elevation

‘If only she would let me  – I’d curl in a ball on the mat in front of her door. Just so I could be near her.’

I silently listen to his confession and a wave of remote sadness washes over me. In our group he’s known as proud and distant, arrogant at times even. It’s the first time he’s been in love and it’s all so new to him.

I sit and make mental notes for my new post. I want to write something beautiful about the most noble of all human emotions; to describe it as a virtue that elevates. Oh wait… Never mind.

 

the right approach

Everyone at our high school were obsessed with her. All the boys drooled over her and all the girls fantasized about being her. It’s not that she was a flawless masterpiece, wasn’t even damn near perfection if you ask me, but there was a certain je ne sais quoi quality that gave her an intoxicating allure. You know the type – ephemeral, barely out-of-this-world and always just a fleeting step away from your fingers when you most wanted to touch her delicate skin. A moment later and she was gone, her summer-y scent lingering on long after recess was over and the corridors were empty.

There was an unspoken game of winning her over going on between all the seniors. There wasn’t a surviving male friendship in sight because of her; all the hormone-crazy teenagers were frenemies and secretly raiding their parents’ wallets every chance they got to try and impress her the old-fashioned way – by showering her with the type of silly obsolete stuff adolescent girls liked. It didn’t work. Then someone had the brilliant idea to join the football team and get to the gal’s heart the American way or at least the way all mediocre rom coms teach us is a safe bet, so for a few months there was a streaming line in coach’s office every day. The poor guy had to finally start turning away love-crazed adolescent boys who had nothing better to do with their time, but try and impress some chick. It was every teenager for himself; more cunning means had to be developed and pursued in order to engage her fleeting attention.

Luckily, all the time this was happening, as her best friend’s brother I was able to hang out on the inside, thus acquiring direct access to her inner emotional unrest (if there was ever such). I wasn’t attracted to her and it struck me as weird when all my classmates, friends and random acquaintances found any excuse to bring up her name in virtually every conversation we had. Come to think of it, it was the first time I learned that having everyone want something instantly made me want to run away from it as far as possible. I’m like this even till this day..Anyway, so I sat and observed how her homework was always written; her assignments handed in on time; she was picked up from school and her house in the hippest, coolest cars there were; her cute pink Swarowski-encrusted phone got a matching dangling pink thingy to go along with it and so on and so forth, but there was never one King of The Kill crowned, if you know what I mean.

Well, at least not until Mike Foryshewski came along. He was tall, well-built and had sharp features that gave a somewhat menacing look. His cold grey eyes were always nervously scouting around and his movements were brisk and concise to a point of machine-like accuracy. He noticed her immediately, although she remained as aloof towards him as she had always been with everyone else. One day after classes he pulled over and invited her in his convertible with a gesture. They had barely exchanged a word until then, but she was used to being driven around by every guy in sight and had started to think of it as somewhat of a birth right accompanying the fact of being born a pretty woman.

The rest I know by overhearing her many, many, many exhilarated conversations with my sister in the following days, but apparently instead of driving her straight to her house he took a little detour down to the creek and after pulling off, wasted no time in coming on to her. He had been passionate, eager and firm in handling her or so she described it. Couple of thrusts and the girl no one had ever made it to First or Second Base with had lost her virginity in the back seat of a shabby convertible.

News of this sort of thing is not bound by the meager laws of physics applicable to everything else on Earth and that same night the entire school was on their phones outrageous about the turn of events. The next day as Mike was making his way down the corridors you could feel the hate emanating from every single guy he walked past. What made things even more awkward was the sight of her skipping alongside him, carrying his books for class. This continued for the rest of that day as well as the following ones. Mike was acting as if though it was the most natural and logical thing in the world. While the rest of the guys were busy glaring at him and brainstorming what could he have possible said to get ahead so quickly, the female population was blowing the story out of proportion with gossip about the mythological size of his private parts (which seemed the only logical explanation as tho why he got her attention in the first place) and were desperately trying to seduce him to prove their thesis. Neither succeeded and rumors lingered on till prom when we all parted ways.

With a more scientific rather than personal interest in the whole thing, I decided to tactfully approach the subject one warm evening few months after things had began to settle down. My sister had conveniently sneaked out the back to make out with her then boyfriend and I jumped at the opportunity to ask the question on everyone’s minds:

– “Tell me how did he do it? It’s not like you were short on attention; you had guys lining in front of you, ready to jump hoops just for a look of approval.”

– “I know.”

– “So why him?”

– “He found..the right approach to me.”

So there you have it. May we all find the right approach to the women of our hearts..

love laundry

People don’t die from love, but love dies at the hands of people.  And when you’ve been loved multiple times, but haven’t returned the feeling, eventually you’ll fall in love with someone with the passion and intensity of all those times,…but he won’t even love you 1/hundredth back. He’ll rape your heart and you’ll love him [even] more for it. The problem is that love, as cruel and twisted as it may be, rarely follows the laws of common sense – you just have to let it be, outlive it and outgrow it. Once you reach a point where you no longer wish to be happy, but simply save yourself (or what’s left of you), you can consider yourself lucky – you’re free. The issue with freedom, however, is that when you’ve lived without it for a long time you don’t know what to do with it once you obtain it. Or maybe that’s the drama with everything in life – we never get it when we need it. Afterwards it’s just useless..
 
If somewhere along the way you’ve suffered pain, it becomes part of you till the end. It’s just like that feeling you can’t quite chase away when the silence of the night is only broken by the even breathing of the body next to you; that same feeling when you have every right to be happy and content, but instead you’re lost in doubt and ache. It’s no use explaining, no one will understand anyway – people hate things they don’t understand and they transfer the hatred onto the person that’s brought uncertainty into their lives. We all need antagonists. 
 
Then you remember how:
you thought the world was full of possibilities and life was ahead of you;
you believed ‘staying true to yourself’ meant something;
you thought your conviction and perseverance will suffice;
you failed to notice you’re only human like everyone else. And you carry pain. Lots of it.
 
No none wants your truths. No one is interested in them. Just as you are blind to the truths of others. You may think you’re the King of the Mountain, but you’re just a fool on a hill. It takes so long to figure that out though. And it’s always after you’ve grown old. Unless you were born old as it happens with some of us. Sad childhood followed by sad adolescence,followed by sad adulthood, followed by sad old age, filled with sad memories. All because no one teaches us how to be lonely from the beginning. If only our parents sent us to bed, school, dinner and breakfast alone.. rather than do what every loving parent would – teach us how to be cared for, loved, nurtured only to render us completely incapable to handle solitude. And it comes about later on to never truly leave..and it’s not just a hundred years; it’s much longer…
 
Love creates dependency. Every emotionally normal human being feels its absence painfully once they’ve got used to it and it goes away. And love always goes away. Since it’s unnatural to fall in love twice with the same person [I don’t care what those washed-down romantic flicks are trying to convince you], you start looking for someone else to recreate the feeling with. It’s only logical and fair. Ironically, that’s exactly what drives people away.
 
The sad part is that at some point you’ll realise your life is full of prints by people long gone, never to return. But you’ll meticulously continue doing all those little things you picked up when you were still together… Why do they come natural to you now, you wonder? Because it doesn’t matter any more..