Saturday, June 26, 2004
Memory Montage
Maybe it's just the string of nights making me hyperemotional.
Emotions
1) Bemusement
Reading some song lyrics, he understands them - much to his surprise. Despite forgetting most of the language (nearly Ten Years in Not-Quite-Tibet does that), and not really understanding the individual words, the thoughts are communicated effortlessly anyway.
It must be because I know a smidgen of the story already.
2) Bemusement
He's made it a point to never judge a book by it's cover. It's become an almost inevitable rule in today's mixed-up world that shabby, battered old books contain beautiful stories within, and that immaculate, flawless covers invariably entomb hundreds of pages of superficial, brainless drivel.
Apparently we're creating the new 2000s stereotype. Or maybe it's just me.
Still waters run deep.
But don't forget that sometimes apparent shallows have hidden depths too.
3) Envy (extremely cryptic)
Reading someone else's story, he is surprised to find himself feeling a touch of envy. Not the mundane hormonal envy a bloke has for another bloke for the attention of an appealing female specimen. Envy instead, of her, because her "What-If" is being handed to her on a silver platter.
It's a personal envy, notsomuch for her "What If", but mostly at her chance of discovering the answer to it, and partly because it reads like a fairy-tale. Or humourous romantic novel/movie.
And probably because my time of movie moments has ended.
No fairy-tale reunions, no surreal re-encounters. No chances at reconciliation -- or even possibilities of further strife and anger. No more shared moments of mutual, silent, thoughtful measuring-up, no unexpected laughter amidst the frigid, imposed tensions, no sudden flare-ups blindsiding you amidst the laughter.
Shrug. But then again, it could never happen anyway, because
1) She would never accept. She wouldn't want to. And She wouldnt, even if she wanted to.
2) I could never accept, either : I've run through the tired scenario - what, a thousand times? by now in my mind. And always the answer is the same. And never will I have the chance to experience it in the flesh, outside of the matrix within my head.
And, to be fair, I've had a fair share of What-ifs
- no
- maybe
(- yes?)
- no
I've probably expended my credit and dipped well into my overdraft already. Better not attract the banker's attention. heh.
My What-if.... is academic. And perhaps that's not such a bad thing.
But it would be so nice... to have it handed me on a platter.
4) Amusement
Desperately clutching my goblet of orange juice for reassurance of familiarity, in this sea of distinguished, greying strangers (some old enough to be my parents! and some, my grandparents!!) my gaze meets hers.
The world freezes for an instant. She's beautiful - long, brunette hair cascading magnificently off her shoulders, framing pretty, almond shaped eyes that look slightly lost and alone. And as we have that odd, unthinking instant of mutual nearly-recognition that only utter strangers can have - of both being slightly out-of-place in the here and now... we smile with our lips, and laugh in relief (at, and with each other) with our eyes.
We step forwards automatically - I, not against, but before - my volition and we introduce ourselves, and begin that chain of empty pleasantries strangers ritualistically engage in... mindless words flooding forth to fill the potential gaps in conversation, while we take each other's measure inside our heads.
Don't get me wrong. It might read like it, but this certainly wasn't about flirting, or even attraction. It's just... it's... I don't know how to describe it.
It is an... ? amusing moment of daily life, of two people mutually pausing for a second to share each other, before unconcernedly passing each other by.
A moment I had (in my daily isolation) begun to forget the taste, and touch of.
5) Impatient, insatiable fury
Reading him for the millionth time bemoaning his inadequacies, his failings, his amotivation and acopia, I feel the familiar itch of that... ugliness in my soul, that hidden part of me I spent hating in my last relationship. The cruel urge to reach out and... pick that crucial supporting stick of Truth from the pretty framework of illusions - to pluck the Jesus Pin from that ceaselessly turning rotor and - Jenga! Pop goes the weasel.
I won't waste words consoling him. I can see through him - there is really no point - there are none so deaf as those who will not hear.. especially when somewhere inside him, he is hearing the words... and then deliberately ignoring them, because he feels that he has heard it all before.
I wonder at his motivations, or whether he has any at all, or is simply, like it looks, blundering along in his own way, flip-flopping between hope and devastation because he is as lost as he paints himself to be. The ugly, cynical side of me is inclined to disagree.
And is tempted to challenge him to... but no. I shall not. Steady your hand. Nobody deserves that.
And I'm angry.
But not at him... I'm just tired of him now. And tired of watching the same old, same old story unfold. A dozen well-wishes later, he will hope, and then he will doubt, and then he will fall again. He will envy others their strength, their love, their supposed God-given mercies that his life is so devoid of, he will see silver spoons up everyone else's mouths, and whinge about his own spoonless existence.
He will begrudge other people their love, and happiness... not because he wants to take it away, but because he feels it lacking in his own life.
He will ignore the wonders in his own.
And I'm angry because I know how it feels.
I think I'm angry because I'm afraid that I might one day fall over the precipice into the abyss he occupies now.
An abyss I found myself in once, years ago, that I painstakingly clawed my way out of. And so I DO know how you feel.
As if you're the saddest, most pathetic person in the world.
As if your heart torn asunder, not by heartbreak, but by apathy, and nothing, absolutely nothing will help you feel alive again.
I have felt ugly, and deformed - something must be wrong with me. I'm so old... and not a "proper" relationship to my name.
What am I waiting for?
Why am I waiting?
Am I waiting... or am I so hideous that love shuns me, and women will never cast a second look my way - that way, anyhow? (perhaps, unlike him, I am blessed... or maybe cursed? with the ability to make close platonic female friends easily. I think it's a factor of the slightly dysfunctional Y chromosome. Women feel safe around me. dammit!!)
I have sat on a cliff and felt so utterly insignificant in the scheme of things, and so sad. People pass me over. I'm invisible in a crowd of two. Maybe, just mabe if I lean forwards just a little bit more this will end. Nobody would notice anyhow...
I'm older now, and if I could go back and face myself (and by implication - him) I'd :
1) slap myself in the face. Hard. and say
2) it's not so bad. other people are hurting out there, and they're hurting
3) just as bad, if not worse than you. Open your eyes. Look at them. Look at the girl who's pouring her heart out to you about how she got raped by her then-boyfriend. Look at the girl who's boyfriend of three years, the love of her life - died of leukaemia. Look at how she holds her head up with quiet dignity, despite the invisible tears cascading down her cheeks that her eyes betray.
Look at yourself, a few years later, falling farther into the abyss, missing someone so acutely that it actually hurts, physically, and it really feels like descending into madness. And realise that it isn't so bad where you are now. And brace yourself, because it does get worse.
4) And then it gets better, oh, about six or seven years later. You just have to learn to put up with it. And stop
5) seeing things through your own eyes. And realise that you're being bloody self-centred and you really ARE being pathetic, but
6) you can be more. And you can live with yourself. and really...
7) a "proper" relationship isn't all that it's cut up to be.
8) Love comes and goes. Someone quoted someone else (this is a bit hazy) as saying there's love, big love, and Great love.
Well, love, and big love, the type that fall apart... they're not that great. They're not everything they're cut up to be, and the aftermath of all that is horribly inconvenient, unpleasant, and you're really much better off never knowing it. Really.
9) You're waiting for "great love". That's your answer. And it's better to stay unsullied while you wait...
10) So quit being a pratt. Because life ain't so bad. And you don't need anybody to tell you that. You just have to learn to open your eyes, and then open them again.
See yourself as you really are. (not so pathetic)
See everyone else as they really are. (more pathetic than they look)
And smile. Because life's... a bitch. And someone up there sure has a funny sense of humour. But it is kinda funny. And you know what? You'll live.
Emotions
1) Bemusement
Reading some song lyrics, he understands them - much to his surprise. Despite forgetting most of the language (nearly Ten Years in Not-Quite-Tibet does that), and not really understanding the individual words, the thoughts are communicated effortlessly anyway.
It must be because I know a smidgen of the story already.
2) Bemusement
He's made it a point to never judge a book by it's cover. It's become an almost inevitable rule in today's mixed-up world that shabby, battered old books contain beautiful stories within, and that immaculate, flawless covers invariably entomb hundreds of pages of superficial, brainless drivel.
Apparently we're creating the new 2000s stereotype. Or maybe it's just me.
Still waters run deep.
But don't forget that sometimes apparent shallows have hidden depths too.
3) Envy (extremely cryptic)
Reading someone else's story, he is surprised to find himself feeling a touch of envy. Not the mundane hormonal envy a bloke has for another bloke for the attention of an appealing female specimen. Envy instead, of her, because her "What-If" is being handed to her on a silver platter.
It's a personal envy, notsomuch for her "What If", but mostly at her chance of discovering the answer to it, and partly because it reads like a fairy-tale. Or humourous romantic novel/movie.
And probably because my time of movie moments has ended.
No fairy-tale reunions, no surreal re-encounters. No chances at reconciliation -- or even possibilities of further strife and anger. No more shared moments of mutual, silent, thoughtful measuring-up, no unexpected laughter amidst the frigid, imposed tensions, no sudden flare-ups blindsiding you amidst the laughter.
Shrug. But then again, it could never happen anyway, because
1) She would never accept. She wouldn't want to. And She wouldnt, even if she wanted to.
2) I could never accept, either : I've run through the tired scenario - what, a thousand times? by now in my mind. And always the answer is the same. And never will I have the chance to experience it in the flesh, outside of the matrix within my head.
And, to be fair, I've had a fair share of What-ifs
- no
- maybe
(- yes?)
- no
I've probably expended my credit and dipped well into my overdraft already. Better not attract the banker's attention. heh.
My What-if.... is academic. And perhaps that's not such a bad thing.
But it would be so nice... to have it handed me on a platter.
4) Amusement
Desperately clutching my goblet of orange juice for reassurance of familiarity, in this sea of distinguished, greying strangers (some old enough to be my parents! and some, my grandparents!!) my gaze meets hers.
The world freezes for an instant. She's beautiful - long, brunette hair cascading magnificently off her shoulders, framing pretty, almond shaped eyes that look slightly lost and alone. And as we have that odd, unthinking instant of mutual nearly-recognition that only utter strangers can have - of both being slightly out-of-place in the here and now... we smile with our lips, and laugh in relief (at, and with each other) with our eyes.
We step forwards automatically - I, not against, but before - my volition and we introduce ourselves, and begin that chain of empty pleasantries strangers ritualistically engage in... mindless words flooding forth to fill the potential gaps in conversation, while we take each other's measure inside our heads.
Don't get me wrong. It might read like it, but this certainly wasn't about flirting, or even attraction. It's just... it's... I don't know how to describe it.
It is an... ? amusing moment of daily life, of two people mutually pausing for a second to share each other, before unconcernedly passing each other by.
A moment I had (in my daily isolation) begun to forget the taste, and touch of.
5) Impatient, insatiable fury
Reading him for the millionth time bemoaning his inadequacies, his failings, his amotivation and acopia, I feel the familiar itch of that... ugliness in my soul, that hidden part of me I spent hating in my last relationship. The cruel urge to reach out and... pick that crucial supporting stick of Truth from the pretty framework of illusions - to pluck the Jesus Pin from that ceaselessly turning rotor and - Jenga! Pop goes the weasel.
I won't waste words consoling him. I can see through him - there is really no point - there are none so deaf as those who will not hear.. especially when somewhere inside him, he is hearing the words... and then deliberately ignoring them, because he feels that he has heard it all before.
I wonder at his motivations, or whether he has any at all, or is simply, like it looks, blundering along in his own way, flip-flopping between hope and devastation because he is as lost as he paints himself to be. The ugly, cynical side of me is inclined to disagree.
And is tempted to challenge him to... but no. I shall not. Steady your hand. Nobody deserves that.
And I'm angry.
But not at him... I'm just tired of him now. And tired of watching the same old, same old story unfold. A dozen well-wishes later, he will hope, and then he will doubt, and then he will fall again. He will envy others their strength, their love, their supposed God-given mercies that his life is so devoid of, he will see silver spoons up everyone else's mouths, and whinge about his own spoonless existence.
He will begrudge other people their love, and happiness... not because he wants to take it away, but because he feels it lacking in his own life.
He will ignore the wonders in his own.
And I'm angry because I know how it feels.
I think I'm angry because I'm afraid that I might one day fall over the precipice into the abyss he occupies now.
An abyss I found myself in once, years ago, that I painstakingly clawed my way out of. And so I DO know how you feel.
As if you're the saddest, most pathetic person in the world.
As if your heart torn asunder, not by heartbreak, but by apathy, and nothing, absolutely nothing will help you feel alive again.
I have felt ugly, and deformed - something must be wrong with me. I'm so old... and not a "proper" relationship to my name.
What am I waiting for?
Why am I waiting?
Am I waiting... or am I so hideous that love shuns me, and women will never cast a second look my way - that way, anyhow? (perhaps, unlike him, I am blessed... or maybe cursed? with the ability to make close platonic female friends easily. I think it's a factor of the slightly dysfunctional Y chromosome. Women feel safe around me. dammit!!)
I have sat on a cliff and felt so utterly insignificant in the scheme of things, and so sad. People pass me over. I'm invisible in a crowd of two. Maybe, just mabe if I lean forwards just a little bit more this will end. Nobody would notice anyhow...
I'm older now, and if I could go back and face myself (and by implication - him) I'd :
1) slap myself in the face. Hard. and say
2) it's not so bad. other people are hurting out there, and they're hurting
3) just as bad, if not worse than you. Open your eyes. Look at them. Look at the girl who's pouring her heart out to you about how she got raped by her then-boyfriend. Look at the girl who's boyfriend of three years, the love of her life - died of leukaemia. Look at how she holds her head up with quiet dignity, despite the invisible tears cascading down her cheeks that her eyes betray.
Look at yourself, a few years later, falling farther into the abyss, missing someone so acutely that it actually hurts, physically, and it really feels like descending into madness. And realise that it isn't so bad where you are now. And brace yourself, because it does get worse.
4) And then it gets better, oh, about six or seven years later. You just have to learn to put up with it. And stop
5) seeing things through your own eyes. And realise that you're being bloody self-centred and you really ARE being pathetic, but
6) you can be more. And you can live with yourself. and really...
7) a "proper" relationship isn't all that it's cut up to be.
8) Love comes and goes. Someone quoted someone else (this is a bit hazy) as saying there's love, big love, and Great love.
Well, love, and big love, the type that fall apart... they're not that great. They're not everything they're cut up to be, and the aftermath of all that is horribly inconvenient, unpleasant, and you're really much better off never knowing it. Really.
9) You're waiting for "great love". That's your answer. And it's better to stay unsullied while you wait...
10) So quit being a pratt. Because life ain't so bad. And you don't need anybody to tell you that. You just have to learn to open your eyes, and then open them again.
See yourself as you really are. (not so pathetic)
See everyone else as they really are. (more pathetic than they look)
And smile. Because life's... a bitch. And someone up there sure has a funny sense of humour. But it is kinda funny. And you know what? You'll live.
