Posts Tagged ‘love’

I’ve taken it upon myself to answer this age-old question that men have for time-immemorial been pretending not to know the answer to. I mean seriously, it’s not that complicated, and man’s determination to hold on to the myth that they just don’t know is really starting to cease to be amusing.  wat_woman_want

Also, I’m not the first to be taking the trouble to put it down in writing for you men. If it was really that beyond you, all it takes is a simple Google search to learn a thing or two. But no. Why do that when you can seem so much cooler to remain the helplessly oblivious victim.

We want you to be honest: And don’t give me that crap about whether you should be honest when we ask you if we look fat in a dress. In such cases we want you to be kind. Is it too much to expect to hear good things from the person you love and is it really that hard to be nice? Really? And are you really that stupid to not know the difference between being hurtful and being kind?

Back to honesty; we need you to be honest about who you are and what you do. Because the moment you lie to us; for whatever reason; be it to hide a wrong or to avoid a fight; you make us distrust our own feelings for you. It makes us question our own judgment and makes us wonder whether we fell in love with something about you that you’re not. That’s where all the tears and tantrums come from. Be who you are. You lie because you’re afraid we’d leave, and that’s true. If we don’t like you the way you are or the things you do, we wouldn’t want to be with you. At least any sane person wouldn’t. And you should love yourself more than to expect someone to stay with you for something that you’re not.

You like fooling around with many women, flirting with options, being a chick-magnet, being impulsive and living for the day? By all means go ahead. But if you’re seeing some, respect that person enough to let them know so, so that they can make an informed decision whether to love you for what you are or leave you to enjoy your life the way you want to. You can’t have it all.

We want you to be the kind of boyfriend or husband who would love us for everything that we are, appreciate everything that we do, be proud to hold our hands and hug us in public, and make us feel like you’ve found the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. If your girlfriend or wife is not that, and you don’t want to be seen with her in public or have one good thing to love about her, then do everyone in the relationship a favour and walk away and look for the person who would actually make you feel that way. And women: you’ve only yourself to blame for being in a relationship where you’re not treated right.

It’s not that easy? You’ve been in it too long, you’re about to get married, you have children? Look, you always have a choice. Everything you have and are now is due to the choices that you’ve made. You can choose to live in misery or choose to opt out, you can choose to be faithful or you can choose to hurt your soul mate by flirting with an insignificant other, you can choose to stay or go. At the end of the day, you live with the choices that you make. You’re responsible for your choices. You’ve only yourself to thank or blame.

Back to what women want. Do we want you to be rich? Yes that would be a definite plus. Unless your money has been handed down to you by your parents or you’re a crook, being successful means that you’ve worked hard enough to earn something for yourself. It means that you’re not someone who sits around hoping to magically become rich or whine about what you don’t have or live off of your woman. It means that you respect yourself enough. Think all women are gold-diggers? There are as many gold-digger men who stay in relationships for the comforts, so enough with labeling women don’t you think?

Do we want you to have a pretty face? I know some women who like fat people, some who like the pretty One Direction types, some who like skinny white boys and some who like the tall dark types. We may be attracted to your messy hair, funny tooth or yummy chest. It really just depends on the woman. But if you’re a fat person who’s eternally blaming women for not being attracted to you, then you’ve only yourself to blame. Surely no one’s stopping you from putting everything you’ve got into losing weight? If you want to bad enough, anyone can lose weight. Quit making us seem like the bitches for not seeing what a great guy you are behind all that fat and lose it.

We want you to be intelligent. You don’t need to hold a PhD to have brains, be witty, or to be able to impress a woman with your smart mouth. If only you knew the things you’re capable of doing with your mouth. It’s really a shame that your brain can’t think beyond blowjobs. Ever heard of Voltaire having said “Give me ten minutes to talk away my ugly face and I will bed the Queen of France!”? He probably did.

We want you to stop putting us down. Just because you have not been taught better, it does not mean that it’s okay to put your wife/girlfriend down in public or otherwise about how she can’t drive or she can’t cook or she can’t do something when you expect her to drive or cook or do something when no one is around. Doing that only makes people feel sorry for the woman for having to be with a jerk who is the first one to say bad things about her, let alone defend her. You embarrass us, and not in the way you intended to either.

We want you to be able to take care of us, stand up for us, respect us, respect our opinions, and appreciate the fact that if a woman let’s you call her yours, she chooses to be with you, and that she can very well choose not to.

So what do women want? We want you to grow up and stop assuming we don’t know you know.

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Senile

Posted: February 2, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , ,

You know that scene in a movie when the girl has invited the guy up to her apartment and they’re both acting all casual while the coffee is being made and then the guy casually puts on some music and they flirtatiously start slow dancing and you’ve watched this scene over and over again various other times before and you know how it goes? And usually you love this scene in the movie and this scene is the reason you search for lists of romantic comedies that came out in a certain year and download them and sit back and watch one. I was watching one of those on tv just now. And I got up off that couch. And I walked away.

Senile. Someone called me that recently. So I thought about it. And looked it up. What I usually do when in doubt. And thought about it some more.

It’s just that people get married. And have kids. And the kids grow up. And they get married or move away. And there you are, on your own, old, having done what your parents did before you and maybe a bit more, and you realize that after all that, you’re just going to die, and you have nothing much to do except hang around and wait for it. Sure you’ve had good times and sure you may even have done some things to change the world and perhaps make it in some way a better place for those inhabiting it. But so what. All those others are going to die too. At some point. What’s the point?

And what about feelings? Those feelings you don’t want to contaminate by trying to put into words like you did before. All those moments that make life worth living even if it just ends in death. What about that heart that’s beating inside of your chest even as you read this right now? That lump of odd-shaped flesh that’s pumping blood in there like your life depends on it. That chunk of flesh you rarely think about in that way. Nor think about at all.

No one’s special. We think we’re different, but really, we just look different. No one wants to be hated, no one thinks trust is not important. Basically all of us are in a constant where we try to match ourselves up to the stereotype of the perfect man or the perfect woman. And we all think we are pretty much there. And what we think, we are. Which brings it down to the fact that no one is special. We all are.

I read a nice article today about how to not give a fuck what others think. I think you should read it too if you have some time to spare: http://thenextweb.com/lifehacks/2014/01/27/stop-giving-f-people-think/#!uaVI5

And we don’t always do, do we, have time to spare. And most times it’s a good thing. Coz when you do, you stop, look around, and wonder what all this is all about anyway. Image

 

You know how when you’re small you have certain things in mind for yourself and how when you grow up things don’t happen the way you imagined they would? I can’t remember most of what I wanted, but one thing I do, and that is that I wanted to fall in love with that one person and marry that one person, and live happily ever after; with that one person. The one.

So that didn’t happen. It’s fine. I’m good. I’m glad it didn’t happen that way.

But while washing the dishes at the kitchen sink awhile ago, I had a sudden thought.

What if there was no one person out there, destined for you.

How many times have you thought you were in love?

And when it was over, didn’t life go on?

How do you know that someone won’t walk into your life when you don’t expect anyone to and make you realize that the world we live in is infinite. That there’s no such thing as a stop.

That you don’t fall in love with one person and love that person for the rest of your life.

What if you keep on falling in love with people? With things, with thoughts, with words and with possibilities?

What if what you fall in love with was not the person itself, but life. The life within that person.

I watched a horror movie sometime after a breakup and it wasn’t a horror movie at all. It was called The Last Kiss (2006) and it falls under the romantic comedy genre for some reason. Which I think is wrong because the movie scared the crap out of me. Don’t watch it.

What troubles me is the thought that if there really was no One, what that would mean. Would that mean that you can never get comfortable? Never settle down? How can you commit to someone for the rest of your life if you don’t know what it would bring you in future?

Sure it’s a decision to commit to someone for the rest of your life but how can you do it knowing that life is going to continue to happen to you.

The scary part is that you don’t see any of this when you’re in a relationship. I never did.

One, Two: (Give them the boot) Buckle my shoe

Three, Four: (Your hearts been broken) Shut the door

Five, Six: Pick up (the pieces of your life) sticks

Seven, Eight: (Try to) Lay them straight

Nine, Ten: A big fat hen (followed by a beautiful wedding, and happily every after)

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Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so sober.

Today I set myself free for the first time. Let myself be swept away off my keyboard and into nothingness; another place where my being hovers, facing eternal infinity. The colours that sweep on before me are those of sunset and passion. Purple lurks. The air I breathe is uncontaminated by the life of the world. It’s a quiet here. But far in the distance, there is consciousness; always present, hovering. I am here.

What if in this endless void, there grew a flower. Just one.

Suddenly, there is presence in this place where I am. All of eternity focuses on this one lone flower that I thought to be. What if there was a tree. An apple tree. Growing in the middle of eternity. Life. A woman walks towards the tree, naked, her hair long. She reaches for an apple. Man walks to her and touches her softly. She shivers. A snake coils along a branch of the tree, watching.

Wherever there is purity, evil manifests. There can be no peace. Evil perceives and persists. Pervades. There is but one law. The choice of resistance. But temptation is seductive. Oh so seductive. It caresses you to a heightened state. Touches you so deep and fully as you let it in. And everything else becomes nothing and you are governed by desire alone; a maddening pleasure pain that writhes for fulfillment. You go on. You forget. You want just one thing. Fulfillment. And you arch your body closer and let the pleasure hit you, wash over you; blinding you, fulfilling you. You peak. And lie satiated.

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But the memory of bittersweet want remains. Pervades. Reminding you. A tickling memory of the pleasure of yearning.

Purple. It persists. Pervades.

Revelation

Posted: December 19, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

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.

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.

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.

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*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.