We came to blows last night over the script I had written in the five days I had been away; in particular, the point of contention was a character in the story that I had modeled and named after a former girlfriend.

The fight came as a shock to me, the catalyst for it even more so. While I had already known that some of the past writing in this blog have been understandably a sore spot for her, never in my wildest imagination have I thought that I would be taken to task for stories I write in a professional capacity as a screenwriter.

In the wake of the fight, in which, again, everything was said but nothing was heard, I was left absolutely shattered. The strength and resolve that I thought I yet possessed after every past conflict we have ever had in the past few months had finally been depleted.

It is clear now – even if all the tiny warnings had surfaced almost right from the start – that this relationship cannot coexist with my need to write, or that there is little chance of I being able to assert my right to write whatever I wish – either publicly or privately – and yet avoid any more clashes with her.

"You hardly write about us anymore," she once remarked in a thinly-veiled reference to what was obviously her comparing herself to the ex, an act that did not escape unnoticed.

"That is because she was outside of the blogging circle. You are not. Simple as that."

The act of openness and honesty we said we would bring to this relationship has, with every attempt, only backfired even when you said you would be receptive. Not because I gave lip service but precisely because I had been true to myself. And the honesty and candor in this blog or in other forms of writing have only hurt more than they have helped. What is there to my written words if I forsake these principles or if I have to mask the one voice I have? The thought of compromising my writing with fluff and nothingness makes me sick to the stomach.

I wish I can say more.

But I can't.

Any one with quick enough a mind will, at this point, summarily arrive at two immediate solutions: one, that I end the relationship to free myself from the self-imposed censorship I had imposed increasingly over the months, and thus write without constraints.

But even if I did so, how can I, from this moment on, say on this blog all that I have to say regarding the relationship without bringing to light all the signs that will reflect negatively on a partner who, likewise, keeps a blog? How can I pour into this journal my most heartfelt thoughts about all that is wrong about this relationship and still maintain her credibility in the eyes of the many mutual friends and readers we share?

I can't.

No matter which way I look at it, the choice is inevitable. I insist on my need to express myself but I do not wish to cast shadows over her person. The last thing I want is for others to regard my loved one in a negative light; she is and will always be beautiful, and I cannot bring myself to taint that.

Is it not crystal clear now what the other solution is?

A tiny blip in the continuum has been a slice of my heart. Maintaining this blog has brought me much joy and it is with unspeakable sadness that I have to let go of it. While nothing that is already here will be taken down, there will not be any more entries from this moment on. I will continue to write, but it will be away from the public eye, for and to only myself, regardless of whether I am still in this relationship.

Will this blog be revived? The answer is a resounding and definite no, for all the reasons above.

But maybe, just maybe, one day when you settle down in front of a television set or a cinema screen, you just might hear words you swore you had read before somewhere, or see scenes that had once played in your mind. If you do, remember me that way.

Tetanus, out.

Advertisement