Last week I read an interesting article in the NY Times that showcased a library in Croatia. It is known as the Museum of Broken Relationships and people from all over the world are encouraged to donate a memento from a failed liaison. Retrieved from the back of a closet, buried deep in a box of journals, I sent to them today what I have often referred to as my Wunderkammer
Naked and unconscious, she is affixed to the cross. Small, sculpted, handmade: presented to him as a sign of solidarity from a Doukhobor “Freedomite” while chronicling their advocacy against the British Columbia government. A few years after our affair ended, he published a book examining the accord; however, in 1996 at Vancouver International Airport he gave this beautiful item to me as a demonstration of fearlessness, love, and friendship. He knew, as I traveled solo to Ontario, I was so tired of not being brave and for living so small in relation to the experiences 28 years previous at the hands of a mother’s lover. I sought to pursue legal advice to formally press charges many-many years after first informing her of unwanted touching and inappropriate behaviour when I was 12-years-old.
It became quickly evident, as my mother and her now husband met me holding hands, that I would stand alone in a “he said-she said” scenario and that a high personal price would inevitably be paid for truth in the pursuit of reconciliation or justice. I lacked courage, weighing my limited options and facing identified consequences. Eventually, I found it best to walk away, distancing myself from not only the family dynamic but also from those that knew and did nothing. Until recently, I had not returned to my hometown.
As is the case with most affairs, it ended sadly and badly. He later spoke of shame engaging in our seven-year experience, which was crushing. In hindsight, I think I meant very little to him. I was convenient, and I was easy in that I made few demands. Our relationship suited my lifestyle in the mid-to-late 1990s; or so I thought. It was a time in my life when my judgment felt broken and I was seeking direction in all the wrong places. After reading the Arts & Life article, I realized that living with this object created an unexplainable hidden burden. I no longer want to hold onto the silent energy of someone who had ignored, hurt, and betrayed me in the pursuit of their own image.
As I release this object, which had rendered significant personal meaning for far too long, and send it overseas to a country I wish to visit one day, I hope on reflection he views me now as a decent person and someone who was there for him at a time in his life when he struggled.
