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closed doors

Another sleepless night. Another dreadful morning. Waiting. Hoping to hear from MBJ.

Yet, silence.

Is there anything worse than silence from a heart you so deeply long to connect with? There’s no more crippling experience. No more suffocating journey. 

Every CHIME found my heart skipping a beat at the thought that it might be him. Even when I silenced my notifications, I checked my phone every two minutes. Hoping the next time I checked, I’d find his text waiting there to be read.

I felt so fucking stupid. So very stupid, for is there anything in this world that makes us women more stupid than love?

Cardi asked if I wanted to make a run to Stan’s Donuts, and of course, I agreed because I was not only in need of snacks but her two cents on what the fuck had just happened.

As we stood in line waiting for our order, I saw at least four opportunities where I could have shared my humiliating experience with Cardi, but for whatever reason, I did not. I stood there in silence.

“Girl has anyone noticed you deactivated social?” asked Cardi.

“My clients were the first to notice.” I began as Cardi accepted our order from the cashier.

“Thank you,” we said in unison before making our way out and back into the city, which was still pretty quiet. I love Chicago between 2-3 pm when everyone’s back at work from lunch and counting down the moments to when it’s time to head home before the chaos of rush hour hits, usually after 4: PM.

Cardi and I never really wait to get to a spot to start stuffing our asses. We just walk and stuff and walk and stuff until we’re done, then we keep walking and burning those calories off.

“Okay, so your clients noticed you’re off, which isn’t surprising,” Cardi continued. “But what about the other people you supposedly call friends outside of me.” 

She sounded a bit insulted. But then again, my clingy ass doesn’t like any of Cardi’s friends outside of us, either. No shame. 

“The ones that noticed were the toxic ones I want the fuck out of my life,” I said. 

“Funny how the guilty ones are always the first to reach out,” she said before taking another mouthy bite of her peanut butter pocket donut. 

I nodded as I enjoyed an equally mouthy bite of my delicious Boston cream donut. Every bite made me think less about MBJ, only proving that sweets are therapy. It even started fading some of the anger I felt towards myself for more things than I can ever list here and towards those who’ve treated me like I was so fucking stupid.

I’ve had my eyes opened to so many things and so many people. Truths had slowly become apparent, but I chose to ignore them and be patient. So many hurtful words and spiteful things said and done, then justified by someone or a group of people trying to teach me a lesson. People who felt I needed to get off my high horse and lower my head, slump my shoulders, and accept a beating. People who did what the world will always do: judge you from their own pain, experience, and jealous insecurities.

They say, “Awareness is power,” but what they don’t add is that awareness is also pain. The painful reality checks of who a person, place, circumstance, or belief really is outside of the delusion you carry because of your love for it/them.

Awareness hurts you before it heals you. Before it ever becomes a power, it becomes your greatest pain. 

“You know what?” I said, really getting into my Boston creme.

“Hmm?” Cardi asked, REALLY enjoying her donut. I mean, the girl can eat as heartily as a Korean Mukbanger. 

Shoutout to my favorite: @tzuyang6145

“I know I’m not perfect…”

Cardi stopped walking and looked at me like, “You don’t say.” This only made me less inclined to share my most recent life highlight, “DUMB BITCH MSGD HER EX EP 2,000,001.” 

“I know I’m not perfect, BUT I’m always sincere.”

“Oh, for sure. No doubt!”

“I mean, I really care about people. Even if I think some fucked up shit at times, I still have a really good heart. I’m not a phony. I don’t go around spreading gossip or being malicious in any way. I’m not this wicked witch of the West that everyone’s painting me out to be.”

“Fuck those idiots. You’ve got one of the best hearts I know, Fai. Wallah. You see the good in people. Living in a world where everyone’s ready to see the worst, it helps to have someone in the room that’ll give you a fucken chance. That’s you. Fuck anyone who doesn’t see that.” 

Remember when I said you’re lucky if you have one friend in this world? I can’t stress enough how that person is Cardi for me. A woman that’ll give me all the good, bad, and ugly truths I need. 

“What am I gonna do without you?” I asked, knowing she was headed back home over three thousand miles from me—something I tend to forget on a daily.

Cardi began singing, “I’m only a phone call away,” perfectly on cue too. 

Although a friend is technically a call away, it’s not like when they’re a hand’s length away. 

We didn’t get into MBJ because he didn’t matter at that moment. It was our time. No boys allowed.

Until that afternoon when my mom and I agreed to watch a movie. By the way, my mom is my other best friend. A reality I would never have thought we would find ourselves in because of how toxic our past relationship was. Now, there’s only light between us. That doesn’t mean we don’t have days to try each other’s patience, but more than anything, there’s love and respect.  I love my mother, and I know my mother loves me. 

We decided on Dungeons & Dragons and paired our experience with a big ass tub of popcorn with extra butter. The experience was, as it always is with my mom, filled with smiles and intellectually stimulating conversations—the type you’d expect from a Classicist like her. 

My phone was perfectly placed on the above shelf. It vibrated twice. There was a text. But not just any text. The text I’d been waiting for—the one from MBJ.  

I quickly dried my hands and rushed back to my phone. My curiosity and desire to see what he said reached an all-time high. I was about to check my phone when my mom stuck her head into the bathroom and said:

“Faiza?”

I jumped, and my phone went right out of my hand and SMACKED on the floor. Most likely a sign from God for me to IGNORE.

“Oh my God,” my mom yelled out. When I say that my anxiety grew not only because of the circumstance of my phone but also my mom’s YELL, I fucking mean it! Like those Roman soldiers assigned to yell orders to the legions at the top of their lungs. THAT LOUD! Maybe that just comes with being Italian. Whatever the fuck it is, it’s always been terrifying. 

“Did it crack?” She asked just as loud.

I rushed to check. It was okay. But my nerves weren’t.

“Oh, thank God,” my mom added. Her tone much lower now.

“Mama,” I said sternly.

“Yes?” She said wide-eyed.

“Please, I beg you, on everything I love, STOP yelling like that.”

“Faiza, I got worried.”

“Get worried. I’m not asking you not to worry; I’m just begging you to tone that worry down a few notches.”

“Well, just don’t drop your stuff next time,” she added, completely ignoring my point. 

As we made our way to the car, I wanted to share what happened with my mom, but in all transparency, although I can tell my mom anything sometimes, I’m still shy to talk to her about guys or dating. I used to think it was because I spent years being judged by her regarding the subject since she only had one boyfriend in her life: my dad. Yet I realized, even as time passed and our relationship improved, that it’s still something I hesitate to do. I’d much rather discuss with Cardi than with my mom. 

Not that she’s judgmental anymore, but I’m still healing from that part. I hate it. It feels disingenuous. Fake. Stupid. Yet here I am.

The ride focused on everything but MBJ, and when my mom asked if I’d like to grab dinner at one of our favorite Thai spots, I agreed, although all I wanted was a moment alone to obsess about MBJ’s message. Unhealthy, I know, and yet…

I excused myself to the restaurant bathroom again to get face-to-face with my phone and the text.

One-click. That’s all it took to open and see his text that was all of three words:

“Thinking of you.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” I said before catching myself saying God’s name in the bathroom. A taboo for Muslims as God’s name is not to be said in places considered “unclean” and a usual hangout spot for Jinns. If they were in there, they were watching me have a full-blown anxiety attack which consisted of me standing straight, shoulders back, and looking in the mirror saying:

“What’s wrong with you? Are you stoobid? Your job is to teach people how to move on from closed doors. Why the fuck are you opening your closed door, you dumb ass bitch?”

A sudden knock on the door frightened me:

“Give me a second,” I snapped, sounding like my mom.

I immediately felt terrible and also recognized I finally needed to step the fuck away from the same device God had been insisting I detach from for the past week now. It wasn’t only social media but a clear sign to disconnect from all things and people I knew no longer served me. 

MBJ was one of them. Whether we missed each other or not, I knew damn well why we ended and exactly how it would play out were I to take that leap again. I should never have taken the bait and knew the same could be said for me standing there. 

Instead of replying, I did something I hadn’t had the heart to do before. I deleted the entire thread we had since the moment we said hello four years ago. Every word shared, every picture sent, every hope exchanged: GONE!

The door finally closed. 

I wanted to cry. I felt every bit of the sadness one feels from those goodbyes that are forever. But I didn’t.

Instead, I unlocked the door and opened it only to find a girl between 12-14 standing there waiting to enter. I felt even more like shit for snapping like that. 

“I’m so sorry I snapped like that,” I apologized as sincerely as I possibly could

“Can you just fucken move. Geez!” She blurted out as she shoved past me and made her way in, slamming the door shut and locking it. 

OOP!

A sort of reality check of what I had just done to MBJ. 

It didn’t feel good, but it was necessary, and sometimes in life, we have to take the road less traveled to discover the new chapters we have yet to write

111 thoughts on “closed doors

  1. Thank you for this. I am in the same situation but slightly different. Still finding my way to take that road less traveled…

  2. You inspire me , all that you are all that you do creates such a fire for life . Thank you for being you . Wish more creators where like you .❤️❤️❤️❤️

  3. love you so much. You have zero pick me energy. Love how you pick you always. Teach us how to do this. So inspiring. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

  4. the fact that you wrote about it and relived the whole situation again is like revisting your whole heart then tearing it apart and then put a bandage on it. I feel it in my bones girl! It is the hardest thing ❤️‍🩹 but good choices pay off 💯

  5. Oooh… the waiting for the text, the anxiety, the overthinking…. when are you gonna write a book? I’m tired of reading female characters be male authors!!

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