Love is like magic
And it always will be.
If you say so, let us see it be.
For love still remains
Life’s mystery!!
It’s a mystery alright; I don’t understand it, all of it, any of it!!
Love works in ways that are
Wondrous and strange
I don’t want strange; I want simple and clear, precise arrange
And there’s nothing in life
That love cannot change!!
Except for my heart that love did derange!!
Love can transform
The most common place
Into wearied, unnerving deluded craze?
Into beauty and splendor
And sweetness and grace.
I do not know this love of which you speak.
Love is unselfish
But man is selfish
Understanding and kind
The world is treacherous and very unkind
For it sees with its heart
And not with its mind!!
Clearly love is leaving me behind!!
Love is the answer
That everyone seeks…
Maybe I’ I’ll find it in two weeks?
Love is the language
Of the strange?
That every heart speaks.
And oh how bad a broken heart reeks.
Love cannot be bought
Diamond rings and boat?
It is priceless and free.
In Utopia.
Love
Liar
Like pure magic
Of the tragic?
Is life’s sweet mystery
Ofcourse it’s a mystery…one day I see it, one day I don’t
All a big freaking mystery…
[Helen Steiner Rice + Me]
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
ABSCONDITUS
May Be One Day I Will
Maybe I will day I’ ill leave
Maybe one day I’ ill remember
Maybe one day I’ ill live
Maybe one day I’ ill breathe
Today I live, I breathe, I be a lot
I ran and ran and ran
Towards sunlight
Away from fright
I ran to nothing
I ran for loathing
I ran from everything
And everything I ran for
When all the American rejects find me
When Imogene Heap knocks at my door
Estelle makes me reminisce
I think I stole her American boy
And no green lights
Not even 3000 Legends
Will steal my Sunshine
Let me to my solace, my peace, my minds
Join me, if you must
Let go, if you can’t
This here is not for all kinds
No sane thought exists
There’s no other can save me
When I see you at the Crossroads
Don’t tell me I rumble
I’m just trying to unwind
Good God I think I just re-wrote the old “insane”
I stop before I get too stupid
Stop me before I sound so damn “sane”
Thursday, January 15, 2009
WNS
For the first time this winter, the snow seemed whiter than it really was; it was no longer the annoying white stuff on the ground that represented very cold days ahead, it was no longer the icy and slippery roads that made it tricky to move around. It was the white snow that you could roll in two hands and play snow fights with, the slippery paths became skating alleys and as our shoes and feet got lost in the many, many inches of snow, we laughed and shook our selves off, very oblivious to the cold and to the fact that our feet would be soaked all through once we got indoors and the snow started to melt. For us, it was play time and our laughter bounced off huge brick walls of empty buildings that were once giant warehouses, we sang in tuneless tones, and danced in the middle of the roads as cars swerved by, hooting in annoyance, gazing and scolding; young men and women these days have no respect, look at them, they are probably drunk college kids skipping class this first week of school. There was no other explanation, in the eyes of the watchful, for our errant behavior; it was just bizarre to watch.
We did not even look back at the dark, square building that we were leaving behind. It just stood there, solitary and miserable like we had found it, stood there frowning at us and wondering why we were acting like circus monkeys high on acid. We left behind us, the building with its haunting, dark presence, the rooms with their nearly blinding light, the posters with their imposing judgment, and the books with their varying degrees of terrifying dispositions. We did not even look back, did not even stop to think about the other people that had been to the very same building, did not stop to think about the other people that were yet to pay the very same visit we had just partaken; we did not stop to look back and wonder how things would have been had we left the building in different circumstances, different results, different scenes, different answers, unanswered prayers. All we cared about was that we were young, we were free, we were reckless and we had the rest of our lives to be even more reckless. We had learnt nothing.
It is not every day that your best friend comes into the room and suggests that you both go for an HIV test. We live in a world where people are completely afraid of mentioning anything to do with HIV, AIDS, and STDs. These are taboos and make for uncomfortable conversations, not exactly the type of thing you would bring up during dinner, cocktails or parties. It is not something people want to talk about unless they absolutely must. And even then, it is all hushed tones and quiet corners, the secrecy that shrouds it is so robust and unnecessary. Could the reason people hold off talking about HIV be because it is a sexually transmitted disease? Could the reason people despise STDs be because they involve the act of sex, of copulating, two bodies coming together as one to engage in only the most natural form of loving expression? Where did this stigma come from, who gave it birth, who gave it word and who oils its wheels and fuels its magnificence? Why all the stigma?
A movie is rated according to the amount of swearing involved, on how loud the gun fire is, but most of all, the sexual content of any movie will determine whether it is fit for the human eye. The magazines in the shops depicting naked ladies and half-dressed men are slowly gently pushed to the side of the display rack and you would have to be extremely bold to walk up to the whole lot and, in full view of the people in the shop or in full view of your family, pick out the one with the most nakedness on the front. Kissing scenes in movies embarrass us; love making scenes make us gag and when we watch movies with our parents. Sexual Education is a controversy topic and many parents are not sure they want their children to know about the ins and outs of their bedroom. We live in a world where sex is placed on two extreme scales; on one side of the scale, it is revered and worshiped, obsessed about and abused at the same time. On the other side of the scale, we despise sex, refusing to talk about it and shame on he who so dares to come out and boldly express his views on the wonders of love making. A girl who freely expresses herself sexually with as many boys as she chooses, is labeled a “loose one” and the sons are urged by their mothers to stay away from her, songs with sexual content are frowned upon by the “proper and educated public,” it is much easier to go into a store to buy a pack of gum than it is to buy a pack of condoms, when my girl friends ask me how many men I have slept with, I am very eager to down play the number to single figures. Is it just me who sees the insanity of all of this? I fail to understand it, not sure if this is the way that things have always been, have we always had this insanely bizarre attitude towards this amazing thing.
I think that maybe our fate was sealed when Eve ate the forbidden fruit and proceeded to seduce Adam into sharing the unfortunate downfall with him. I think that maybe our fate was sealed when God cast the two love-birds out of Eden and the world went on to mistakenly interpret the forbidden fruit as to mean something sexual, hence God looks down on sex, hence man woman and sex are wrong, hence thou must never have sex, or if you must, thou must forever live in regret and denial.
Our mistaken belief is so ingrained in us that we do not even notice there is something so wrong in what we practice. There is a little puritan in all of us, a little prudence just waiting to storm into our bedrooms at night when the nights are turned down low and the fire in our loins is burning bright. We forever suppress that which we were born to do naturally, and in that suppression comes an extreme abuse of the very thing we are trying to purge, in that suppression we give birth to sexual lunacy which we interpret as a disease of the very act of sex, not realizing that it is a result of many years of oppressing and denying nature its true call. We have been taught from a very early age that there is this great big thing which people dare not speak of in open places, and it is called sex. You do not see people walking down the street wearing shirts announcing the magic of love, the greatness of love making, the magic of sex. And if you do see someone walking down the street with those words, I can bet you that your first reaction will be an instant embarrassment, as though it was you wearing the words and the whole world was looking and judging you, I bet you that you would be mortified to walk beside such a person, that you immediately walked on the other side of the road and tried to avoid eye contact, pretended you had not seen them, not noticed them, pretended the shirt and its elegant words did not exist. We give sex, and anything related to it, such a negative connotation that I believe has led to the mass conscience creation of a killer like AIDS, a disease transmitted through many ways, mainly through sexual intercourse with another person. I believe that this pathetic illness is our own mass conscious creation because of the way we treat the act not as love making in a clear pure sense, but as sex, a sin, a derogation, a dirty act of pure evil. When did such an act of innocence and love and pleasure turn into a thing to be avoided, to abstain from, to fear from and run away from. When did this God-given gift to man become so tainted in our minds as to re-create itself into an issue of the greatest controversy. The church warns against enjoying sex at all; it is for procreation and procreation alone. I could not disagree more with the church; but what do I know, I am merely 27 and still learning from the world. I am so tempted to blame the church for misinterpreting such a wonderful act and turning it into such an uncomfortable thing and ruining only the next best thing in life. I am so tempted to storm at the church and rave and rage at it for turning every other enjoyable thing in life into plain boring matters of urgency, turning everything into mere roles, duties and stealing the fun out of life. But there are many people, things and institutions to blame, all the blame surely cannot lie with one group of old aging theologians who think they know what is best for you and me.
It is not every day that your best friend comes into your room and asks that you go with him for an HIV test. Strange as the request seemed, nerve racked as we both were, we thought that this would be a great way to start off the New Year. We were even able to get another one of our friends to come with us, and the three best friends that we were, the three best friends that we will forever be, set off for testing. We had no idea what the repercussions would be, there was always a great chance that one of us, two of us or even all three of us would turn out to be HIV positive. Were we scared? Of course we were scared. But with assurances to be there for each other and promises to be truthful and keep things secret and among ourselves, we forgot our fear for a time. We had all been reckless at some point of another. As you lie on your back and the throngs of so-called love engulf you, with a lover at your top, when the passions of madness electrify your core-being as your ears and neck are caressed in the gentlest of ways, you do not stop to ask the beautiful lover whether he is fully healthy, you do not stop to ask him when his last HIV test was and whether it was negative, you rarely pause to reach into the bathroom and grab some bit of plastic protection. When this thing takes over, all you really care about is becoming one with the person as he thrusts his humanness into you again and again. We had been reckless at one point or another, and it was only natural and brave that we allow ourselves to get tested.
I think that many people will look at what we did and call us brave, responsible young men and women. Some will say we posses loose morals and ought to go to church confession, stay away from the sex…blah, blah, blah. We, on, the other hand were every eager to pat ourselves on the back in congratulations on negative HIV tests results. We had been given a second chance to life and nothing was going to ruin it.
But I will hold off on congratulating us too much. We are not brave; we are not great young men and women. I think that we are a naïve bunch, extremely stupid, purely careless and downright ignorant. What would have happened had the tests turned out different, had it turned out that one of us, any one of us or all of us were HIV positive? What would we have done? We went in for the tests together, as a tri, a trio, a unity, a Holy Trinity. The personal questions and the counseling that we received prior to the tests consisted of very personal questions and open prying; it left no stone unturned. Each of us took turns at the little round table in the musty room, spilling our secrets and telling things that none of us knew about each other. He had met up with girls that he had met on the internet, total strangers, and he had had sex with them. She had been with three guys on the same day; at different times of course, or was it all at the same time. Yes, she had been with three different guys all at the same time, in one very risky orgy of sorts. I on the other hand had been drunk countless number of times and some of the men’s faces I do not even remember; some of the men’s faces I do not ever recall seeing. The secrets just kept pouring out while we each undressed our very beings and allowed ourselves to lie exposed to the scrutiny and judgment of each other. Now there was nothing we did not now know about each other’s sexual exploits, each of us was very capable of blackmailing the other. But the naivety goes on; even after the tests were taken, we made the decision to receive our results together in the same room, nothing to hide, we were all for solidarity, the bond was unbreakable. As I said, we were very lucky that we came out with a second chance to life; but what if that had not been the case. Would we have bowed down and sworn to help the sick person with the positive test results, would we have been able to keep each other’s secrets to ourselves? It is very easy to answer “yes” to these questions and that is exactly what we did when we sat there; stupidly swearing oaths of undying friendship. However, I feel that these promises of friendship and loyalty would not have lived up to their eager utterances and desperate pronunciations. If it had turned out that one of us was ill, there would have been two of us judging the other as less lucky than us. A million and one apologies would have flowed, unnecessary “sorry” and “everything is going to be ok,” the annoying pity and reckless thoughts of death, dying and the nether world would have swallowed up the very air that we were breathing. And then the post-judgments that proceed these kind of situations; we would have reviewed his or her sex encounters and found them unbefitting and purely immoral; even though we too had been part of the same immorality. There would have been a rash to advise the ill person about what to do, where to go, who to see, who to talk to. In one moment we would have turned into Gods and Angels caring for the lost sheep and leading it back home, in one moment we would have turned into monsters, advising other fellow students about not sitting with the “sick-person,” not sharing a cup with them, not accepting to room with them, and desisting from hugging them, holding them, loving them: everything would change, things would not be the same.
We were stupid, we were naïve, but we were lucky everything turned out the way that it did. What would have happened had things turned out differently? As we skipped through the ice, dancing and shouting, as we dodged cars swerving by us, carelessly playing in the middle of the slippery icy roads, we did not stop to think for one minute about the other side of the coin. We are young and we are foolish, we do not care about the other visitors to this same AIDS testing center, other visitors like us, students like us, beautiful and handsome people like us, people who come out of these very same doors with very different results. They go in not knowing, they come out knowing that their days are numbered, their life is never ever going to be what it once was. We were so selfish to ignore everything else and everybody else aside from us, life was good to us, we were gods and goddesses, Adonises and Venuses: nothing could touch us now.
But there is a thing called a Window Period. This means that you have to get tested within three months and not less, after your last sexual encounter. When we were asked by the counselor when it was that we had last had sex and whether we fell within the safe-to-test Window Period, each of us was ready to provide a fittingly perfect answer; we wanted to get tested that day and we were not willing to be honest about our dates because that would only mean coming back after a couple of weeks and taking the test. It would mean that we would not be able to get tested that day since the test would not be so accurate. But we did not think of this; or we did think of this but shoved it to the back of our minds as soon as it surfaced. Our foolish young minds were eager, too eager, the eagerness of youth that most times leads to misery and heartache. We wanted tests, we wanted them then, we were unwilling to wait. Yes, the tests were all clear; but we had been dishonest. Yes, the tests were clear; but was there a chance that they had been taken too early and that there indeed was something lurking in the dark red abyss of our bodies, something that just couldn’t be detected yet. We were happy with things as they were, we wanted nothing more.
We made preparations to throw a party that night. All of the promises that we had made about abstinence and keeping things safe, about following rules and doing things right, all of these things we left in the little musty room with the round table. We were going to celebrate with alcohol, music and dancing. He was going to call up his booty call, she was going to head for her man-of-the week, I was going to find “the ex-boyfriend,” and we were going to have one heck of a party.
The tests only checked for HIV, they did not check for other Sexually Transmitted Diseases. The tests were the really basic tests that you can now buy off the internet for very little money, they were 99.9% safe and there is always that 1%. But of course our young blood coursing with excitement and new life appreciation was not thinking about any of these things as our loins suddenly flared to life and could not wait to be set free. The test only checked for HIV, there were a million and one other infections that we could have asked to be tested for, but we did not care, we were HIV negative and that is all that mattered. How naïve and, oh, how stupid!
It seemed like a very noble and daring decision to go and get tested for HIV, it was very wise, and responsible, neat and admirable. But for now I will hold off on congratulating us, for now I will sit here and ponder on the things that we have been too stupid and naïve to think about. For now I will analyze how admirable and wise our actions have been indeed!! Do not hand me the star of honor, rather, join me in sending up a prayer to the people and the folks who walk into that building on 81st Mead St, join me in sending up a prayer to those who come out of those doors with eyes down cast and hearts as heavy as steel, join me in sending up a prayer to those who have passed on to the next world from this pathetic illness or AIDS, join me in sending up a prayer to those yet to visit the little musty room with the round table, join me in sending up a prayer to the workers who walk the halls of 81st Mead St, join me and maybe together we can make a difference in this world. Let us redefine sex as an act of love making and a thing to be enjoyed and revered, let us change people’s thoughts about HIV and develop a strong love for those afflicted with the disease, let us broaden our horizons and break out from our shallow wells, let us love and let love fill us. Join me today and let us be the change we want to see in the world.
We did not even look back at the dark, square building that we were leaving behind. It just stood there, solitary and miserable like we had found it, stood there frowning at us and wondering why we were acting like circus monkeys high on acid. We left behind us, the building with its haunting, dark presence, the rooms with their nearly blinding light, the posters with their imposing judgment, and the books with their varying degrees of terrifying dispositions. We did not even look back, did not even stop to think about the other people that had been to the very same building, did not stop to think about the other people that were yet to pay the very same visit we had just partaken; we did not stop to look back and wonder how things would have been had we left the building in different circumstances, different results, different scenes, different answers, unanswered prayers. All we cared about was that we were young, we were free, we were reckless and we had the rest of our lives to be even more reckless. We had learnt nothing.
It is not every day that your best friend comes into the room and suggests that you both go for an HIV test. We live in a world where people are completely afraid of mentioning anything to do with HIV, AIDS, and STDs. These are taboos and make for uncomfortable conversations, not exactly the type of thing you would bring up during dinner, cocktails or parties. It is not something people want to talk about unless they absolutely must. And even then, it is all hushed tones and quiet corners, the secrecy that shrouds it is so robust and unnecessary. Could the reason people hold off talking about HIV be because it is a sexually transmitted disease? Could the reason people despise STDs be because they involve the act of sex, of copulating, two bodies coming together as one to engage in only the most natural form of loving expression? Where did this stigma come from, who gave it birth, who gave it word and who oils its wheels and fuels its magnificence? Why all the stigma?
A movie is rated according to the amount of swearing involved, on how loud the gun fire is, but most of all, the sexual content of any movie will determine whether it is fit for the human eye. The magazines in the shops depicting naked ladies and half-dressed men are slowly gently pushed to the side of the display rack and you would have to be extremely bold to walk up to the whole lot and, in full view of the people in the shop or in full view of your family, pick out the one with the most nakedness on the front. Kissing scenes in movies embarrass us; love making scenes make us gag and when we watch movies with our parents. Sexual Education is a controversy topic and many parents are not sure they want their children to know about the ins and outs of their bedroom. We live in a world where sex is placed on two extreme scales; on one side of the scale, it is revered and worshiped, obsessed about and abused at the same time. On the other side of the scale, we despise sex, refusing to talk about it and shame on he who so dares to come out and boldly express his views on the wonders of love making. A girl who freely expresses herself sexually with as many boys as she chooses, is labeled a “loose one” and the sons are urged by their mothers to stay away from her, songs with sexual content are frowned upon by the “proper and educated public,” it is much easier to go into a store to buy a pack of gum than it is to buy a pack of condoms, when my girl friends ask me how many men I have slept with, I am very eager to down play the number to single figures. Is it just me who sees the insanity of all of this? I fail to understand it, not sure if this is the way that things have always been, have we always had this insanely bizarre attitude towards this amazing thing.
I think that maybe our fate was sealed when Eve ate the forbidden fruit and proceeded to seduce Adam into sharing the unfortunate downfall with him. I think that maybe our fate was sealed when God cast the two love-birds out of Eden and the world went on to mistakenly interpret the forbidden fruit as to mean something sexual, hence God looks down on sex, hence man woman and sex are wrong, hence thou must never have sex, or if you must, thou must forever live in regret and denial.
Our mistaken belief is so ingrained in us that we do not even notice there is something so wrong in what we practice. There is a little puritan in all of us, a little prudence just waiting to storm into our bedrooms at night when the nights are turned down low and the fire in our loins is burning bright. We forever suppress that which we were born to do naturally, and in that suppression comes an extreme abuse of the very thing we are trying to purge, in that suppression we give birth to sexual lunacy which we interpret as a disease of the very act of sex, not realizing that it is a result of many years of oppressing and denying nature its true call. We have been taught from a very early age that there is this great big thing which people dare not speak of in open places, and it is called sex. You do not see people walking down the street wearing shirts announcing the magic of love, the greatness of love making, the magic of sex. And if you do see someone walking down the street with those words, I can bet you that your first reaction will be an instant embarrassment, as though it was you wearing the words and the whole world was looking and judging you, I bet you that you would be mortified to walk beside such a person, that you immediately walked on the other side of the road and tried to avoid eye contact, pretended you had not seen them, not noticed them, pretended the shirt and its elegant words did not exist. We give sex, and anything related to it, such a negative connotation that I believe has led to the mass conscience creation of a killer like AIDS, a disease transmitted through many ways, mainly through sexual intercourse with another person. I believe that this pathetic illness is our own mass conscious creation because of the way we treat the act not as love making in a clear pure sense, but as sex, a sin, a derogation, a dirty act of pure evil. When did such an act of innocence and love and pleasure turn into a thing to be avoided, to abstain from, to fear from and run away from. When did this God-given gift to man become so tainted in our minds as to re-create itself into an issue of the greatest controversy. The church warns against enjoying sex at all; it is for procreation and procreation alone. I could not disagree more with the church; but what do I know, I am merely 27 and still learning from the world. I am so tempted to blame the church for misinterpreting such a wonderful act and turning it into such an uncomfortable thing and ruining only the next best thing in life. I am so tempted to storm at the church and rave and rage at it for turning every other enjoyable thing in life into plain boring matters of urgency, turning everything into mere roles, duties and stealing the fun out of life. But there are many people, things and institutions to blame, all the blame surely cannot lie with one group of old aging theologians who think they know what is best for you and me.
It is not every day that your best friend comes into your room and asks that you go with him for an HIV test. Strange as the request seemed, nerve racked as we both were, we thought that this would be a great way to start off the New Year. We were even able to get another one of our friends to come with us, and the three best friends that we were, the three best friends that we will forever be, set off for testing. We had no idea what the repercussions would be, there was always a great chance that one of us, two of us or even all three of us would turn out to be HIV positive. Were we scared? Of course we were scared. But with assurances to be there for each other and promises to be truthful and keep things secret and among ourselves, we forgot our fear for a time. We had all been reckless at some point of another. As you lie on your back and the throngs of so-called love engulf you, with a lover at your top, when the passions of madness electrify your core-being as your ears and neck are caressed in the gentlest of ways, you do not stop to ask the beautiful lover whether he is fully healthy, you do not stop to ask him when his last HIV test was and whether it was negative, you rarely pause to reach into the bathroom and grab some bit of plastic protection. When this thing takes over, all you really care about is becoming one with the person as he thrusts his humanness into you again and again. We had been reckless at one point or another, and it was only natural and brave that we allow ourselves to get tested.
I think that many people will look at what we did and call us brave, responsible young men and women. Some will say we posses loose morals and ought to go to church confession, stay away from the sex…blah, blah, blah. We, on, the other hand were every eager to pat ourselves on the back in congratulations on negative HIV tests results. We had been given a second chance to life and nothing was going to ruin it.
But I will hold off on congratulating us too much. We are not brave; we are not great young men and women. I think that we are a naïve bunch, extremely stupid, purely careless and downright ignorant. What would have happened had the tests turned out different, had it turned out that one of us, any one of us or all of us were HIV positive? What would we have done? We went in for the tests together, as a tri, a trio, a unity, a Holy Trinity. The personal questions and the counseling that we received prior to the tests consisted of very personal questions and open prying; it left no stone unturned. Each of us took turns at the little round table in the musty room, spilling our secrets and telling things that none of us knew about each other. He had met up with girls that he had met on the internet, total strangers, and he had had sex with them. She had been with three guys on the same day; at different times of course, or was it all at the same time. Yes, she had been with three different guys all at the same time, in one very risky orgy of sorts. I on the other hand had been drunk countless number of times and some of the men’s faces I do not even remember; some of the men’s faces I do not ever recall seeing. The secrets just kept pouring out while we each undressed our very beings and allowed ourselves to lie exposed to the scrutiny and judgment of each other. Now there was nothing we did not now know about each other’s sexual exploits, each of us was very capable of blackmailing the other. But the naivety goes on; even after the tests were taken, we made the decision to receive our results together in the same room, nothing to hide, we were all for solidarity, the bond was unbreakable. As I said, we were very lucky that we came out with a second chance to life; but what if that had not been the case. Would we have bowed down and sworn to help the sick person with the positive test results, would we have been able to keep each other’s secrets to ourselves? It is very easy to answer “yes” to these questions and that is exactly what we did when we sat there; stupidly swearing oaths of undying friendship. However, I feel that these promises of friendship and loyalty would not have lived up to their eager utterances and desperate pronunciations. If it had turned out that one of us was ill, there would have been two of us judging the other as less lucky than us. A million and one apologies would have flowed, unnecessary “sorry” and “everything is going to be ok,” the annoying pity and reckless thoughts of death, dying and the nether world would have swallowed up the very air that we were breathing. And then the post-judgments that proceed these kind of situations; we would have reviewed his or her sex encounters and found them unbefitting and purely immoral; even though we too had been part of the same immorality. There would have been a rash to advise the ill person about what to do, where to go, who to see, who to talk to. In one moment we would have turned into Gods and Angels caring for the lost sheep and leading it back home, in one moment we would have turned into monsters, advising other fellow students about not sitting with the “sick-person,” not sharing a cup with them, not accepting to room with them, and desisting from hugging them, holding them, loving them: everything would change, things would not be the same.
We were stupid, we were naïve, but we were lucky everything turned out the way that it did. What would have happened had things turned out differently? As we skipped through the ice, dancing and shouting, as we dodged cars swerving by us, carelessly playing in the middle of the slippery icy roads, we did not stop to think for one minute about the other side of the coin. We are young and we are foolish, we do not care about the other visitors to this same AIDS testing center, other visitors like us, students like us, beautiful and handsome people like us, people who come out of these very same doors with very different results. They go in not knowing, they come out knowing that their days are numbered, their life is never ever going to be what it once was. We were so selfish to ignore everything else and everybody else aside from us, life was good to us, we were gods and goddesses, Adonises and Venuses: nothing could touch us now.
But there is a thing called a Window Period. This means that you have to get tested within three months and not less, after your last sexual encounter. When we were asked by the counselor when it was that we had last had sex and whether we fell within the safe-to-test Window Period, each of us was ready to provide a fittingly perfect answer; we wanted to get tested that day and we were not willing to be honest about our dates because that would only mean coming back after a couple of weeks and taking the test. It would mean that we would not be able to get tested that day since the test would not be so accurate. But we did not think of this; or we did think of this but shoved it to the back of our minds as soon as it surfaced. Our foolish young minds were eager, too eager, the eagerness of youth that most times leads to misery and heartache. We wanted tests, we wanted them then, we were unwilling to wait. Yes, the tests were all clear; but we had been dishonest. Yes, the tests were clear; but was there a chance that they had been taken too early and that there indeed was something lurking in the dark red abyss of our bodies, something that just couldn’t be detected yet. We were happy with things as they were, we wanted nothing more.
We made preparations to throw a party that night. All of the promises that we had made about abstinence and keeping things safe, about following rules and doing things right, all of these things we left in the little musty room with the round table. We were going to celebrate with alcohol, music and dancing. He was going to call up his booty call, she was going to head for her man-of-the week, I was going to find “the ex-boyfriend,” and we were going to have one heck of a party.
The tests only checked for HIV, they did not check for other Sexually Transmitted Diseases. The tests were the really basic tests that you can now buy off the internet for very little money, they were 99.9% safe and there is always that 1%. But of course our young blood coursing with excitement and new life appreciation was not thinking about any of these things as our loins suddenly flared to life and could not wait to be set free. The test only checked for HIV, there were a million and one other infections that we could have asked to be tested for, but we did not care, we were HIV negative and that is all that mattered. How naïve and, oh, how stupid!
It seemed like a very noble and daring decision to go and get tested for HIV, it was very wise, and responsible, neat and admirable. But for now I will hold off on congratulating us, for now I will sit here and ponder on the things that we have been too stupid and naïve to think about. For now I will analyze how admirable and wise our actions have been indeed!! Do not hand me the star of honor, rather, join me in sending up a prayer to the people and the folks who walk into that building on 81st Mead St, join me in sending up a prayer to those who come out of those doors with eyes down cast and hearts as heavy as steel, join me in sending up a prayer to those who have passed on to the next world from this pathetic illness or AIDS, join me in sending up a prayer to those yet to visit the little musty room with the round table, join me in sending up a prayer to the workers who walk the halls of 81st Mead St, join me and maybe together we can make a difference in this world. Let us redefine sex as an act of love making and a thing to be enjoyed and revered, let us change people’s thoughts about HIV and develop a strong love for those afflicted with the disease, let us broaden our horizons and break out from our shallow wells, let us love and let love fill us. Join me today and let us be the change we want to see in the world.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
SEE WHAT YOU DON'T
You call me Skitzo-friend, I call you un-believer.
I see the rabbits fly; I tell you I see the rabbits high.
“No honey,” you say, “There are no rabbits there, just your mind playing again.”
But I see what I see, I know what I see, I feel what I see.
Because you cannot see it, I am mad. You label me you label you label me mad I bubble label bubble why do you label me.
Why must I conform confirm. I don’t want to be like you, I don’t want to talk like laugh like bend like be like, I don’t want to be like you. Why must I conform confirm.
There go the rats with giant fangs, great red eyes and bleeding fangs. Get the rats away from me, they suck me dry, they tear at my flesh. You don’t see it, but they come to me at night when all is quiet. Screechingly sweetly they come at me. You were not there, they came at me.
“And what do these rats do to you when they come?”
They laugh and play and then they play hard and when their teeth start to grow out, they eat at me, they eat at me, they eat at me…no…no…no…no…make it stop…
“There are no rats here, you can sit back in the chair. Come out from under that table, you are safe now, sit down, sit down.”
The pills again, again with the pills, red white blue and silver. I don’t like the pills. They dry out my mouth, they make me shake, the pills give me the twitch, they make me sick. Why the pills, enough with the pills.
The pills make me see what you see, hear what you hear, feel what you feel, laugh alike like alike like you laugh. The pills, you say, make me “normal.” But what is normal, and who decides what is normal and what isn’t? Just because I see what you don’t, you “little-brained-un-believer,” doesn’t give you cause to drawn me in misery with red white blue and silver, redwhitebluesilver.
You say that you are drowning out my misery, and yet I tell you this, you are flooding me with even more unnecessary m-i-s-e-r-y.
I do not want to be like you, I don’t want to be you. Why are you forcing my mouth open…no…no…no…no…choke…choke…gulp…gulp…gulp. Oh now I see you smile at me, you pat me like I am your dog; good dog, you say, good dog. The medicine will make you feel better.
Conform confirm I must confirm.
Why conform confirm affirm re-calm, who says I am calm, who says I was not calm.
Einstein, Emerson, Socrates, Jesus; you know I know we know…This thing they call “madness” you know, I know, it is not madness when we feel what they don’t feel.
I am the believer; you are the un-believer. I am the seer, you are the blind one. It is you that should be taking the pills, it is you that should be strung up to the metal rods, it is your brain I should be poking.
Let my brain alone. Let my being alone. You annoy me when you prod me like that. Let me be. Why don’t you let me be. I hurt no one, I harm no one. Let me to my ghosts, my rats that suck the blood, my rabbits that fly the skies, let me alone with my voices numerous as they are.
I like that they talk to me, I like that they sing to me. Let me with my world that is square and you can keep your world that is round. I am happy, I harm no one. Enough with your prodding, let me be.
I can draw in 3 dimension. I can sing in 4 dimension. I can figure atomics and make god and gold in cleverest ways wide and small. I can bend the waves, accost the vibrations, fold the wind and hear the birds. All of these things and many more, I and only I can do.
You have seen my paintings, you have heard my music, you have felt my power, you have watched my greatness, and every day you enjoy my creations. Enough with the prodding; let me be.
You call me Skitzo-friend; I call you un-believer.
Switch roles with me. Come into my world. Join my being. Come see what I see and I bet you much that you will never, after, despise me, my works, my dreams, my people.
You call me Skitzo-friend; I call you un-believer.
I see the rabbits fly; I tell you I see the rabbits high.
“No honey,” you say, “There are no rabbits there, just your mind playing again.”
But I see what I see, I know what I see, I feel what I see.
Because you cannot see it, I am mad. You label me you label you label me mad I bubble label bubble why do you label me.
Why must I conform confirm. I don’t want to be like you, I don’t want to talk like laugh like bend like be like, I don’t want to be like you. Why must I conform confirm.
There go the rats with giant fangs, great red eyes and bleeding fangs. Get the rats away from me, they suck me dry, they tear at my flesh. You don’t see it, but they come to me at night when all is quiet. Screechingly sweetly they come at me. You were not there, they came at me.
“And what do these rats do to you when they come?”
They laugh and play and then they play hard and when their teeth start to grow out, they eat at me, they eat at me, they eat at me…no…no…no…no…make it stop…
“There are no rats here, you can sit back in the chair. Come out from under that table, you are safe now, sit down, sit down.”
The pills again, again with the pills, red white blue and silver. I don’t like the pills. They dry out my mouth, they make me shake, the pills give me the twitch, they make me sick. Why the pills, enough with the pills.
The pills make me see what you see, hear what you hear, feel what you feel, laugh alike like alike like you laugh. The pills, you say, make me “normal.” But what is normal, and who decides what is normal and what isn’t? Just because I see what you don’t, you “little-brained-un-believer,” doesn’t give you cause to drawn me in misery with red white blue and silver, redwhitebluesilver.
You say that you are drowning out my misery, and yet I tell you this, you are flooding me with even more unnecessary m-i-s-e-r-y.
I do not want to be like you, I don’t want to be you. Why are you forcing my mouth open…no…no…no…no…choke…choke…gulp…gulp…gulp. Oh now I see you smile at me, you pat me like I am your dog; good dog, you say, good dog. The medicine will make you feel better.
Conform confirm I must confirm.
Why conform confirm affirm re-calm, who says I am calm, who says I was not calm.
Einstein, Emerson, Socrates, Jesus; you know I know we know…This thing they call “madness” you know, I know, it is not madness when we feel what they don’t feel.
I am the believer; you are the un-believer. I am the seer, you are the blind one. It is you that should be taking the pills, it is you that should be strung up to the metal rods, it is your brain I should be poking.
Let my brain alone. Let my being alone. You annoy me when you prod me like that. Let me be. Why don’t you let me be. I hurt no one, I harm no one. Let me to my ghosts, my rats that suck the blood, my rabbits that fly the skies, let me alone with my voices numerous as they are.
I like that they talk to me, I like that they sing to me. Let me with my world that is square and you can keep your world that is round. I am happy, I harm no one. Enough with your prodding, let me be.
I can draw in 3 dimension. I can sing in 4 dimension. I can figure atomics and make god and gold in cleverest ways wide and small. I can bend the waves, accost the vibrations, fold the wind and hear the birds. All of these things and many more, I and only I can do.
You have seen my paintings, you have heard my music, you have felt my power, you have watched my greatness, and every day you enjoy my creations. Enough with the prodding; let me be.
You call me Skitzo-friend; I call you un-believer.
Switch roles with me. Come into my world. Join my being. Come see what I see and I bet you much that you will never, after, despise me, my works, my dreams, my people.
You call me Skitzo-friend; I call you un-believer.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
PECCAVI
There is nothing more frightening that being caught red-handed dipping your hand in the forbidden sugar bowl. There are many things I do not mind getting caught at because I have a life-saving theory that says that guilt and regret are man’s worst enemies, and as such, should never be given room in any sane life. If you are going to partake in an act of any kind; do it, enjoy it, forget about guilt and live a happy life. But it was now ten in the morning and as I fumbled out of the bed in which I had spent the night, I nearly tripped over the shoes carelessly strewn on the floor. I was nervous and mad, in such a rush to get out of there. I am a very light sleeper and the turning of the keys in the lock of the door had alerted me to the fact that “the room-mate” was back, I had been caught, my party had come to an end, alas reality hit me like the cold November breeze. There was a thick curtain between we, on the bed, and the roommate because, much as we had been enjoying ourselves, we knew that at some point we would have to break up the fun, and so we had erected a veil between us and the world.
As I lay perspiring from my light, albeit short sleep, I could almost hear the astonishment mixed with anger and confusion clouding “the room-mates” cognitive faculties; he was trying to understand what it is that he had walked into. I, on the other hand, pretended to be fast asleep as I planned my future escape; I had to get out of there as soon as possible or I would hate myself forever. As if reading my mind, “the room-mate” dived into the shower and I could hear water running but I was too scared to peel back “our” veil thinking he would spring out at any minute, see my face, and judge me for breaking all of the rules known to man. And so I lay there, and waited, and waited until I felt I could stand it no more, I had to run out of there as fast as possible. It was ten in the morning, the hall ways would be buzzing with dirty, sleepy, sexually frustrated Catholic boys and I did not want to be the focus of their hate. People tend to hate that which they want but can not have, and hating it, they focus so much energy on destroying it thinking that therein lies the solution to their paradox.
As I struggled out of the bed, trying to maneuver my way to the exit, I was polite enough to nudge Prince just to let him know that I was not just stealing out of his bed (which is exactly what I was doing), but running to safety. He was out like a log and the more I shook him, the louder he snored, so I threw on the few clothes that I had miraculous managed to slip off, slip on, and slip off again through out the entire night as I played hard to get, knowing full well that Prince would have in the end, any way he pleased. I dashed about the room collecting any incriminating evidence and trying desperately to leave as little of me as possible, it had been a great night, but I was not willing to dwell on it too much, there was so much involved and the web of intricacy was plain disturbing.
Prince was one of my students, my advisees, one of the kids I usually take under my wing, to nurture help and support. Prince was one of my patients! He came to me when he was dealing with problems in his relationship; the girl did not seem to be responding to his ever eager advances of love and undying faithfulness. She seemed to shun him and he was very depressed. I stayed up nights and weekends, talking him through the act of patience because, as I came to realize, patience was not a word he had heard of and it was going to take me a very long time to instill this virtue in him. But I was willing to do the work if he was willing to take the time to learn. He is one of a kind, Prince, not different from a lot of rich boys who have had the world handed to them on a plate by mummy, daddy, carer, underlings and followers. He is a very wealthy young man who has never had to ask for anything, let alone been refused anything. So, like a little child who cries when he is refused what he deems to be his by divine right, he was frustrated not able to understand why, and how a girl such as his girl friend, would not want to work at their relationship and obey his every command. It was clearly perplexing for him and that is the reason why he came to me; nobody else could stand his gigantic ego centralism, they all seemed to pass him on to the one they thought possessed the most patience…me. I am darn good at my job, saying the right things at the right times, so much so that I scare myself sometimes because I do not know how I got so good, all I know is that I have the gift of the tongue and I like to use it well.
With every emotional problem, ofcourse, there is the underlying issue of where the problem stems from. And with this, I came to find out that Prince did not feel loved by his mother who, he insists dotes on his sisters, and chooses to ignore him. Even though she would buy him the world in a second, he feels like he has been denied the hugs and kisses that his sisters have been endowed. His father, however, does not count in this because we all know that men don’t hug their sons, that is the way it has been since Adam and Eve and we are yet to see a shift in this mentality. With every case of mine, there is the temptation to reveal to my patient something of the traumatic life that I have lived, just to show them that what they are fretting over is nothing but cheesecake. But as every person in my field will admit, this strategy only falls on deaf ears because as long as a person has a problem they are revealing to you, theirs is the only focus in mind and none other; however dire and legitimate your life story, keep it to yourself or write a book or something, because it will not help the poor creature lying on your couch complaining about how bad they have had it. So I listened to Prince and I advised and taught him well, so well so that when I came back to work after taking a month off to enjoy the sunny beaches of San Diego, he seemed to be in better spirits, talking about a girl he was thinking about. It was good to see my work producing some good in a human being.
One thing about my line of work is that you get people coming to you with deep emotional revelations that they would never breath to anyone, trusting you with their lives that sometimes it can get a little unnerving knowing that you hold in your hand, the power to make or destroy someone. These people will spell their lives out to you in clear plain words, as long as you ask the right questions. And getting to their very core, they will open up wide, tear out a fraction of themselves and hand it to you, asking you to hold it, examine it, mend it and make them whole again. It is a very powerful feeling, almost akin to playing God, and hence the reason it calls for great dedication, diplomacy and professionalism. When the only way people can be near you, or be with you is when they are at their most vulnerable, then you have a role to play as a guide and protector, but we know that the world is not perfect and even surgeons do sometimes fall off the pedestal on which we are so eager to place them. I am a novice at what I do and I guess I am learning, and learning fast, about the Do’ and Don’ts of my line of work. I have no one but myself to guide me, hence the constant mishaps that I find myself in, hence the avoidable situations that I mistakenly get stuck in sometimes.
When Prince took me to dinner to thank me for everything that I had done for him, I was quick to explain to him that it was not me that had done the hard grind, it was him that had made the progress and all I did was ask the right guiding questions and slap him a hefty bill. That is really all there was to it; he paid me a lot of money so he could sit on my couch and I would listen to his problems, I could not think of a better life or a better job. Dinner was wonderful and all the while I could not help thinking how unfortunate it was that Prince could not get his “darling girl” to fall in love with him. He was clearly a gentleman, with good manners, spoilt, yes, but a gentleman none the less, and very generous.
Through out dinner we talked about his “intensive feelings” which he thought was his downfall with women. Ever since he was a young boy, Prince has always had such intense love that goes beyond mere like and adoration. He is, as his name resonates, a true Prince in his own right, born to love women and be a pleasure, as well as a companion to the female sex, and he did not have a problem with expressing himself until he came across a girl who seemed to find his endless love-confessions too much to handle. While other men were out trying to conquer as many females as they could lay on, he was trying to find someone to build a relationship with, and it had never crossed his mind that sometimes men like to have women for the sheer pleasure of it, and then kick them out of their lives at the dawn of day. It was very interesting to see the look of open naivety on his face as I revealed the secrets of the male underworld to a man who, I now realized, was only a child, in a great big world. It was endearing to watch and the more he listened, the more I felt a keen empathy for Prince because I could foresee total heartbreak in his future and I was too scared to tell him how dire his prospects were. There was a lot of work to be done and I was determined to teach him, as long as I was still getting paid.
Many, many, many hours later…
My head was pounding as I ran down the stairs jumping three at a time and nearly breaking my knee. I could feel the effects of that second bottle of wine that Prince and I had shared before we decided that we were going to make our own rules and spend the night together. But right ahead of me past the hallway, I could finally see my freedom, and yanking the door to the basement open, praying and begging that I had not been seen by anyone as I was sneaking out of the boys’ dorm, I headed past the dark allets of the basement and made it to the door leading to my salvation, I was back in the girls’ dorm. It was Sunday morning and everyone was sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s recklessness. In my room, I quickly undressed and noticed that I was wearing one of Prince’s shirts and had forgotten my blouse, my coat, and my laptop in his room, so much for not leaving any incriminating evidence to show that I had been there! But I did not have time to dwell on any of that, I had to be at a fund raising brunch in an hour, I would come back and deal with my mistakes later.
There are very few things I do not mind getting caught red-handed at because I have an open mind to a lot of the rules that judge and condition this life great big life. But sleeping with a patient is not one of those things I am very open about, reason being, it is wrong, it is so wrong it is just plain wrong. And what was more disturbing was the fact that this was not the first time it was happening. Good thing I caught this “madness” before any major scandal came to light. It only hit me the other day that Prince was not the first of my students that I was having “relations” with. And to make things even worse, all of these students, or patients if you will, had one thing in common; they all hate their mothers and complain about the lack of love from society. It is a funny thing really because all of this time I never realized that there was a common area here; I just thought that I was a woman with very loose morals, jumping into bed with her would-be-advisees due to uncontrollable urges, yet all this time, these men had this one major conflict in common.
Coming to this realization does not help matters much because now I am perplexed as to why I would feel greater empathy for men who have “trouble” with their mothers and why do I tend to attract to myself men going through this same sorry phase. I would not consider myself more nurturing than the next woman on the street, I do not believe I possess any special ability that sets me apart to be better able to deal with men in this situation; I am not maternal much, I do not possess any psychological attributes that I feel would be great weapons in healing sons and mothers. And you may be curious as to how the relations go…what happens after I leave their beds or they leave mine? Usually they just go back to being the same moody men that they were when I first met them; but this time, they are more immune to the so-called grievances that their mothers throw at them. Actually they come out of it quite renewed, but I am not sure how long this lasts because I am usually too ashamed to keep up with the friendships so I release them out into the world and wish them all the best.
I must get back to the roots of professionalism and as I mentioned before, I have no one to guide me and everything that I do is trial and error. Now I know that I can not accept a dinner invitation from any one of my patients, unless it is a female, this makes things more comfortable and less complicated. I also now know to watch out for the men with mother-son complex; they are trouble for me and my emotions; if I could understand what it is about their situation that makes me want to love them and make love to them, then I could curb this sick sexual transgression. But failing to find the root cause, I must stay away and pass them on to my other colleagues who are more than willing to take on the extra challenge.
And so it turns out the “the room-mate” did figure out that it was me that had spent the night with his once lonely and shy room-mate and the to this day he is unsure how a loner like Prince, could convince the brains as me, to share his life. He believes that Prince took advantage of me after the two bottles of wine, but I convinced him that if any one was taken advantage of, it was Prince and not me. As for the other dorm-boys, they were not as stupid as I thought they were. With the big love-bite on Prince’s neck and the loud-mouth telling of a couple of people that had seen me go into his room at eleven at night, people put two and two together, and everyone has their own version of events, and we shall leave it at that; Prince and I prefer the mystery that shrouds our friendship, we like to leave it to the gossips to fill in the gaps where they see fit.
As I lay perspiring from my light, albeit short sleep, I could almost hear the astonishment mixed with anger and confusion clouding “the room-mates” cognitive faculties; he was trying to understand what it is that he had walked into. I, on the other hand, pretended to be fast asleep as I planned my future escape; I had to get out of there as soon as possible or I would hate myself forever. As if reading my mind, “the room-mate” dived into the shower and I could hear water running but I was too scared to peel back “our” veil thinking he would spring out at any minute, see my face, and judge me for breaking all of the rules known to man. And so I lay there, and waited, and waited until I felt I could stand it no more, I had to run out of there as fast as possible. It was ten in the morning, the hall ways would be buzzing with dirty, sleepy, sexually frustrated Catholic boys and I did not want to be the focus of their hate. People tend to hate that which they want but can not have, and hating it, they focus so much energy on destroying it thinking that therein lies the solution to their paradox.
As I struggled out of the bed, trying to maneuver my way to the exit, I was polite enough to nudge Prince just to let him know that I was not just stealing out of his bed (which is exactly what I was doing), but running to safety. He was out like a log and the more I shook him, the louder he snored, so I threw on the few clothes that I had miraculous managed to slip off, slip on, and slip off again through out the entire night as I played hard to get, knowing full well that Prince would have in the end, any way he pleased. I dashed about the room collecting any incriminating evidence and trying desperately to leave as little of me as possible, it had been a great night, but I was not willing to dwell on it too much, there was so much involved and the web of intricacy was plain disturbing.
Prince was one of my students, my advisees, one of the kids I usually take under my wing, to nurture help and support. Prince was one of my patients! He came to me when he was dealing with problems in his relationship; the girl did not seem to be responding to his ever eager advances of love and undying faithfulness. She seemed to shun him and he was very depressed. I stayed up nights and weekends, talking him through the act of patience because, as I came to realize, patience was not a word he had heard of and it was going to take me a very long time to instill this virtue in him. But I was willing to do the work if he was willing to take the time to learn. He is one of a kind, Prince, not different from a lot of rich boys who have had the world handed to them on a plate by mummy, daddy, carer, underlings and followers. He is a very wealthy young man who has never had to ask for anything, let alone been refused anything. So, like a little child who cries when he is refused what he deems to be his by divine right, he was frustrated not able to understand why, and how a girl such as his girl friend, would not want to work at their relationship and obey his every command. It was clearly perplexing for him and that is the reason why he came to me; nobody else could stand his gigantic ego centralism, they all seemed to pass him on to the one they thought possessed the most patience…me. I am darn good at my job, saying the right things at the right times, so much so that I scare myself sometimes because I do not know how I got so good, all I know is that I have the gift of the tongue and I like to use it well.
With every emotional problem, ofcourse, there is the underlying issue of where the problem stems from. And with this, I came to find out that Prince did not feel loved by his mother who, he insists dotes on his sisters, and chooses to ignore him. Even though she would buy him the world in a second, he feels like he has been denied the hugs and kisses that his sisters have been endowed. His father, however, does not count in this because we all know that men don’t hug their sons, that is the way it has been since Adam and Eve and we are yet to see a shift in this mentality. With every case of mine, there is the temptation to reveal to my patient something of the traumatic life that I have lived, just to show them that what they are fretting over is nothing but cheesecake. But as every person in my field will admit, this strategy only falls on deaf ears because as long as a person has a problem they are revealing to you, theirs is the only focus in mind and none other; however dire and legitimate your life story, keep it to yourself or write a book or something, because it will not help the poor creature lying on your couch complaining about how bad they have had it. So I listened to Prince and I advised and taught him well, so well so that when I came back to work after taking a month off to enjoy the sunny beaches of San Diego, he seemed to be in better spirits, talking about a girl he was thinking about. It was good to see my work producing some good in a human being.
One thing about my line of work is that you get people coming to you with deep emotional revelations that they would never breath to anyone, trusting you with their lives that sometimes it can get a little unnerving knowing that you hold in your hand, the power to make or destroy someone. These people will spell their lives out to you in clear plain words, as long as you ask the right questions. And getting to their very core, they will open up wide, tear out a fraction of themselves and hand it to you, asking you to hold it, examine it, mend it and make them whole again. It is a very powerful feeling, almost akin to playing God, and hence the reason it calls for great dedication, diplomacy and professionalism. When the only way people can be near you, or be with you is when they are at their most vulnerable, then you have a role to play as a guide and protector, but we know that the world is not perfect and even surgeons do sometimes fall off the pedestal on which we are so eager to place them. I am a novice at what I do and I guess I am learning, and learning fast, about the Do’ and Don’ts of my line of work. I have no one but myself to guide me, hence the constant mishaps that I find myself in, hence the avoidable situations that I mistakenly get stuck in sometimes.
When Prince took me to dinner to thank me for everything that I had done for him, I was quick to explain to him that it was not me that had done the hard grind, it was him that had made the progress and all I did was ask the right guiding questions and slap him a hefty bill. That is really all there was to it; he paid me a lot of money so he could sit on my couch and I would listen to his problems, I could not think of a better life or a better job. Dinner was wonderful and all the while I could not help thinking how unfortunate it was that Prince could not get his “darling girl” to fall in love with him. He was clearly a gentleman, with good manners, spoilt, yes, but a gentleman none the less, and very generous.
Through out dinner we talked about his “intensive feelings” which he thought was his downfall with women. Ever since he was a young boy, Prince has always had such intense love that goes beyond mere like and adoration. He is, as his name resonates, a true Prince in his own right, born to love women and be a pleasure, as well as a companion to the female sex, and he did not have a problem with expressing himself until he came across a girl who seemed to find his endless love-confessions too much to handle. While other men were out trying to conquer as many females as they could lay on, he was trying to find someone to build a relationship with, and it had never crossed his mind that sometimes men like to have women for the sheer pleasure of it, and then kick them out of their lives at the dawn of day. It was very interesting to see the look of open naivety on his face as I revealed the secrets of the male underworld to a man who, I now realized, was only a child, in a great big world. It was endearing to watch and the more he listened, the more I felt a keen empathy for Prince because I could foresee total heartbreak in his future and I was too scared to tell him how dire his prospects were. There was a lot of work to be done and I was determined to teach him, as long as I was still getting paid.
Many, many, many hours later…
My head was pounding as I ran down the stairs jumping three at a time and nearly breaking my knee. I could feel the effects of that second bottle of wine that Prince and I had shared before we decided that we were going to make our own rules and spend the night together. But right ahead of me past the hallway, I could finally see my freedom, and yanking the door to the basement open, praying and begging that I had not been seen by anyone as I was sneaking out of the boys’ dorm, I headed past the dark allets of the basement and made it to the door leading to my salvation, I was back in the girls’ dorm. It was Sunday morning and everyone was sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s recklessness. In my room, I quickly undressed and noticed that I was wearing one of Prince’s shirts and had forgotten my blouse, my coat, and my laptop in his room, so much for not leaving any incriminating evidence to show that I had been there! But I did not have time to dwell on any of that, I had to be at a fund raising brunch in an hour, I would come back and deal with my mistakes later.
There are very few things I do not mind getting caught red-handed at because I have an open mind to a lot of the rules that judge and condition this life great big life. But sleeping with a patient is not one of those things I am very open about, reason being, it is wrong, it is so wrong it is just plain wrong. And what was more disturbing was the fact that this was not the first time it was happening. Good thing I caught this “madness” before any major scandal came to light. It only hit me the other day that Prince was not the first of my students that I was having “relations” with. And to make things even worse, all of these students, or patients if you will, had one thing in common; they all hate their mothers and complain about the lack of love from society. It is a funny thing really because all of this time I never realized that there was a common area here; I just thought that I was a woman with very loose morals, jumping into bed with her would-be-advisees due to uncontrollable urges, yet all this time, these men had this one major conflict in common.
Coming to this realization does not help matters much because now I am perplexed as to why I would feel greater empathy for men who have “trouble” with their mothers and why do I tend to attract to myself men going through this same sorry phase. I would not consider myself more nurturing than the next woman on the street, I do not believe I possess any special ability that sets me apart to be better able to deal with men in this situation; I am not maternal much, I do not possess any psychological attributes that I feel would be great weapons in healing sons and mothers. And you may be curious as to how the relations go…what happens after I leave their beds or they leave mine? Usually they just go back to being the same moody men that they were when I first met them; but this time, they are more immune to the so-called grievances that their mothers throw at them. Actually they come out of it quite renewed, but I am not sure how long this lasts because I am usually too ashamed to keep up with the friendships so I release them out into the world and wish them all the best.
I must get back to the roots of professionalism and as I mentioned before, I have no one to guide me and everything that I do is trial and error. Now I know that I can not accept a dinner invitation from any one of my patients, unless it is a female, this makes things more comfortable and less complicated. I also now know to watch out for the men with mother-son complex; they are trouble for me and my emotions; if I could understand what it is about their situation that makes me want to love them and make love to them, then I could curb this sick sexual transgression. But failing to find the root cause, I must stay away and pass them on to my other colleagues who are more than willing to take on the extra challenge.
And so it turns out the “the room-mate” did figure out that it was me that had spent the night with his once lonely and shy room-mate and the to this day he is unsure how a loner like Prince, could convince the brains as me, to share his life. He believes that Prince took advantage of me after the two bottles of wine, but I convinced him that if any one was taken advantage of, it was Prince and not me. As for the other dorm-boys, they were not as stupid as I thought they were. With the big love-bite on Prince’s neck and the loud-mouth telling of a couple of people that had seen me go into his room at eleven at night, people put two and two together, and everyone has their own version of events, and we shall leave it at that; Prince and I prefer the mystery that shrouds our friendship, we like to leave it to the gossips to fill in the gaps where they see fit.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
PAINT ME PERFECT
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It is true, it is very true, we do not fall in love with the people that we meet, we fall in love with the image and the portrait that we create of them, it is “the idea” of them that draws us to them and not necessarily the “true-being” of them. This image is picture- perfect. That is to us, at least. We pull this portrait out of our infinite minds, not caring that this image is sometimes not even based on what these would-be relations have presented to us; merely, on what we would like them to be to us, on what we would like to change them into. And we spend our whole lives trying to change those that we say we adore, into that famous ridiculous painting we hold so dear in our minds. Once they fail to change to our specifications, we get mad, we complain, curse and start to argue, accusing these self-same people of changing; when actually they never changed, they are who they always were. Just because they failed to transform into what we were molding, does not mean that they changed, no one changed, the picture-perfect portrait reigned supreme in our minds, somehow we thought we could win, realizing that we can not have the portrait, we despair, rant, kick and tell the world, “ I want out,” moving on then to the next victim and going through the same cycle over and over, desperately trying to fit this idea of ours, this perfect costume, onto any one person we think might carry it best.
We do this through out our lives, in all of our friendships, relations and even mere encounters. This obsession to change “that which is” into that “which we think it should be,” starts very early on when we are babies. It starts when Mother and Father look at their little bundle of joy and go about trying to change Junior into a mini adult. It starts when Mother dresses you in a skirt that looks very similar to hers, sends you to the same school that she went to, rejects the friends that she can not figure out, and finally rejects that boyfriend who does not act like, look like, or reason like your Father. I think that from a very early age, we teach our children that life is all about altering the things around us into images that make sense to our finite minds, instead of taking those new and differing things, studying them, opening up our minds to their infinite difference and trying to incorporate them into our own lives. When we encounter differences in our lives, our innate reaction is to back away, then slowly approach, trying out our altering techniques to build the difference into something familiar. We are less ready to accept the unfamiliar than we are to accept the normal, the usual and the common.
And now I have to find away to relate all of this gibberish to the human relations that I was talking about in the first place. In attempting to find a partner with who to share our lives, we sometimes go for the one we are most similar to, the one with common interests. For instance, sharing the same fascination for art, working at Cross Word puzzles, being sporty, reads the same type of books, or listens to the same type of music. This happens at a less advanced stage, because after a while, we realize that the person is so similar to us, too similar perhaps, it is like living with your own self, or living with a twin. Whereas we felt that the person we are to spend eternity with should be in very real terms similar to us, we come to the necessary conclusion that the relationship is one big party of endless familiarity; too boring, too predictable, too much too alike.
Advancing on, we try to get someone who looks like, reads like, laughs like, or behaves like a fragment of our past. This is where, two months into the relationship, we realize that his favorite song is one of Beethoven’s renditions, the very same one that your father adores, this is where the aunts start telling you that she looks like your mother who passed away when you were too little to remember. This is where we fall in love with people that remind us of a once glorious past. But let me caution here; we do not do any of these things consciously, in fact, we make these decisions on a very unconscious level and it is not until the nosy aunts with their big mouths point it out, that we come to this frightening, albeit, sweet realization. It is the friends and the friends of friends, the people close to us, it is only them that can see the startling resemblance and the connectedness, we remain always unaware.
And from then on, I have no idea what level we get to, who knows why two people end up together, a lot of factors play a profound role in this life changing decision, like the looks of the person, their personality, their ability to care for us, our ability to love them, and so on and so fourth. I am no expert in relations and I never seek to be. But I know that many times when we take a turn at this “love-thing,” we go into it with all the best intentions known to man. With our best intentions we allow ourselves to be welcomed into the life of another, enjoying the newness, the attention, the fun games and fun times, oh so magical this whole “love-thing.” And then at some point, after we have settled in, unpacked our bags, looked at everything that is on offer, at some point in all of this new beginning, our innate selfishness sets in and we start to wonder if there is more on the menu than meets the eye. We are never satisfied with what is being presented to us, somehow we must have more, it is always about more and more. Man in inherently selfish in his being; did you know that when Eve was created, she took a stroll in the Garden and catching sight of her reflection in a little pond, she fell instantly in love with her great beauty, rejecting Adam’s advances because she felt no one could be more beautiful and wonderful like she was. If you do not believe my version of story, ask John Milton, he knows, he will tell you; Eve was so obsessed with her awesomeness and from that fallacy stems our innate selfishness to change every person we come across into something pleasing to us. Man is innately selfish. But selfishness is not a sin in and of itself; in fact, it can be a life-saver sometimes, more on that later…
After settling into our comfortable relations, we get uneasy, fidgety, panicky even and we forget everything that attracted us to the situation in the first place. What we never realize is that we have always had this picture of the perfect human, in our minds. I do not know at what age we sketch it out, but I have a feeling we start building the image right from birth. The perfect human is he who is not us, he that will provide our every need including happiness, joy, love, caring, the car, the warmth; she that will cook the food, clean the house, and raise the babies. He that will make you whole; she that will complete you. We get into every relation with the wrong idea, the false image, the mistaken belief that we are un-whole, and so need to be made whole by another, that we are unloved, and so need to be loved by another. The erroneous belief often goes unchecked and we set about trying to re-create, with such gusto, the picture perfect human. From suggesting things that the partner can do differently, to proposing a change of job, change of State, change of lifestyle, we never tire in our effort to try and change people into the false images that we carried with us when we moved into their lives. Instead of accepting the wonderful differences, we complain about them, instead of appreciating the dissimilarities, we crash them with all the force we can master. In the end, we destroy the very thing we are trying to modify, when the transition fails to please us, we get angry and hurtful, everybody gets hurt, there are no winners: just losers in association. There is no way for me to conclude this piece of writing, God knows I have been looking for a fantastic way to make my exit; like a solution, or a nice piece of advice, a famous quote, or a clever remark. What closing statement shall I use? I have no advice; I have no witty retort, no response whatsoever. All I have, I have said, that which I left out, you fill in the blanks, I am no teacher, no preacher, this is no lecture. It is what I see around me, these are the conclusions I make for myself, and there is no better way to use them than to share them. Happy Holidays Everyone.
Friday, November 21, 2008
THIS LOVE THING
So I think I am back to that same bitter stage, you know that stage where I laugh cynically at every kissing couple I walk by, sneer at all the “facebook” pictures with happy smiling boy-girl faces with an annoying status that reads, “in a relationship.” Oh I can not believe I am back to that same old song where I hate anything to do with happy people being “in love.” Just thinking about it gives me goose bumps and makes me want to throw up. But there is nothing wrong with being “in-heart” with someone, it’s nice, it’s sweet, it annoys me so much. And the reason why it annoys me is because, like always, I have only managed 2 months. Yes, two months, that is, eight week, a mere eight weeks is how long I have managed to do this “relationship thing.”
I am ashamed and very embarrassed with myself, every time I talk to people asking them how long they have been together, it is always a fabulously gigantic number like 3 years, or eighteen months, or nine years. It is always in terms of years, and how long have I gone in a relationship, eight…weeks. Oh, I weep at my pathetic case.
To be honest I do not know the last time I had a relationship, and by relationship I mean that you date the person and spend time with them for a little over 2 months, less than that and it does not count as a relationship, it is something else and we should come up with a name for it. I am not sad about my break up and this is by far not a weeping letter; by no means no, I am actually a bit relieved that I am not in the “relationship thing” anymore because now I can concentrate on other things; like hating everyone who is in love, and sneering at happy boyfriends and girlfriends.
I will never understand why I seem to be incapable of having a lasting relationship. Maybe it is because I never stay in one country long enough to build something solid, maybe it is because I have not found “the-one”, that is a sad excuse by the way; there is no “the-one” he does not and will never exist, period. Or maybe it is because I am too cynical when it comes to love. I am the most positive person you will ever meet, but when it comes to matters of the heart, I am the first to spit on love and roll my eyes during the romantic scenes of any movie, song or situation. Cynism, is my big problem. But no, maybe I do not have any luck in this “love thing” because even though I love being in a relationship, I find it limiting sometimes and maybe deep down inside I really don’t want to be in a relationship, maybe that is just the way it is.
But that can not be right; I do love being in love, in relationships, blah, blah, blah. I like all of those things and now I can not understand why my ex boyfriend decided to end things. I was going to break up with him anyway but I was not expecting him to break up with me, it was my job to end things, not his. Having said that, I do not see why he would want to break things off with me; I am beautiful, intelligent, too intelligent I think, funny, wonderful, loving, caring, clean, generous, loving, peaceful, loving, I am all of these things and who wouldn’t want all of this in life. There is nothing about me that I would consider less than perfect; I have the body of a goddess, the hips of Venus, the smile of Mona Lisa and the brains of Zeus. Why oh why would anyone not want me. If I was a guy I would fall madly in love with me and buy me the whole world. I would spoil me with all sorts of expensive gifts, take me on vacation and obsess over me, making love to me over and over again. If I was a guy I would adore me. But I am not a guy, and you know what, I still adore me. Even though this makes me sound a little too full of myself, I see nothing wrong with it, I do not care that “the” ex boyfriend doesn’t see the great person that is me, I love me and I have plenty of love to go around.
The sex, I will miss the sex, I will miss the sex more than anything. It was not just sex, it was “making love” and I truly believe that every time we made love, he and I became one whole person and spirit, the sex was admirable, even I didn’t know that I had it in me. Oh the sex, the night-long sex… But there is an advantage here; at least now I will not have to wait anxiously for my periods. At least now I will not have to worry biting my nails nervously, holding that pregnancy test with shaky hands and waiting for that negative to appear; that is the most nerve wrecking moment in any woman’s life. That is, any woman who is not trying for a baby and who sure-as-hell does not want a baby…just yet. For help you God should that little blue or red mark read positive or “pregnant” then you can bet there will be a flood of light hitting your face as you watch your whole life crashing down on you while you sink and think and wonder what you are going to do next. Anyway, I won’t have any of that anxiety, and that is a freedom that I will enjoy fully, unless of course I get seduced by one of only 2 people capable of seducing me in this life; #213 and Coldwell. I should be fine unless one of these two men steps up to me and works his magic, and then I will be in trouble, but I will try hard to resist. I am a master at resistance; it can not be that hard. But for now, yes for now, I am free and I hate all you people who are in happy relationships. However, I wish you all great happiness and you never know; one day, maybe just maybe one day I will be able to do this “relationship-thing” for more than the meager two months that I seem to fall at. Until that day comes, I shall enjoy my simple little life full of greatness and magic even you can’t touch.
I am ashamed and very embarrassed with myself, every time I talk to people asking them how long they have been together, it is always a fabulously gigantic number like 3 years, or eighteen months, or nine years. It is always in terms of years, and how long have I gone in a relationship, eight…weeks. Oh, I weep at my pathetic case.
To be honest I do not know the last time I had a relationship, and by relationship I mean that you date the person and spend time with them for a little over 2 months, less than that and it does not count as a relationship, it is something else and we should come up with a name for it. I am not sad about my break up and this is by far not a weeping letter; by no means no, I am actually a bit relieved that I am not in the “relationship thing” anymore because now I can concentrate on other things; like hating everyone who is in love, and sneering at happy boyfriends and girlfriends.
I will never understand why I seem to be incapable of having a lasting relationship. Maybe it is because I never stay in one country long enough to build something solid, maybe it is because I have not found “the-one”, that is a sad excuse by the way; there is no “the-one” he does not and will never exist, period. Or maybe it is because I am too cynical when it comes to love. I am the most positive person you will ever meet, but when it comes to matters of the heart, I am the first to spit on love and roll my eyes during the romantic scenes of any movie, song or situation. Cynism, is my big problem. But no, maybe I do not have any luck in this “love thing” because even though I love being in a relationship, I find it limiting sometimes and maybe deep down inside I really don’t want to be in a relationship, maybe that is just the way it is.
But that can not be right; I do love being in love, in relationships, blah, blah, blah. I like all of those things and now I can not understand why my ex boyfriend decided to end things. I was going to break up with him anyway but I was not expecting him to break up with me, it was my job to end things, not his. Having said that, I do not see why he would want to break things off with me; I am beautiful, intelligent, too intelligent I think, funny, wonderful, loving, caring, clean, generous, loving, peaceful, loving, I am all of these things and who wouldn’t want all of this in life. There is nothing about me that I would consider less than perfect; I have the body of a goddess, the hips of Venus, the smile of Mona Lisa and the brains of Zeus. Why oh why would anyone not want me. If I was a guy I would fall madly in love with me and buy me the whole world. I would spoil me with all sorts of expensive gifts, take me on vacation and obsess over me, making love to me over and over again. If I was a guy I would adore me. But I am not a guy, and you know what, I still adore me. Even though this makes me sound a little too full of myself, I see nothing wrong with it, I do not care that “the” ex boyfriend doesn’t see the great person that is me, I love me and I have plenty of love to go around.
The sex, I will miss the sex, I will miss the sex more than anything. It was not just sex, it was “making love” and I truly believe that every time we made love, he and I became one whole person and spirit, the sex was admirable, even I didn’t know that I had it in me. Oh the sex, the night-long sex… But there is an advantage here; at least now I will not have to wait anxiously for my periods. At least now I will not have to worry biting my nails nervously, holding that pregnancy test with shaky hands and waiting for that negative to appear; that is the most nerve wrecking moment in any woman’s life. That is, any woman who is not trying for a baby and who sure-as-hell does not want a baby…just yet. For help you God should that little blue or red mark read positive or “pregnant” then you can bet there will be a flood of light hitting your face as you watch your whole life crashing down on you while you sink and think and wonder what you are going to do next. Anyway, I won’t have any of that anxiety, and that is a freedom that I will enjoy fully, unless of course I get seduced by one of only 2 people capable of seducing me in this life; #213 and Coldwell. I should be fine unless one of these two men steps up to me and works his magic, and then I will be in trouble, but I will try hard to resist. I am a master at resistance; it can not be that hard. But for now, yes for now, I am free and I hate all you people who are in happy relationships. However, I wish you all great happiness and you never know; one day, maybe just maybe one day I will be able to do this “relationship-thing” for more than the meager two months that I seem to fall at. Until that day comes, I shall enjoy my simple little life full of greatness and magic even you can’t touch.
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