Revelation

It’s about love. The phenomenon. And how it happens. You see, as of late I seem to be coming across quite a few people who profess to be in love. Which is great. Except that in almost all cases, the feeling is supposedly or genuinely not returned by the objects of their desire. Unrequited love they call it. But is there such a thing?

Coz you see, for me, love has always been something that is shared. It’s not something that can be enjoyed on one’s own, like a chocolate maybe. Although there Is a sense of sadistic pleasure in being able to devour a chocolate perhaps, or a tub of ice cream, or a dish of something spicy and Chinese, all on one’s own – just gobble it up to fulfill that stomach-burning hunger for something delightful, something that serenades the taste buds and gives you intense gastronomical pleasure. But it’s that ‘feeling after’ that’s significant. What is it about that feeling after…? You’re satiated, but not complete. It’s sad. If you had to share, you’d secretly hate the fact that you had to. When it’s all yours, you’re not satisfied either. Endless dissatisfaction.

So what is love? To me, it’s sharing. It’s something that you can’t enjoy on your own. It has to be shared. If it isn’t, it isn’t love. Unreciprocated love you say? No such thing, I say. That’s not love at all. It could be many things, called many names. But it isn’t love. Love is something that has got to be shared.

Coz if what you feel is really love, and you feel it for someone, that someone would love you back, always. No exceptions. Because true love is something that does not occur at the spur of a moment. It is something that grows. Like a plant. They don’t just appear, plants. They grow, and keep growing. And love too, like a plant, grows between two people.

You meet someone. You get to know each other. You build a relationship – of friendship, of trust, of understanding, of acceptance. And it grows. Like a vine creeping up the branches of a tree. Completely natural, yet with the power to destroy. Branches, vines, intertwined. And sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, this relationship takes on a deeper level of attachment and turns into a shattering bond that goes beyond everything worldly and makes you think of words like souls, forever and eternity. And it just continuous to grow. And just is. And you know. That this then, is something special. And suddenly, there is nothing standing in-between your heart and brain. You are complete.

Notice how I didn’t use the word love in that paragraph? I didn’t have to. You just know. And you’d only know if you’d shared it, at some point in your life. And if you’ve shared it, that would mean that the feeling was returned. It may not always be shown, but if it is love, it is always returned. No exceptions. You say you love someone and that person does not love you back? If what you feel is love, real love, the feeling would always, always be returned. Because if it is love that you feel for someone, you do not need words or grand gestures or formal declarations to let you know that the feeling is returned. If it is love, you would Know that the feeling is returned. And magic happens. Unless.

Unless? Unless one party decides to willfully close their heart and show nothing but the bolted door to the outside world. Love is not a choice, but to show it, is.

So you love someone and that someone does not love you back? There could be but two reasons for the predicament. Always. One: the significant other has decided, for some reason, to close their heart to you. In which case, what you share is love, and if it is love, it is returned, but if someone willfully walls themselves against it, there ought to be a good reason. And if you’re honest with yourself, you, the partaker in this phenomenon of sharing, would know the reason. There’s your problem. Can you fix it? I don’t know.

Two: what you feel is not love. What then is this maddening desire to stalk that significant other, what then is this annoying obsession that does not leave you alone when you’re not busy with other objects of interest? It could be a number of things, but it is not love. One might call them sub-divisions or even imitations of the real thing. Infatuation, desire, lust, obsession, boredom, craving for love, need for attention, need for affection, for appreciation, for an ego-boost, for comfort. It could be any one or more of these things. The tricky part is that they all have the power to create a mirage of love; tempting you with promise of the cool waters and magic that you, you thirsty and starved human, seek for in life. So how do you know if it’s the real thing?

When it is the real thing, it is shared. Always. No exceptions. And there will not be a single doubt about whether it is the real thing or not. So ask yourself, is it shared? It does not matter if the other party is standing on his/her head insisting that he/she does not love you back. Honestly look inside of yourself for the answer to the question: is it shared? If it is, it is the real thing. If it’s not, give the significant other a break and leave them alone. If it was meant to be, it will be.

Two-timer

Sometimes, being in a relationship has its downsides.

If you’re a girl, it may be that your boyfriend/husband is a little bit on the overprotective (AKA annoying) side and is being a chameleon; going green when you hang out with male friends, black and complaining if you’re in a tiny skirt that draws attention to your legs (but hey he has no issues seeing them on other women), red and on the defensive if you show any sign of disapproval about something that he’d done, even if he is guilty of the crime etc.

You’ve heard the age-old saying: A woman has many faults, a man has but two; everything they say and everything they do…

If it’s a guy that you are, you may be a teeny weeny bit fed up of your girlfriend’s or wife’s continuous nagging about not calling on time, not turning up on time, not eating on time, not paying enough attention, getting home late etc. There are also the accusations of not caring, not loving her enough, having lost interest, having looked at other girls (yes apparently you hadn’t been discreet enough, and she’d seen the drool on your chin), and well the list goes on…

So how great would it be to have TWO spouses or lovers??

A one-on-one with a close friend on his hectic love life revealed that cheating can in fact (contrary to popular belief), be quite a strenuous pastime that’s also mentally-exhausting.

Let me start by giving you a brief about his life then, and yes yes, I did get his okay to reveal his horror story to the general public. Let’s just say that he had the perfect life with the perfect girlfriend who adored him to distraction, literally. Being a little sick and tired of the general bickering that is part and parcel of some relationships, he turned to a pretty and more mature girl (a little older than him apparently) who’d just joined his firm, for solace. After a few exciting months of tailing the new girl, he finally bags her (they shared something special apparently), thus leaving him with not one but two girlfriends. Isn’t that cool now?

From a guy’s point-of-view: “Hell ya!!”, and from the point-of-view of the guys trying to seem ‘above’ being psyched about having two girls: “That’s cheating, and cheating is baaad” - when you know that what they are actually thinking is“Hell ya!!”   From a girl’s point-of-view: “NO, that is NOT cool!” (accompanied by a look of disdain, disgust and dislike), and from my friend’s point-of-view: “Gosh I’m tired…” (said with a disgruntled and massive sigh, which leaves us with a not-so-subtle hint that him being tired has nothing to do with an increase in physical intimacies).

What did increase however was his phone bill, monthly expenditure, and the nagging and bickering, and a bonus of constant fear of being found out, stress and muddled memory. The two girls apparently call at the same times, suggest going out on the same days, have the same tastes in things (ha ha) and for some reason unknown to him, seem to think that he’s cheating on them or is at least up to something fishy. Okay so maybe this guy is no pro at maintaining multiple affairs, but what I’m trying to accomplish by going public with his private life is to point out that cheating is no piece of cake, and to discourage those on the verge of taking the plunge into a world of infidelity. I just hope he won’t stop confiding in me though, because obviously his stories and close calls are highly entertaining.

Back to him. Then there is the business of deleting text messages before seeing each girl. It’s an art apparently – he has to delete X’s messages when meeting Y, but has to have enough of Y’s messages in his inbox (just in case she checks his phone and she always tries to) to show that he ‘cherishes’ each and every “I love you” or “I had my lunch, did you?” message. Vice versa when seeing X. And of course their phone numbers need to be saved under male names so that he can cook up something about a friend trying to be funny in case he is to receive a missed call or  lovey dovey message from one when he is with the other. AND their proper names or pet names need to be re-entered when seeing the relevant girl.

There was also the time he went slipper shopping with X and insisted that she buy a certain pair of white slippers. Next week, he sees Y wearing the same pair, leaving him strangely disoriented and unsure about exactly who he went shopping with for them in the first place. And if one was to frequently go for movies in Colombo like he does with both girls, one could very easily get memories muddled about who was taken for what and so forth. One also needs to be aware of the little disasters that could occur, those that one has little control over, like the time his colleague asked X (on an instance that she’d called the office) whether he should tell my friend that Y had called.

Now, most of his days and hours are spent in fear of being found out by either party or being seen by somebody that knows X or Y and so on.

The best part is that both X (whom he has been dating for over 3 years now) and Y (who he’s been seeing for about 6 months) are already planning on how many babies to have and what sort of wedding it’s going to be, when all he is dreaming about is how to disentangle himself from both of them.

Entertainment at its peak! Who needs TV when there is real life drama unfolding all around you!

 

Moral of the story: Can’t handle one? Chances are that you can’t handle two.

Helloooo…..?

So I haven’t blogged in awhile. That means that I haven’t been in a mood nasty enough for me to type out my fury on wordpress and flaunt it for my little circle of blogging buddies to see and comment on. And looks like everyone else has been quiet as well for the past couple of months. What is it about June and July that makes everyone either super busy or super disconnected with the world? I for one was just a little bit busy with university and a stray pup rehoming project on facebook and was just not inspired or bugged enough to blog. Wonder what everyone else has been up to. I actually miss them!

Sy! What up!!! Wait don’t answer that… One must be careful about what one says to you… How have you been? *Carefully inspects sentence for innuendos, finding none visible to the naked eye, lets it be* Stalked your blog yesterday and loved the ipad joke! Yes, I shared it with a link to your blog All good with you I hope?

Cow! How art thou? Yes, the one who keeps accusing ME of not blogging and very recently called Me a blog widow (no, I have not forgotten). You madam, have not blogged since May, since your dramatic return. Where you at!!

Minimalist! You were stalked, and you haven’t been around since March!! *Worries that you’d have thrown away your computer along with everything else in the house in a minimalizing fit, IF you haven’t already gotten rid of the house by now as well.* Do you still have a computer???? *Worries*

Hope you guys are good… Just wanted to say Hi and long time no see…

As I Lay Dying

They say that before you take your last breath, your whole life flashes before your eyes. It’s true; I see mine now, moments, fragments of memory, flashing across my already blurring vision in bursts of light. The pond, the butterflies that used to flit around in mad fervor, leaving home, discovering life, the crazy orgies, seeing Dilly for the first time, the duet. Everything had changed after that, and I feel now in my slowing heart the way my heartbeat raised the very first time I lay eyes on her.

The day had been invitingly warm, and the guys were all hanging around the local pub, waiting to get laid. Tonight was going to be a good night. The atmosphere was practically screaming that something out of this world was going to happen. And it did. We heard her before we saw her. And before we knew it she was in our midst. A vision. Of innocence, of new-found lust. Her chest heaving, her eyes darting, till they met mine. It was her first time. I knew it the moment our eyes connected. A most thrilling thing, this meeting of eyes; this meeting of lives, this exchange of souls, this understanding. I knew it was her first time and I knew she was mine.

The duet. The age-old mating ritual. The synchronization of sounds of lust. They say that men of science have after years of research discovered a pattern in these sounds, this synchronization of sound that is the epitome of the mating ritual. But no one had the pleasure of scrutinizing the music we made that night, the magic, and the fervor, locked away in memory to be recounted before one’s last breath as a moment in time that mattered.

Death. My body spasmed and my head involuntarily fell to my right. Bodies, countless, unmoving, all around me. Females and children. Soon I too would be just another body. But I know I didn’t deserve this death. And maybe they didn’t too. They had merely done what they had to do, risk death to keep our kind alive. Now, dead, maybe they have second thoughts about putting kind over self.

I just wanted to see Dilly. Lying there in the midst of countless hot-blooded females, I knew I had wavered; I had forgotten what my life was all about, and it was taken from me. Dilly.

*

*

*

*

*

*

 

*Dedicated to all the mosquitoes I zapped to death while at the PC.

 

Interesting mosquito fact: Males form large swarms and females fly into the swarms to mate. When a mosquito tracks down the whine of the opposite sex, it begins to synchronize its own pitch to fit that of the potential mate.

Note of warning to male mosquitoes: An average human has not the ability to see that you’ve got the balls to lay off blood unlike your female-counterparts, so unless you want to end up dead, do not go looking for your girlfriend on a ladies night out drinking.

Mission Impossible 6

“He has to be Catholic,” I said. “Well Anglican or whatever. That’s a must. Can I give you the rest of the specifications?”

She did the arms-folding thing that people do when they’re thinking ‘Let’s hear it..’ and said, “Let’s hear it…”

“Okay so One: he has got to be Catholic. Two: he’s got to be, say, twenty-seven or twenty-eight…”

“I don’t know people that old!! All the guys I know are like around twenty-four or five! How am I supposed to find someone that age?!”

“I don’t’ know! You said you’d find me Mr.Right, so I’m giving you the specifications! Age is crucial! He has to fit into that age slot at least! You know how men are. They don’t mature. They just don’t. Thus we go for someone older than me with the hope that they would by some divine intervention perhaps, be a tad bit mature.”

“Really? You think being twenty-eight would make them any mature?”

Shoulders slump slightly. “A girl can hope surely?”

Eyebrows raised.

Shrug. “Okay well anyway, listen. Three: He has to be taller than me. I’m 5’4.”

Sighs. “I don’t know very many tall people. All the guys nowadays are pretty short. You know that! Besides, short people have their advantages…” said with a waggle of the eyebrows.

“So they do. I still prefer taller. Four: he has to be financially stable. I’m getting old and I cannot age while he gets his act together.”

Grins.

“Five: he has to be single,” holds hands up, “I know, I know, that should go without saying but trust me, I’ve figured out from experience that it has to be said. You need to be pretty clear about everything.”

“Ha!!”

“Six: he has to be sane. You’d be surprised at the number of psychotic people you get out there. It’s a scary world. Seven: he should have decent teeth and no stomach. Eight: he should be able to take care of himself. That disqualifies smokers and alcoholics. By taking care of himself, I mean physically, financially and publicly. I mean if he can’t take care of himself, how can he take care of me right?” *Breathes* “That’s it. That is it. Is that asking for much?”

“Of course not!  I mean a girl’s got to have her standards right?”

“Right..” *coughs*  “I’m going to end up single for the rest of my life aren’t I…?”

“Yup…”

And suddenly…

I’ve got the hots for Blake. I don’t know if there’s a word for people like me but if there was, that word refers to me. The type that suddenly develops a devotion to something when the rest of the world has already been there and done that. Like cricket.

During that time when Saddam Hussein was the ‘in thing’, a bunch of friends were having a conversation about the subject and upon seeing my obvious obliviousness to the whole thing one of them asked to make sure I knew who Saddam Hussein was. I tentatively asked if he was a cricketer. Yes, I never lived that one down.

So I don’t always know what’s happening out there in the world and no I had absolutely no interest in cricket. I just didn’t see anything fascinating about watching a bunch of guys playing bat and ball. No, don’t psychoanalyze that. And suddenly, it happened…

I developed a liking for cricket. Just a couple of weeks back actually. I blame it on my Exs for it not happening sooner. They were lousy at explaining the game and answering the type of retarded questions that would only come from someone who at some point in life thought that Saddam Hussein was a cricketer. It’s a good thing I don’t hold grudges, sometimes. Anyway, my mother taught me, it didn’t take her long, she was pretty awesome. She knows the game. No, don’t analyze that either. Anyway, now I’m a fan. That’s short for fanatic. It took a while, but finally it happened.

Then there’s Blake. Dear Blake. Unbelievable Blake. Bloody Brilliant Blake. I think my teachers first tried to tell me about Blake when I was around six. It didn’t work. I was not too impressed. They kept trying, throughout school, and throughout university, but apart from a mild interest now and then, I was not convinced. There were no sparks. And suddenly, it happened. Two days ago actually. I have a paper on romantic poetry on Monday so I was forced to find out what my course content was and start doing some reading. And I fell uncontrollably and irrevocably in love. Blake, is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I think the term G-spot should be changed to B-spot as a tribute to Blake. Yes, I know how that sounds and yes I realize it might conjure disturbing images, but it just had to be said. There is something about the way his words splash around in music; somersaulting and diving in, surfacing, bobbing. And the dear man used to scrawl pictures and decorative borders around his writing and add colour to them himself. And he had a thing for illustrating the Book of Revelations too if I remember right. Isn’t that intriguing? Too bad he didn’t have kids. I would have devoted the rest of my life to tracing his bloodline, and marrying the first descendant I came across. And they thought he was mad! Imagine that!

*Makes a conscious effort to calm down* I shall now contain myself and share just one line from the infamous poem in which he muses about the creation of the tiger, which for some reason fascinates me. Here it is.

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

To never learn

This picture (posted on facebook by a friend) is I think a masterpiece. And I know just the line to go with it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mind knows what’s right but my heart is being retarded and still cares.