Thursday, April 01, 2004
Do you believe...
There are thoughts churning - or perhaps burning - in my mind right now, which must be committed to media before I lose them. Somewhere between now, and an inevitable then a quarter of an hour from now when I've exhausted myself struggling pitifully to explain my mind, I know the moment will fade, and I will forget what I'm trying so desperately to explain.
I was asked, rather unexpectedly, tonight if I believe in "The One". (or rather, if I had met Her already) It wasn't unexpected because it came from a particular individual (so I'll set your mind at rest!) but rather because Re-mi.. no, enough "Re-minisce this and that". I'll be frank, I write about myself in the third person (I'm sorry, mistervader, but this is the sad truth) because it's easier to hide behind your (third-party) self, than to enunciate with your own voice. So, it was unexpected because people don't usually ask me questions. I'm usually the person with the questions. I'm usually on the other end of the philosophical what-ifs or Do-you-thinks.
The last ex found this immensely frustrating, methinks, because I was silent much of the time in response to her questions - which to be honest, were extremely few and far between. Not the everyday questions like "what would you like to eat" or "what do you think about..." but the questions that I attach more importance to, the : "what do you feel... what do you really think..."s.
My response was a weak : "It warrants more thought." Again, the mask.
(As an aside, it's funny how I feel so much less... me, in the flesh. So much less apt with words, so much less expressive. So... bland. Do I come across like that in person to other people, I wonder?)
But, just for an instant while I come to grips with myself - I'll try to drop that mask. Not from you - but from myself.
I listened with envy as one of the other blokes tonight sailed through the age-old philosophy 101 question with ease : he believes in the one, but he believes in shopping around and making himself experienced. That will prepare him for The One. Feel free to shag about while you do it (okay so he put it in slightly less Brit-icised words, but the gist is there). I envy the experiences he must have had by now, and I (tongue in cheek) envy the good fortune he must have enjoyed not to pick up an STD after the countless women he's enjoyed. We hear so often that life is short - play hard. Live it to the full, Just Do It. Experience, eat, drink. Shag.
I envy people like that, the people who write and speak with a certain knowing smile. The people who have lived.
But somewhere in me, I know that that's simply not how I'm constructed.
Do I believe in the one? Perhaps the question is best answered chronologically.
I didn't when I was young. I was born a cynic - and many people think I still am one (Yes, Dan this one's for you). And they're right to a certain extent.
Like Her, I thought love was overrated. Shakespeare was a money-making device. The One was a concept crafted by the movie industry that surely I was immune to, since I had Insight that all the other preadolescents / adolescents around me were oblivious to. I was older. I was... better than that?
And then our paths crossed. It had been foreshadowed the year before by a mutual friend who commented that I really should meet So-and-So, you guys are quite similar. (that was the first, and probably the last time anyone said anything like that)
And then story unfolded; Odd moments of knowing. Laughter, lots of it. And many years later, mutual retrospective discoveries of coincidences that had been missed.
In between, long silences; periods of loss. And strange coincidences. The stranger in Church who comforted me. The moment of intuitively Knowing when Her relationship fell apart. (but not daring to believe in it) The headlong flight across the world at precisely the "wrong" moment. The almost contrived moments beyond the Holocaust, attending precisely the same hospital She was in for an elective - arranged by a Greek friend who didn't know the story beyond that her classmate had been sad for a while. The accidental discovery of GMC registration a few days after Her registration.
And somewhere along the way, the question of The One - or not arose. In the face of repeated "flukes" and creepy coincidences - down to the geriatric woman dressed in black with a black hat and black veil turning around in church to tell me It would all work out Okay in the end - as much as my inner self rebels, you have to wonder.
Perhaps I just grew older and the repeated bombardment of romanticism by the cynical movie-making industry took its toll on me.
Or perhaps not. I don't know if I believe in The One.
That didn't answer the question, not quite.
*******
Perhaps the question is better answered by the Present, rather than the distant Past.
Pre-holocaust; the near-parting words seared in my mind are "what if you find someone just like me?"
Perhaps the relationships that followed were a conscious effort not to. Perhaps that is why they were nothing like You.
Or perhaps I decided to try subscribing in another theory; perhaps it was an act of rebellion against something I refused to believe in.
Or perhaps it's something else?
Once in a blue moon - and this is very, very rare, I do meet someone who reminds me of her. At the risk of adding imaginary fuel to a nonexistant fire, one of the individuals tonight reminded me of Her a fair amount. The vibrant personality; the ready smile. That certain something (?amused yet acute consciousness?) in the eyes, and perhaps there's a striking similarity in ?head movements and facial expression when speaking. It's a striking, yet subtle similarity; the elusive X factor (for me anyhow) that I subconsciously seek. I've seen it before.
And always, I remember.
The answer to Your question, isn't "but I won't" (so You were right, after all) but rather "they'd come a close, or distant second".
And part of me actively rejects remembering - and just wants to flee. Whenever anything like it happens. And the greater part of me; the part that rationalises the world around me and dictates my ethics and conscience -- the small bit of me that I'm actually proud of -- knows that I cannot move in this direction. Because it wouldn't be fair to (generic) her, to (consciously or not) stand in the lee of Your shadow.
The ex was nothing like Her, but at the End of Days, she was increasingly, in my mind at least, cast in Her shadow. I missed Her.
It's almost Heller's Catch 22. I can't get together with someone I'm naturally attracted to, because they'll remind me of Her. But according to Sirs and Madames World at Large, the only way I'll "move on", the only way not to be reminded anymore, is to start somewhere.
The only way to achieve closure?
Perhaps the answer to that, is : do I really want "closure". Maybe Closure, to re-minisce, is overrated.
********
Or perhaps I cannot afford to believe in The One, because that might mean that I've already lost her. And that beyond this, it's all uphill.
The greater part of me scoffs at this. I'm no love-fool. I don't live for love. I didn't even believe in it once. Life is far, far more than a woman.
And then again, once upon a time, somewhere between juvenile denial, and mature disinterest, I would have died for Her.
********
Perhaps I just use You as an excuse. Perhaps I'm just not brave enough to step up to the bat as often as R. tonight, with his hordes of 170something cm tall sex-mad admirers. Perhaps each fall would dent my fragile ego too much in the aftermath of failure.
I dunno. I don't really think I'm the sort who'd give a damn, though. I'm honestly, a heartless bast*rd. In the delayed aftermath of the last two relationships I had (of which one was probably best rated as three quarter) I felt nothing but a cold detachment. And almost relief. What does that say about me?
Part of me remembers the buzz that went around when the Her friends discovered His truths, a long time ago. Not good enough for Her, Not her type.
Perhaps part of me is afraid of that.
But the me of today knows my worth. Not quite as worthless as everyone thought, not quite as unappealing. Perhaps even rather slightly above average. (But only slightly!)
The me of today, if it was shaped upon the principles of R, rationally speaking (and discarding the various emotional aeroplanes and elephants that I/he carries with him)
would have made a play for the K lookalikes / soundalikes / movealikes because he knew he had a chance. Because losing wouldn't really matter.
And yet, the me of today remembers Her, and thinks, yes; perhaps She was out of my league.
Perhaps She just had a momentary lapse of reason and taste. Yay me.
********
Do I believe in "The One"?
I don't know. I suppose I do.
Have I met her?
I... think it warrants further thought.
This is what I meant tonight when I said that. All of this.
The moment is ended.
There are thoughts churning - or perhaps burning - in my mind right now, which must be committed to media before I lose them. Somewhere between now, and an inevitable then a quarter of an hour from now when I've exhausted myself struggling pitifully to explain my mind, I know the moment will fade, and I will forget what I'm trying so desperately to explain.
I was asked, rather unexpectedly, tonight if I believe in "The One". (or rather, if I had met Her already) It wasn't unexpected because it came from a particular individual (so I'll set your mind at rest!) but rather because Re-mi.. no, enough "Re-minisce this and that". I'll be frank, I write about myself in the third person (I'm sorry, mistervader, but this is the sad truth) because it's easier to hide behind your (third-party) self, than to enunciate with your own voice. So, it was unexpected because people don't usually ask me questions. I'm usually the person with the questions. I'm usually on the other end of the philosophical what-ifs or Do-you-thinks.
The last ex found this immensely frustrating, methinks, because I was silent much of the time in response to her questions - which to be honest, were extremely few and far between. Not the everyday questions like "what would you like to eat" or "what do you think about..." but the questions that I attach more importance to, the : "what do you feel... what do you really think..."s.
My response was a weak : "It warrants more thought." Again, the mask.
(As an aside, it's funny how I feel so much less... me, in the flesh. So much less apt with words, so much less expressive. So... bland. Do I come across like that in person to other people, I wonder?)
But, just for an instant while I come to grips with myself - I'll try to drop that mask. Not from you - but from myself.
I listened with envy as one of the other blokes tonight sailed through the age-old philosophy 101 question with ease : he believes in the one, but he believes in shopping around and making himself experienced. That will prepare him for The One. Feel free to shag about while you do it (okay so he put it in slightly less Brit-icised words, but the gist is there). I envy the experiences he must have had by now, and I (tongue in cheek) envy the good fortune he must have enjoyed not to pick up an STD after the countless women he's enjoyed. We hear so often that life is short - play hard. Live it to the full, Just Do It. Experience, eat, drink. Shag.
I envy people like that, the people who write and speak with a certain knowing smile. The people who have lived.
But somewhere in me, I know that that's simply not how I'm constructed.
Do I believe in the one? Perhaps the question is best answered chronologically.
I didn't when I was young. I was born a cynic - and many people think I still am one (Yes, Dan this one's for you). And they're right to a certain extent.
Like Her, I thought love was overrated. Shakespeare was a money-making device. The One was a concept crafted by the movie industry that surely I was immune to, since I had Insight that all the other preadolescents / adolescents around me were oblivious to. I was older. I was... better than that?
And then our paths crossed. It had been foreshadowed the year before by a mutual friend who commented that I really should meet So-and-So, you guys are quite similar. (that was the first, and probably the last time anyone said anything like that)
And then story unfolded; Odd moments of knowing. Laughter, lots of it. And many years later, mutual retrospective discoveries of coincidences that had been missed.
In between, long silences; periods of loss. And strange coincidences. The stranger in Church who comforted me. The moment of intuitively Knowing when Her relationship fell apart. (but not daring to believe in it) The headlong flight across the world at precisely the "wrong" moment. The almost contrived moments beyond the Holocaust, attending precisely the same hospital She was in for an elective - arranged by a Greek friend who didn't know the story beyond that her classmate had been sad for a while. The accidental discovery of GMC registration a few days after Her registration.
And somewhere along the way, the question of The One - or not arose. In the face of repeated "flukes" and creepy coincidences - down to the geriatric woman dressed in black with a black hat and black veil turning around in church to tell me It would all work out Okay in the end - as much as my inner self rebels, you have to wonder.
Perhaps I just grew older and the repeated bombardment of romanticism by the cynical movie-making industry took its toll on me.
Or perhaps not. I don't know if I believe in The One.
That didn't answer the question, not quite.
*******
Perhaps the question is better answered by the Present, rather than the distant Past.
Pre-holocaust; the near-parting words seared in my mind are "what if you find someone just like me?"
Perhaps the relationships that followed were a conscious effort not to. Perhaps that is why they were nothing like You.
Or perhaps I decided to try subscribing in another theory; perhaps it was an act of rebellion against something I refused to believe in.
Or perhaps it's something else?
Once in a blue moon - and this is very, very rare, I do meet someone who reminds me of her. At the risk of adding imaginary fuel to a nonexistant fire, one of the individuals tonight reminded me of Her a fair amount. The vibrant personality; the ready smile. That certain something (?amused yet acute consciousness?) in the eyes, and perhaps there's a striking similarity in ?head movements and facial expression when speaking. It's a striking, yet subtle similarity; the elusive X factor (for me anyhow) that I subconsciously seek. I've seen it before.
And always, I remember.
The answer to Your question, isn't "but I won't" (so You were right, after all) but rather "they'd come a close, or distant second".
And part of me actively rejects remembering - and just wants to flee. Whenever anything like it happens. And the greater part of me; the part that rationalises the world around me and dictates my ethics and conscience -- the small bit of me that I'm actually proud of -- knows that I cannot move in this direction. Because it wouldn't be fair to (generic) her, to (consciously or not) stand in the lee of Your shadow.
The ex was nothing like Her, but at the End of Days, she was increasingly, in my mind at least, cast in Her shadow. I missed Her.
It's almost Heller's Catch 22. I can't get together with someone I'm naturally attracted to, because they'll remind me of Her. But according to Sirs and Madames World at Large, the only way I'll "move on", the only way not to be reminded anymore, is to start somewhere.
The only way to achieve closure?
Perhaps the answer to that, is : do I really want "closure". Maybe Closure, to re-minisce, is overrated.
********
Or perhaps I cannot afford to believe in The One, because that might mean that I've already lost her. And that beyond this, it's all uphill.
The greater part of me scoffs at this. I'm no love-fool. I don't live for love. I didn't even believe in it once. Life is far, far more than a woman.
And then again, once upon a time, somewhere between juvenile denial, and mature disinterest, I would have died for Her.
********
Perhaps I just use You as an excuse. Perhaps I'm just not brave enough to step up to the bat as often as R. tonight, with his hordes of 170something cm tall sex-mad admirers. Perhaps each fall would dent my fragile ego too much in the aftermath of failure.
I dunno. I don't really think I'm the sort who'd give a damn, though. I'm honestly, a heartless bast*rd. In the delayed aftermath of the last two relationships I had (of which one was probably best rated as three quarter) I felt nothing but a cold detachment. And almost relief. What does that say about me?
Part of me remembers the buzz that went around when the Her friends discovered His truths, a long time ago. Not good enough for Her, Not her type.
Perhaps part of me is afraid of that.
But the me of today knows my worth. Not quite as worthless as everyone thought, not quite as unappealing. Perhaps even rather slightly above average. (But only slightly!)
The me of today, if it was shaped upon the principles of R, rationally speaking (and discarding the various emotional aeroplanes and elephants that I/he carries with him)
would have made a play for the K lookalikes / soundalikes / movealikes because he knew he had a chance. Because losing wouldn't really matter.
And yet, the me of today remembers Her, and thinks, yes; perhaps She was out of my league.
Perhaps She just had a momentary lapse of reason and taste. Yay me.
********
Do I believe in "The One"?
I don't know. I suppose I do.
Have I met her?
I... think it warrants further thought.
This is what I meant tonight when I said that. All of this.
The moment is ended.
