Figures of speech

English is a wonderful language. It finds a way to make poetic the most basic speech and thought blunders. There’s a way to justify two seemingly contradictory sentences (paradox), there’s a way to justify exaggeration (hyperbole), there’s even a way to justify overpromising and under-delivering (anti-climax).

If we strip them of their romanticism, figures of speech could well be the justifications of the English world.  

Justifications. How I hate the word. Justifications are these mental parasites, eating away at the psyche till closure becomes a distant dream. They make you twist, stretch and manipulate facts till they can sit comfortably in our bellies, ready to digest…

At what point in our lives does it become okay to circumvent the truth—our own, people’s and things? At what point do we start toying with the possibility of finding an explanation that can redeem us from our very worst—thoughts as well as actions?

Who are we deceiving? Ourselves? The people we’ve hurt? Or all the judges who secretly terrify us? But the more important question is when does it stop?

I think it stops the day we can find the courage to look ourselves in the eye and say sorry. A little bit of your world rights itself the day you’re able to say, “I forgive you” and mean it. Because even while we love ourselves unconditionally, we don’t always like the person we’ve become. Sometimes, we need to forgive ourselves before we ask others to. And the day we forgive ourselves, it becomes easier to apologise to others.

For a while in between, I’d forgotten to say sorry. I was so engrossed in playing the victim in one part of my life that I forgot the other part completely. The part that was still living, breathing, talking, laughing and making mistakes.  I never went back to correct those mistakes… Never looked back to see the people waiting for me…to explain…to justify.

When I finally turned around, I found those people still standing there. Because when they said through thick and thin, they meant it…And despite the things I’d done and the expectations I’d failed, they continued to love me. That’s when I realised that these people deserved more than a justification…more than platitudes and half-baked theories. They deserved a simple, straight-from-the-heart apology.

The first few steps were difficult. There was that big bite of humble pie, the slow chew and the ultimate swallow that had to be endured before the words would come out. But the aftertaste is something I’ll never forget. It was like a shot of pure oxygen… It is that something that restores vitality…

I wish I’d done it earlier. But I’m very happy I’ve done it before it’s too late. Every day, the line of people shrinks a little bit. Maybe it’s a karmic debt I’m repaying, because I’ve been waiting for so long to hear one sorry…

Even as I say those sorrys, I know that I can’t make everything right with everyone again. There are things that can never be forgotten. Just like there are things that I can’t forget. Feelings have memories that are hard to erase. I don’t know if I can ever forget how much it hurt, but I know that a sorry helps. Because even if words and actions can’t be taken back, and sometimes the hurt is so overwhelming that it implodes instead of exploding; it helps to know that your hurt is regretted…

So while I wait in someone’s line, I’m making inroads into my own… I know some of them will decide they can’t forgive, forget and move on. I can sense that some journeys are on the verge of ending. But I don’t want to rob those travellers of the dignity of closure. Even if I fucked up, I don’t want our relationship to become a figure of speech in our lives. Some day, maybe some one will show me the same respect. J

Rumpled sheets

It's been a while since I slept with someone. No, not in that way. But in the way you do when you let your guard down... When you let all your defences slip and are naked in a way that's more vulnerable than even physical nudity.

I'm not exactly the cuddling and snuggling type... But even I can recognise that sometimes, giving up half the bed to someone, the struggle for the blanket, having someone's leg flung over you... It's all worth it. Because it makes the demons go away. Because when you suddenly wake up in the middle of the night, it doesn't feel like the darkness will swallow you. Because it's nice to have someone kiss your mind into silence. Sometimes, not always.

Sure, there's the morning breath, the scratch of of his beard, the snores, the oppressive heat of a body always denting the other side of the mattress. But for once I'm wondering, would all these things be quite so bad? A little part of me wants all these things. Or wants to want it. I don't know.

Today, none of the evils seem quite as evil. Maybe I'm truly growing older. Maybe I'm just a little bit regretful... Because the only time I stayed with a boy, I insisted on a separate room. I always had a bed to slip into if I was restless. I always had a blanket that I wouldn't have to share. If it felt too much like marriage and commitment. Again, the obsessive need for a fire exit...

I'm wondering today, if the time had been right, if I hadn't been so hasty in my exit, would M and I be together today? Do I really even want the answer to that question?

Right now, I'm looking at my bed, my comforter, my pillows... And none of it is making me happy. I'd much rather have the sheets rumpled... To hear his breathing, strong and even, just like M himself is, instead of the time bomb that's been ticking inside my head since 15th September. I want to know that if I was to reach out, I wouldn't be left clutching at thin air. Because that would just kill me... To know with absolute certainty that he's gone. And so is M...

Mum and dad have been married for twenty-nine years. That's over 11,000 days and nights that they've spent together. Like every dramatic and imaginative child, I sometimes wondered, after a particularly loud screaming match, why they chose to live together and make each other miserable? Why they put up with each other's shit? I never thought sleeping together would ever figure in the varying answers that would come to my mind... Today, the answer seems as natural as the way in which their bodies curve towards each other. Just the right degree of closeness... It must have taken papa months to figure out how to be perfectly placed so that mum is protected from the direct blast of his AC and still be close enough so that if mum was to turn to him, she'd find herself safely tucked away near his heart. And it must have taken mum equally long to learn to adjust to papa's freezing temperatures and many pillows...

Maybe if I'd stayed all those nights... Maybe if, instead of roaming around the house after he was asleep, I'd stayed and wriggled in his arms till I found my perfect spot, I'd wake up to rumpled sheets too, like mum will, tomorrow, and every other morning of their lives.

Courting Romance

I went on a date tonight.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. I wasn't expecting to enjoy myself quite this much. And I certainly wasn't expecting to come back home giggly and with wine-stained lips. And I most certainly wasn't expecting to check my phone every 90 seconds to see if he had messaged. :)

If I were a different person, a younger version of myself; this feeling would probably be the indicator of a new relationship being just around the corner. But I'm not that person. So if this isn't a relationship and if I'm not in the market for a fling, what is this feeling? And exactly where are we going with this?

The answer is simple--it's romance.

I'd forgotten how good it felt to be wooed. To have someone call you 50 times a day, talk with to you till the sun starts to appear on the horizon and travel across town for a coffee date. It's a nice, warm, fuzzy feeling--knowing that you're worth ditching that meeting for. No matter how confident I am in my person, it takes romance to make me feel truly sexy. I suspect that might be the case for a whole lot of women I know as well. It was good to be reminded of all those things that I'd let myself forget, It felt good to come out of hiding. I'd forgotten there was a world beyond the rock I was hiding under. For the past few months, I'd been so hung up on love, friendship and all those BIG feelings, that I'd completely turned my back on the unassuming joys of the littler feelings like romance. I hear people complaining that the romance has gone out of their relationships. And I've never been able to empathise... Not because romance has been my constant companion, but because for me, when feelings linger beyond the death of romance, that's when I know I'm in trouble. Once before, it made me incredibly happy. Because I knew I was in love. The second time around, it petrified me. Because I knew this could and would end badly... Maybe I'm a product of faulty wiring, but that's how it is. In my head, love is such an overwhelming emotion, it doesn't even need romance to sustain it. Which is why I never fall out of love. I just learn how to deal with it, dilute it and lock it up inside.

But thinking about love and romance also made me wonder, if it's just about feeling sexy and being wooed, what would it take to prise me away from Mr T? If it's just that, isn't it entirely possible, even probable, that I'm just playing a waiting game... That I'm here, in this thing, only until the next guy comes along? Someone with better things to say, someone who makes me laugh harder, someone more intelligent, someone better at romance?

As much as I hate to admit it, the answer is yes. It probably would not take much for me to walk out of Mr T's life and into someone else's. I know I'm thinking like a selfish bitch, but stripped of the romance and what could be, should be, but will NOT be, this is my truth. For now, at least.

For many reasons, I don't have what it would take to fall in love. There is a boundary that the past has set and I can't imagine anyone crossing it in the foreseeable future. At this point in time, I don't even trust myself, let alone trusting anyone else, so I know this thing with Mr T isn't going to culminate in love and a happily ever after. Because I won't let myself fall in love and the day I realise he might, I'll walk away.

As far as relationships go, thinking the way I am probably doesn't bode too well for its future. I started this post thinking I'd write about something else entirely. While writing it, I was a little sickened to see how clinically and dispassionately I could analyse my feelings. But right now, I'm not feeling too guilty. I'm okay about feeling this way.

Because I've realised, it's okay to not think about the future, and it's okay to not make plans and then try to alter things to fit into those plans. Because life has a wicked way of making you want to wear lace when you really should be wearing woolens. And sometimes, you just have to get hypothermia before you quietly wrap yourself in a sweater.

A few months ago, I thought I had it all figured out. I'd decided to marry Mr Right, I'd decided I wouldn't expect anything from Mr Wrong. I'd decided this and I'd decided that and my life was going to be okay. Today Mr Right is married to Mrs Right and I still sometimes cry when I think about Mr Wrong and how things simply imploded one day... All the planning came to nothing, and I can't muster the strength to go through the process again.

So for the first time in my life, I don't have a future. It's scary, but it's exhilarating. This relationship might not have a future, but it has a present--he's courting me and I'm courting romance. :)