How To Get Over A Broken Heart

I wrote this a couple months ago. I was actually planning on sending this, along with a copy of Songs About Jane to "Merengue." Then, I realized he wouldn't care, he's mulish like that. Even though I would like to change some words, some thoughts, I feel I would be cheating on past-me. 

Written with love. 

Guns Carrasquel
Creative NonFiction
Mr. Brosenbeck
May 15th, 2012


Dear Merengue,

Broken heart may not be the best word to describe what you are feeling. It's not manly enough. "We, boys, we don't get our hearts broken." I know, I know.

However, it is the best way I have to describe how I felt not so long ago. I was 16 back then. I felt envy, hate and love all at the same time. I gained easily 100 pounds out of pure stress. After all the drama, the desire, the emotions, the patience, the waiting (the waiting!), it all ended before we could ever started. He had a girlfriend and he was not planning on leaving her. I felt powerless. Although, I almost starve to death, and almost forgot how to put makeup on, I learned a bit more about myself. It made me tougher, sourer, and happier in a way.

Let me introduce you to G.I Joe, A.K.A the guy responsible for all this mess. He was far from being my prince charming, but he has this perfect tan, perfect strong hands, and piercing eyes that made me sight and stutter. At the time, I let my heart lead the army, not my brain. Foolish girl.

When GI Joe broke (trashed) my heart, I didn't know how to react. My ego went down straight to China and my thrust issues up to the moon. I couldn't talk to my friends as I thought I could. They were, of course, on my side, but as much as thy wanted me feel better, they couldn't.

Yes, I know, he is an idiot and he doesn't deserve me.

Blah, blah, blah.

They made me feel okay for about an hour or so. Then, my pillow, the darkness in my room, and my "I want to die" playlist flipped me upside down every single night. It was not until I discovered Songs About Jane (and a few months to process it) that I could listen to Kriptonite without aching. Maroon 5 were the ones to save me from the love plank. Jane, who broke Maroon 5's heart, made me get over GI Joe, and she would help you get over me. This CD is my guideline to cure whatever is that you are feeling.

Please read.


Step #1: Hope for GI Joe to come back.
Song: Shiver (Track 3)


He just needed time. Time to miss me and stop caring about his girlfriend. Although he built me up, and knocked me down (more than once), I was still waiting for Cupid to do his damn job.

I guess I'd better find a way to your heart. Right, GI Joe?


Step #2: Made GI Joe Mad
Song: Must Get Out (Track 7)


Waiting for him to realize how magical and special I was, was taking too long. He didn't miss me enough to make him text me, call me. Or something. I decided I was going to make GI Joe so mad, so mad, he wouldn't be able to control himself from being apart of me. I was going to be the hottest, most outgoing, sociable person in the whole wide world. I started going to the gym. I was impeccable every day. I started to cook (he loves homemade food). I would go out with my friends with the sole intention of taking cute pictures, and upload them to Facebook right away. I was going to be his timeline. He was going to explode out of jealousy.

Ha.

I forgot to tell you: GI Joe is the son of one of my dad's closest friends. He was doomed to see me every other week, and I was lucky enough to have a couple of chances to show him how perfect I was.

It was my grandmother's birthday party, and he, of course, was invited. I remembered listening to Must Get Out probably 7 times before getting to that barbecue. Sunday Mornings was not an option, as I didn't need to start crying all over him. No, no. This was proud Julia time (alleged proud, at least.)

For my misfortune, he was doing a better job than I was. He was ignoring the hell out of me. Texting, probably to his girlfriend.

"Didn't you put enough perfume on?" Yes you did Julia, I thought to myself later. He is just a big jerk.

I didn't succeed as I was hoping for. He didn't suffer or beg, as I wanted. I did realize, however, how desperate and stupid I was acting.

You may feel like that, as I am not paying attention to your timeline, pictures, hook-ups, or angry Tweets. It won't work. But, you are going to doing anyways, like I did. Step #2 is more about faith than self-respect.

Step #3: Frick you, GI Joe.
Song: Not Coming Home (Track 11)

I've known GI Joe my entire life. He was like an annoying older cousin. However, what triggered Cupid's arrow was not a romantic, electric moment (or the like), but a microwave.

A microwave? Yes, a microwave.

We were in my dad's house, in a little Sunday gathering. The usual. My dad has been com paining about the microwave not heating up his oatmeal as it used to. GI Joe offered himself to fix it, as he was planning to study engineering next year. I went to the living room, played dominos with my uncles for like two rounds, and came back to check on him. The oatmeal was already heated up and my dad had a huge smile in his face. I found it interesting. I could not set the time in the thing, but he could fix it in less than 15 minutes and with only one screwdriver! That showed some ability, and Julia likes agility. From them on, it all came down as a snowball rolling down hill. The songs he plays on his guitar that I was so used to listening suddenly perplexed me. His multiple victories when he played Call of Duty fascinated me. His avatar looked so cute killing terrorists. I liked how he was so fast; nobody could ever catch him in tag. I fell in love with dumb details. And all thanks to that microwave.

I don't use microwaves now. I don't heat the oatmeal enymore. I cook. Popcorn? I make them as my grandmother did: on a casserole.

Frick the microwave and his girlfriend. The hell with his guitar and his awesome voice. I did not need his agility, I needed a mechanic. Screw his hands, his tan, his everything! Go and show off your Call of Duty abilities to someone that care GI Joe.

I don't.

Carrying out my evil plan for GI Joe to reedem himself became too much work. It was too much energy going to waste. The energy I spent on hating him, however, seemed a much better investment. I hated his very soul. And his girlfriend's.

So go ahead. Hate my perky ears, my off-line tooth, my uneven balance, my clumsiness, my boyfriend. Hate my boyfriend, that son of a bitch.


Step #4: Morn GI Joe.
Song: The Sun (Track 6)


You known what sucks? I'm not sure if I love going to the beach for the actual sun, sand and breeze, or because of GI Joe. I remember how, when I was little, I hated watching, much less being in the sea for too long. I kept thinking about the thousands of sharks that probably would be swimming next to me.

GI Joe and I once had a great vacation under the sun. We made castles and drawings over the sand. We did the banana boat (several time), we got piña coladas, we had fun. It's a deep breath translated into a place. I am now the family member who plans the trips to Margarita, which is my favorite island. I make the reservations in the hotel; I pack the board games and snorkels. Going to the beach makes me so happy, and I hate not knowing if it's because of him, or me.

The first time I went after that little devil trashed my ego, all I could picture were his eyes shinning with the sun, his nails full of sands after digging into the sand, and his pink swim shorts. I felt so empty I even though about writing a poem.

Me? Poetry? Pathetic.

I recalled how we fell so hard on the water while in the banana boat, I cried like a baby. I perfectly recalled how we experienced the worst sun burn of our lives, after we forgot to put on sun block. I saw him everywhere; he was freakishly omnipresent.

After months of mourning, my family and I went again. This time, I miraculously remembered we were not the only ones in the beach those weeks. I remembered the waitress with the tattoo on her hand. Awesome tattoo. I remembered how my little brother was obsessed with a smoothie they served on the deck. I remembered the name of the banana boat driver, Siete.

The beach passed from being GI Joe's sacred temple, to a special place. A place where I feel comfortable.

Let me put it in other words: All the focus I had on him zoomed out. Who cares about his two-tower sand castle, if I can ask Siete for a ride for good times' sake?

Regretting something is recognizing you didn't learn the lesson. I don't regret GI Joe, he made me love The Sun.


Step #5: Let GI Joe be.
Song: Sweetest Goodbye (Track 12)


I'm tired of listening to Maroon 5 now. I got the message; Jane came across. I can see you now without putting some extra perfume on. I can go to bed without you flashing through my thoughts. I can go to the beach and picture you without getting mad, depressed, excited or nostalgic. It's freaking awesome.

Dear GI Joe, you're not my boyfriend, you are not my friend. You are just there, flying away.



It took me time for Jane to kick in, but she made it! I got over GI Joe thanks to her watching my back.

Maybe she can do the same for you.



Take care,

Julia

Stereotypes: True of False. Go

1. Middle Easterns like to blow things/them up.
2. Italians are loud.
3. Africans are hungry, they live in poverty.
4. Mexicans are illegal immigrants.
5. Asians are good at math.
6. Rednecks are dumb.
7. LatinAmericans are Puerto Rican.
8. Musicians are pot heads.
9. Middle Easterns are all terrorists.
10.Women in the Middle East are miserable.
11. The Gays have AIDS.
12. Videogames make people violent.
13. Activists are vegans.
14. Tech Service employees are Indians.
15. All Asians look the same, they are all Chinese.
16. Jews are all rich and greedy.
17. People from bad neighborhoods are gangsters, trouble.
18. Rich people think they are better than everybody else.
19. Poor people need help.
20. A woman that cheats is a hore, a man that cheats is a player.
21. Women can't drive.
22. Men can't multitask.
23. White people can't dance.
24. Scientists are all geeks.
25. Artists are irresponsible.
26. All prisoners are violent.
27. Blonde girls are dumb.
28. Jamaicans are Rastafaris.
29. Russians are crazy.
30. Suburban life is all the same.
31. Asians can't drive.
32. Black people play base.
33. Tall people play basketball.
34. Tattooed people are a bad influence.
35. Latin girls have a big booty.
36. Latin people can dance.
37. Redheads have no soul.
38. Arabs are not clean.
39. Indians don't eat cow.
40. South Asians don't eat pork.
41. Fat people are lazy.
42. Cats are indifferent.
43. Dogs are loyal.
44. Europeans are always hot.
45. Grandmothers cook deliciously.
46. Adults are mature.
47. Feminists are lesbian.
48. Oceania is full of prisoners.
49. Brazilians are good at playing football and are perfectly tanned.
50. Black people love magic tricks.