

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment

2018 rang in for me last year on a large stage in front of 100,000+ patrons, surrounded by performers from around the world. I was working, I was sober, I was happier and felt more settled in who I was becoming than I had in a long time.

I was in a relationship with a sweet boy in NYC, I was fully confident I would return to this stage for the next year, I saw much of my anxiety, self-doubt, and depression melting away, I was growing in the person I had planned to be, I saw the linear path in front of me and I was confident in where it would lead.

Less than a week from 2019 and not one of these things are true anymore.

A month later I would find myself fighting with the sweet boy in NYC, avoiding the truth that I no longer loved him, that our lives did not fit, maybe never fit the way we thought they did. I have not returned to the stage, I’m managing a new circus team for the same company but nothing to do with that giant stage this year. I unexpectedly fell in love with a Bollywood dancer. He was like no one and nothing I had ever experienced. We still referred to each other as soul mates in our recent goodbyes, despite his impending marriage to an Indian Muslim girl of his parents’ choosing this spring.

My path is no longer so linear. The destination has veered left. The confidence with it.

My city, my home the last five years no longer feels like a comforting base, but a safety net, a golden cage or security blanket I need to pry out of my fingers. The reasons I have to stay are mostly people, but people who I won’t lose even if I leave, my travels have already proven this. So maybe it’s fear.

But if not there, where?

And my anxiety is back. And depression. Not as strong as they have been, but they come to rear their ugly heads off and on since June. There’s nothing so paralytic as that combination. You’re too anxious to start any project or work or job or productive thing you know you need to and then crippled with the doubt that it will be any good, that anyone will care, that it will make a difference, that you won’t completely screw up your attempts, that anyone will want to work with you a second time, that you won’t live up to that interview/first job, and the list goes on…

So among other bits and pieces, I have a half begun training course for the fully planned and prepped business I have designs, URLs, Social handles, and business cards for at the ready. I even have people ready to write testimonials when I get my act together. But staring at the blank pages in front of me has proven to be too much and I find myself unable to push through the wall telling me ‘why bother’. I’ll fall behind or fail in the work once I launch anyway. Haven’t I already shown that I can’t be trusted to follow through? I’m too full of self-doubt to keep up a regular creative blog, do I really think I can keep up my own business when I’m the only one depending on me?

I hate letting down anyone else, I will lose sleep, stay in bad relationships, ignore my boundaries, and work too hard to avoid letting anyone down, and beat myself up when there’s even an inkling of a hint that I failed in being there to support someone.

But when it’s just me? Suddenly it doesn’t matter so much.

And that’s what is going to change in 2019.

I recently entertained a boy after a few bad dates because he needed someone to be there. I finally snapped after the 5th blatant act of disrespect (I’m a terrible feminist when it’s me in the relationship) and now he still tries to message me to ruin what small happy choices I make for myself.

Today I blocked him. Because the only reason I hadn’t was my consideration of his feelings.

I changed my profile picture on WhatsApp as well today. To not include my ex. Which I hadn’t done for 2 months because I was worried about what he would feel in Mumbai when he saw I had changed it. I didn’t want him to be hurting more. When it was him who told me we needed to forget each other. That we had no future. I still hesitate to do what would be better for me, because of what he needs.

Hands up if we see the destructive pattern here.

And what about what I need?

I realized recently I don’t actually know anymore.

I am not the same person I was last year, nevermind the person I was before I started dating anyone.

So I’ve started to make lists.

I need alone time, I need tea, I need yoga, and I need my books.

I need shared meals, someone to hold once in a while, someone who can let me be both the boss and a woman, and let me, help me, keep those identities separate. Someone who keeps me learning, and wanting to learn new things.

I need to grow. I need to keep reaching towards whatever destination I’m heading towards, I need to figure out what that looks like, and someone willing to call me on my own bullshit and give me the kick in the ass I need to stare down my paralyzing fear and say “Yes. Yes I can do this”

I don’t want someone to tell me I can do this, I just need them to remind me that I already know.

But I need to find most of this outside of someone else.

I need the discipline to find it in myself and cultivate it. And not lose it when I find someone I do decide is worthy to share my life again.

And I need to decide that I am worthy of this life that I want. For all my mistakes, fears, missed deadlines, lost opportunities, cheat weeks, procrastination, and half-started dreams, I am still worthy of the life that I want. Even if I don’t fully know or understand what that is yet.

Because I am. I just need to remember to believe it.

And guess what? You are too.

xoxo

Inter-; Between, Amongst, Together

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment

Between continents and countries,

Amongst friends, artists, skeptics, obstacles, and politics,

Together only in moments, whispers, texts, and video calls,

International, Intercultural, Interracial

A barrier of water, history, language, and color between us.

Daily we stop to question our sanity.

Of the choices we have, we chose the most difficult.

So many questions, so many obstacles.

But never each other.

My Fragile Heart

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment

In my not-so-tiny city, I have been so blessed to build a not-so-tiny chosen family. I have scores of older brothers I never wanted, big sisters to swap closets with, little brothers who show up on my door and leave with packed healthy lunches for the week to prove to their real mothers that they are actually eating green things, and the older artists in my life that have become almost “on-site” parents, aunts, or uncles when my real parents are scattered across the country.

I had tea with two the other day. I had met her briefly working on a show and when they were in a pinch several months later she hired me to stage manage for her husband. We laugh still about how she hadn’t really known me before that project and had unwittingly unleashed me on him. He wasn’t expecting someone who could out sarcasm him in the rehearsal hall. Now I’m the first stage manager he calls and we’ve all become close friends.

Like the good aunties they are, the conversation turns to my love life and any boys that may need a good scaring. (If I’m lacking, they always know a few good boys…)

I explain my current long distance intercultural situation.

He is drumming his fingers on the table by the time I finish. I don’t even bother to ask, I raise an eyebrow instead.

He tells me to be careful. He doesn’t like the sound of where this might lead, not because of the cross-cultural part, but because without full support from both families, we don’t have an end date to the distance, there isn’t a happy ending in sight for us, not yet. Though we’re working on it. I am reminded that my heart is fragile, more fragile than I know. Just because I have survived heartbreak in the past, doesn’t mean I should be okay with the potential or likelihood of experiencing it again. I should never have to go through that pain again and again – like he did. It almost ruined him. His wife agrees. She watched heartbreak almost kill him. They tell me to be careful.

If I can see the brick wall ahead, why am I driving 90 miles an hour straight into it?

Heartbreak and the shattering grief will change you. He says. Love isn’t always worth it.

Which while I understand the sentiment, I know he comes from a place of love and care, and I recognize what he is saying,

I completely disagree.

Maybe he’s right, that this relationship I have will end in heartbreak because of the challenges we face. Maybe a broken heart is the ending I have to look forward to in all of this.

But the world has never been a worse place for love put into it.

And a broken heart heals with time and love. They are proof of the love I am surrounded by, if I am broken I will heal.

If I am changed, it will be for the better. I will be stronger.

My heart has been broken before. In the gasping sobs, breakdowns out of the blue, can barely eat for days, years worth of scars and healing, kind of broken. It took two years and contractually obligated communication before we could be in the same room together peaceably, kind of broken.

But I wouldn’t change a thing. The bad days do not negate the good. I would not give up the mountaintop picnics and smuggled wine to be spared the tears and anguish later.

I will not step back and deny my heart the joy it has found in this person, in order to protect it from what may come.

The odds are stacked against us, it is likely that this ends with my heart in pieces again.

But I would not lose a moment of this love just to be spared the pain later on.

Suffering is a part of life, aren’t we so lucky when we find something worth suffering for?

xoxo

Faith

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment

I was spoken for,

I told you no.

As the hope drained out of your eyes,

I felt regret tinge in my heart.

I wondered if you saw it.

 

Then I was just me.

You knew but didn’t say.

You stayed my friend,

my support,

my rock.

Because you knew.

Your faith was stronger than my doubts,

Stronger than my indecision,

Stronger than me.

You had faith in me and my heart.

You had given me yours, without asking for more.

You had faith I would realize,

I would hand you my heart in time.

You were right.

And I envied your faith.

Your faith in me

Your faith in God

Your faith in love

Your faith in miracles.

A faith I had never had,

But I started to learn it from you.

For it took faith to hand you my heart,

before you left me for good.

To trust that even over 8,000 miles,

you were keeping it close, keeping it safe.

And to have faith

that despite the obstacles,

I would see you again.

The days are long.

The distance is hard.

The space between us sometimes seems

insurmountable.

But you taught me faith.

And it is your heart that beats in my chest

to remind me,

that sometimes you just have to close your eyes

and jump.

My Inheritance

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment

Spread before me,

What I stand to gain.

Passed down by blood and through death

from the family line.

The pearls glow grey

amidst the WASP-ish silence

my grandmother raised us in. And her mother before

and my father after.

Fix your hair, wear your pearls, line your lips,

and keep them closed.

The diamonds sparkle in the light,

the price of a blind eye, of forgiveness,

Without apology. Forgiveness where none is due.

For peace and reputation worth more than

The studded earrings he brought you when you found

Her.

And the ruby solitaire.

The ring that popped the question and

sealed the deal. Sealed her fate.

And mine.

It glows large and red. A promise of security,

wealth, a future.

At the cost of a temper to match

that flares red hot to burn. To strike.

Wounds open and hearts are broken,

Stitched up in the quiet of the kitchen.

The gems sparkle against the document

that calls them mine. The final will and testament.

It lists the jewels and their value,

but not the cost.

Not the inheritance that blood has already

promised me.

Do they seal my fate or merely reflect what

I have no power to refuse?

My family made their choices, caused and took

their pain, broke hearts and lives around them.

Generations later,

I am gifted with the gems the outside saw,

but am I also cursed with the pain they hid?

The Stars

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment
The night falls like a comforter pulled up and over the sun.
A lazy slow night as the light fades away. Another day gone.
One by one, the stars slowly began to emerge and light the path home.
He sent us
They seemed to say to me in their twinkling.
Daylight broke and we were no longer needed there.
So he sent us to you, he who cannot walk you home, has sent us to guide and keep you safe.
Another day passed over from around the globe.
A gift to you from your lover who stands in the rising sun
to send you the moon and stars
who greets them every evening to ask;
is she well?
The moon and the stars are my guides and my love,
until the day I can follow them home to you.

Culture Shock; The Reverse

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been back from my 6-month stint in the Middle East about a month.

I’ve noticed several changes in my body and temperament.

To put it mildly, I came back from Dubai an Emotional Wreck.

I got off the plane and wanted to cry. My initial thought upon entering JFK that morning was “I want to go home”

But I was home. I was coming home after being gone for so long.

The boy who had waited for me brought wine and cheese to my house, all waiting for me when I arrived. I wanted to cry again, for all the wrong reasons.

I have an event that day. I sit with my business partners and run our tech rehearsal. The performers were so good, again I was nearly in tears after our Hamlet spoke.

I went to dinner with these partners and friends I hadn’t seen in 6+ months and wanted to cry in relief at being with them again.

At the event I gave a speech and raised over $400 in donations for #TimesUp and felt so alive in my skin, skilled and connected, I was brimming with pride and love and ready to cry in sheer joy.

My best friend and roommate reunite again. It’s not instantly joyous and we slowly adapt to sharing our lives again. We get there, but it takes time. In that time every bump, every brush off, feels like a burn. I forget how to live here. I feel out of place in my own home, my own city.

This is all within 18 hours of my landing in the USA.

This does not go away.

A boy who is not the boy I am dating messages me. We met in Dubai and are now 8,000 miles apart.

We talk about life and love and our separate futures.

He tells me how he misses me. He describes a woman I do not recognize. But a woman I desperately want to be.

And I realize something. I realize why I am an emotional wreck.

Because in Dubai, amidst the stress, the chaos, overstimulation, and drama, I was happy. I had a purpose and a job I enjoyed. I was eating well and doing yoga daily, I had a supportive network and professional team and was surrounded by friends and some really good people.

Somehow, I had become a happy human being. And had not recognized it.

I had spent years in NYC struggling through my anxiety and depression, finding pools of sunlight in the murky dark of my mind for so long that I had confused contentedness for being happy.

But in New York, I had been merely surviving.

In Dubai, in this job, I had thrived.

And now, my entire physical being was fighting against going back to the familiar murky depths of my broken mind. Against going back to the patterns I’ve kept up for years because they were safe, small pockets of light that allowed me to ignore the dark,

I will not be put back into survival mode.

I will not let these small lights and glimmers of love distract me from the gloom trying to take me back.

I know better. I can be better.

I am better than my complacency and laziness. I am stronger than my darkness.

And I have a freaking awesome support network.

A week later, I end things with the boy in New York.

I admit to myself (and him) my feelings for this boy halfway around the globe in Mumbai.

We start talking about finding each other again.

I roll out my yoga mat and I attach a pen to my physical being at all times.

I start to rebuild my body and sharpen my mind.

I start to pray again.

I’m learning Hindi.

I’m writing every day.

I get a small contract to pay me for my writing and PR assistance. I’m learning how to sell my mind and get paid by the hour.

I surround myself with love. My friends, my roommate, my chosen family, my books, my stories,

And I celebrate them.

I am still far from free. But the happiness and hope I am cultivating and working on every day are real.

And they are still beating back the darkness.

I am still a weepy mess at happy news. because joy and hope in this world are so important. Sometimes the only way I can honor it is by blessing it in salt. ❤️

Don’t Tell Me I’m Beautiful

~ Ileana Degas ~ Leave a comment

Don’t tell me I’m beautiful

I don’t care.

Tell me I’m brilliant,

Tell me I frighten you,

Tell me something about my

eyes that isn’t lovely.

Or better yet,

Don’t.

Tell me how you notice that I notice

everything.

Tell me you love watching me work,

watching my mind untangle the knots

and people I wrangle daily.

Don’t tell me I’m sexy in cargo shorts,

That my headset hair is hot.

Haven’t you noticed?

I don’t care.

I don’t want to be beautiful.

I don’t care about pretty.

Anyone can be pretty.

Beauty is not a thing to achieve,

is not what I have worked so hard for,

it is not what I want.

And the more you tell me I’m

beautiful,

before you tell me I’m

brave,

The less I want it.

The less I want you.