Strangely, reading back at what I wrote… I never had the intention of writing anything of this sort, though the events of this morning have done pretty well to alter my emotional compass. Coming into any context and rationale without a single subterfuge would be impossibility in the context of plain human behavior.
After all, what else is love but a transient counter intuitive emotion? Different, but not by much from Tina Turner’s “Second hand emotion” (rock on grandma’ o’ rock!)
Conceivably I’m a lost soul with a mental understanding and capability of an adolescent subjugated by own selfish will and fleeting moments of being in perfect, overwhelming yet ephemeral love and then out of it again.
Now, the abstract milieu of love can be debated to death, much like my desire to do anything these days. It’ll be debated until the point when time has left it too late to do anything. So before I move on, could we just agree to possibly disagree?
Love within a relationship in its basic design requires a perfect balance of passion, understanding and some form of benefit derived from (possibly in the matter of pro-creation, mutual benefits etc).. Now that in its own doesn’t seem to be a complicated concept to stomach. Now, I shan’t discuss Plato’s concepts of agape, philia, storge or possibly unrequited version of eros as this has never been the intention to write a definitive narrative of love, which will probably transpire in a hundred volume box set (dvd and audio book rights pending). Don’t even start with the term “Platonic Relationship”.
Going back to my original intention of composition (about yours truly, of course… nothing like a bit of narcissism on an early Sunday morning, feeling gleeful that like a school boy, I skipped church). Romance as a notion remains a courtship ritual, desired by both yet achievable only at the unfulfilled concept of love. Now, before I get shot to bits… yes, I’m wrong. However, won’t you agree that Romance diminishes upon the consummation of the ultimate goal of love? Perhaps not immediately, but over a period of time when things become “comfortable”. More often that not, we all know and have seen this other human behavior where one claims that “Yes, I love him/ her, but alas I’m not in love with him/ her for X number of years.” I for one have seen this happen so often that I have decided not to keep track of names, numbers and such.
No surprises then that the initial reaction to my insidious writing would be, “Oh, you’ll understand when you grow older/ get someone etc.”
Compellingly possible!
However, the context of this composition is once again about yours truly, derived from the lopsided observations and trifling experience as opposed to the billions in the world who seem to spend trillions of dollars in the even of marriage as a testament to “for sickness and in health, till death do us part” and her significant, but less favorite sister industry, divorce (unless your name is the devil, lawyer or exist in a serpentine type existence).
But is being contented, not happy the true secret of perfectly adequateness?
Obviously, the above doesn’t answer any questions, merely detailing what my questions are. So, if one were to have any silver bullets to those questions… do share, as I don’t know what I think/ feel anymore.
I’m quite open to the thought that I’m an insatiable, restless soul. Unhappy at lacking the talent to express one’s self. But with the fingers on one hand, I can count the number of times I’ve seen old folks leaning into each other and hands clasped as they make fun of each other, with that look in their eyes. That is my friend, the ultimate dream. Till death do us part. (Oh, you don’t know how you’ve influenced me old lady that used to live next to me, old couple at Jephson park and you two folks I had the absolutely pleasure of sitting next to on a 13 hour plane ride from Heathrow- KL)
I don’t know how to end this; neither do I know who to send this to, lest I provoke (I’m overestimating my powers of persuasion here) conversations that may either stir your marriage or relationships. However, I do trust that maturity and well educated, critical thought would have brought you where you are and with that, utmost confidence in the decision you have/ will be taken/ taking. Maybe I’m too damaged and scarred, but I love and hate it in equal portion all of the time like the chaos from the clash of the unstoppable force and the immovable object.
After all, what else is love but a transient counter intuitive emotion? Different, but not by much from Tina Turner’s “Second hand emotion” (rock on grandma’ o’ rock!)
Conceivably I’m a lost soul with a mental understanding and capability of an adolescent subjugated by own selfish will and fleeting moments of being in perfect, overwhelming yet ephemeral love and then out of it again.
Now, the abstract milieu of love can be debated to death, much like my desire to do anything these days. It’ll be debated until the point when time has left it too late to do anything. So before I move on, could we just agree to possibly disagree?
Love within a relationship in its basic design requires a perfect balance of passion, understanding and some form of benefit derived from (possibly in the matter of pro-creation, mutual benefits etc).
Going back to my original intention of composition (about yours truly, of course… nothing like a bit of narcissism on an early Sunday morning, feeling gleeful that like a school boy, I skipped church). Romance as a notion remains a courtship ritual, desired by both yet achievable only at the unfulfilled concept of love. Now, before I get shot to bits… yes, I’m wrong. However, won’t you agree that Romance diminishes upon the consummation of the ultimate goal of love? Perhaps not immediately, but over a period of time when things become “comfortable”. More often that not, we all know and have seen this other human behavior where one claims that “Yes, I love him/ her, but alas I’m not in love with him/ her for X number of years.” I for one have seen this happen so often that I have decided not to keep track of names, numbers and such.
No surprises then that the initial reaction to my insidious writing would be, “Oh, you’ll understand when you grow older/ get someone etc.”
Compellingly possible!
However, the context of this composition is once again about yours truly, derived from the lopsided observations and trifling experience as opposed to the billions in the world who seem to spend trillions of dollars in the even of marriage as a testament to “for sickness and in health, till death do us part” and her significant, but less favorite sister industry, divorce (unless your name is the devil, lawyer or exist in a serpentine type existence).
But is being contented, not happy the true secret of perfectly adequateness?
Obviously, the above doesn’t answer any questions, merely detailing what my questions are. So, if one were to have any silver bullets to those questions… do share, as I don’t know what I think/ feel anymore.
I’m quite open to the thought that I’m an insatiable, restless soul. Unhappy at lacking the talent to express one’s self. But with the fingers on one hand, I can count the number of times I’ve seen old folks leaning into each other and hands clasped as they make fun of each other, with that look in their eyes. That is my friend, the ultimate dream. Till death do us part. (Oh, you don’t know how you’ve influenced me old lady that used to live next to me, old couple at Jephson park and you two folks I had the absolutely pleasure of sitting next to on a 13 hour plane ride from Heathrow- KL)
I don’t know how to end this; neither do I know who to send this to, lest I provoke (I’m overestimating my powers of persuasion here) conversations that may either stir your marriage or relationships. However, I do trust that maturity and well educated, critical thought would have brought you where you are and with that, utmost confidence in the decision you have/ will be taken/ taking. Maybe I’m too damaged and scarred, but I love and hate it in equal portion all of the time like the chaos from the clash of the unstoppable force and the immovable object.
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