Love

A Matter Of Perspective

*Interior with an Etruscan Vase* by Henri Matisse

Break-ups suck. It’s a universal truth that everyone accepts as gospel at this point. It doesn’t matter if it was painless, if you and your ex are still on speaking terms and are very friendly with one another (please note that there’s probably around three people in your life who mutter a ‘fuck you’ internally whenever you relate that fact to them) – regardless of the circumstances, the actual act of ending a relationship is not a fun process; the shearing of that particular sort of connection, the realignment of your thoughts towards a person, the loss of the closeness and intimacy you might have acquired during your time together.. it’s something that takes time for a person to process and get through, and even then, you’re not entirely in the clear. Some of that stuff stays with you for years. Maybe forever.

Sounds like a lot of fun, no? Kind of makes you wonder why we put ourselves through that whole ringer, over and over. Something about the fact that the waves of our hopes and dreams just keep crashing against the rocks of that particular inaccessible island seems a little…unwise, perhaps.

But what can we really do? I mean, of course there are people among us for whom the idea of perpetual singledom is something they wholeheartedly welcome and enjoy (and believe me, I’ve tried my hand at that so many times. It’s hard. The people who manage to do this are wizards, in my opinion) but beyond the adjustment of perspective that allows one to appreciate the times when you’re single, alone and by yourself, the deeply natural desire of wanting to be around someone and to share parts of your life with them remains a strong, almost pulsating thing in the back of one’s mind that pushes you to keep trying to satisfy it. It sounds a little insidious when I paint it that way, but come on, how many times have you cursed yourself for being back in that same loop where you keep waiting for a text that takes a little too long to come along, only to feel entirely dumb when it does and you realize that your crush was just talking on the goddamn phone. It’s deeply silly and entirely human (perhaps the reason it’s silly IS that it’s human, honestly).

So we can probably agree that we’ll keep trying (or hoping) to meet that special person someday, and that we’ll go through a breakup (or a dozen) in our attempt to do so, and that it’ll hurt like a motherfucker almost every time. Right? Well, not to get all relationship advice-y on you – and that ship might have sailed already – but I’ve found that there’s something that helps me look back at these experiences with a feeling that’s not just a mixture of sadness and bitterness.

Fact is, regardless of how things ended, the experiences you went through changed your life in some way. That’s usually what I stop to investigate for a little while, and the things I discover often do astound me. Sure, sometimes the impact is minimal, but it’s balanced out by the times when someone allows you to change your whole outlook on what you want out of a relationship, and what you’re able to compromise on vs what’s gonna be a hard pass for you. But even beyond that, sometimes I think of what I’ve learned from prior exes, or the small ways they’ve enriched my life, and it’s often a thing that makes me smile. Yes, they may no longer be with you, but there’s a part of you that’s forever changed because of them – and hopefully that’s a thought that introduces a bit of gentle warmth into your heart.

For fun, let’s see some of the ways things have changed for me. My first long-term relationship left me with a deep appreciation for better kinds of tea (seriously, how I managed to just drink Lipton for almost 26 years at that point is beyond me), and introduced me to the marvels of sriracha, a thing I never knew existed but cannot live without at this point. Others have allowed me to question my place in the world, and what I want for myself. They made me think about international politics, and how deeply I ought to engage with that in comparison to more local affairs. They made me work a little harder, study a little more, just to live up to their example. They’ve made me care about good design, and introduced me to so…much…music that I’d have never found on my own (this comes with the caveat that sometimes that music reminds me of them, but..you know). And, on a slighter but hardly more minor level, they allowed me to finally get around to watching shows that I should’ve been checking out many years ago.

So it’s not really an exaggeration to say that those people have been instrumental in making me who I am today, and while there are aspects of me that I’d like to change, there remain parts I like a lot that can be traced directly to the influence of those people. I couldn’t be grateful enough for the time they spent in my life, and I can only hope that they could one day look at me with equal kindness. I hope we all can.

Anyway, give it a go sometime, yeah? I promise, you won’t be disappointed.

The Grey Language of Love

Source: http://kosha-bathia.deviantart.com/art/My-heart-s-a-fading-356371578

Not too long ago, I used to write these little poems; words of endearment towards a loved one which I hoped would brighten their day. But now I go back to those poems, and I feel like the words are devoid of any meaning whatsoever.

Now, you might roll your eyes at this, thinking ‘Well, of course. That relationship is over. Why would the words still hold meaning?’ And perhaps that is part of the reason. But the larger, less explored issue here is how the language of love has become overused to the point of meaninglessness.

You know how, if you say a word too many times, it starts losing its meaning and you start thinking it just sounds funny? I feel like this is the case now with such proclamations of affection. Think about it; all those phrases and metaphors and grand statements. Waxing poetic on how someone’s face is sculpted like an ancient goddess, or how their eyes catch the light of the sunset, or how their rippling hair seems to remind you of the endless ocean. These all sound nice, but are they really reflective of the love you feel? Or are they just words, bound to be repeated over and over as time goes by?

Mind you, I do not say that those who use it do not mean it. On the contrary, I feel like it’s not easy to come by these words, and so they’re probably being truthful. However, I personally feel like I’ve lost interest in them. You can come up with some colossal proclamation of love, something that belongs in a romance novel for the ages, and I would still feel like it fails to capture the essence of it all.

But why is that the case?

Perhaps it’s become too impersonal, this vocabulary of love we utilize. All these words we share with loved ones, the words we hear in songs and movies and shows every single day. They’ve all become faded, overused and in need of retiring, if only for the sole purpose of giving them meaning again. Otherwise, one day you’ll be told you’re someone’s shining star, and all you’ll manage is a shrug.

‘Sure, like I haven’t heard that before. Boring.’

For me at least, it seems like I’m infinitely more interested in the love we allude to, rather than that we proclaim. The minute details of someone’s life and actions, which reflect the feelings they have for someone else. Beyond any accusations of faking emotion or words, there is a present, unique value to these details that is richer — if not more ornate — than any word I can think of.

So perhaps the next time I write a poem, I’ll think less about the words being written, and more about what the action of writing itself indicates. Maybe then I’ll feel better about it.

Oculus

There was a moment, during my recent corrective surgery, where the doctor attempted to gently open a flap that was created using a pretty precise. laser. Problem with that is the fact that the flap is rather tiny, and often fibers from within the eye itself are not completely sliced. So the doctor has to use a set of pliers to gently pull and nudge at the flap, until those fibers yield and the incision is clear.

It was days later that it occurred to me how you and I seem to have followed a similar trajectory.

I honestly do not know how it happened. But something got in there pretty fast, and a bond that ties us together seemed to have been cut altogether. I played it back in my mind a thousand times, to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. But no, it was all just fine.

Until it wasn’t.

And if I thought that was confusing, then I cannot begin to express how I felt when, over the following days, I watched as something invisible tugged at the torn flap in our relationship, while strands of tissue awkwardly stretched and then gave way in resignation. It was in our interactions, in the way we avoided looking at one another, in the stunted conversations and the too-long pauses that seemed to punctuate every attempt to work against that indelible force.

But it just felt like an inevitability after a while. I realized that I was starting to treat it like it was the new norm; I was leaning into the gusts of dissolution, letting them drive me away from you. I knew that I was probably coming across like a total ass, but it seemed like you too had accepted the new status quo, and we were just merely engaging in the necessary dance of separation.

If I were to attempt to describe how it felt, and still feels sometimes — whenever I let it, that is, I’d say that my brain catches fire; it blazes with too many thoughts and questions and emotions that I end up just shutting it all down. I do so because, I know that if I were to let it go on, it would just burn endlessly, seeking an answer that simply doesn’t exist. Who knows why these things end? Sometimes there’s a clear instigating incident, other times it’s a slow vague spiral into a grey nothingness. It’s not even thrilling, the way violent endings are.

Perhaps that’s the thing that saddens me the most; the apathy in which we seem to have both drowned in.

— — -

After the flap is successfully shorn aside, the doctor utilizes the laser to make the necessary corrective changes, and then methodically realign the flap against the cornea, giving it the chance to naturally heal. A part of me, a not-so-small part, wishes the analogy would carry through to this conclusion instead. I’m hoping this tear allows for a reunion in the future, one that houses a healthier, stronger core, that gives us the gift of a sharper image of what is to come.