Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Jafar

A book once notified me of a woman named Emma Bovary who sought after love and its entire splendor to such a degree that all other aspects of the world were left undefined behind her weary eyes. Written by the immaculate author, Gustave Flaubert, he says: “She was gasping for love like a carp on a kitchen table gasping for water.” Now, this book I had read a while ago, but those words pierced the very inner core of my heart. It was her pure honesty which killed me. She was so determined to find love and passion and so entirely honest about her fantastical ideology that it gave me chills! I was not quite as clear and concrete, I was the disturbing split persona – a gust of confusion clouded my ability to see clearly. Not to mention, I was the lethal combination of two incompatible compounds: the longing for love and the inability to love. Like water and oil, they could not coexist and I couldn’t break free of them since they seeped deep within each pore of my skin. They settled there and refused to depart. For, ages ago I’d felt this trauma; this poorly named fantasy called love and I could only blame myself. My unwillingness to accept the love of another human being without question had resulted in its tragic demise.
I had a love which –as many people in love would say – words could not define, and countless serene moments of passion couldn’t dare illustrate. This morbid disillusionment utterly transformed me in every which way. I was certain that love was the most powerful force in the universe. Love was indeed what I had heard – I thought – it was pure and gentle and revolutionary. But, truth be told, it wasn’t much deeper than the puddle which sits immovably upon a jagged street after the rain had passed. I grew up just like Emma and possibly millions of little girls – fantasizing of this love depicted in fairy tales and children’s books. Comprised of unfortunate misconceptions and unachievable goals which plague our minds as early as childhood, it convinces us that indeed we shall find our everlasting love and be rescued by our prince-charmings. I was holding on to that fraction of reality – until I gained the painful knowledge and wisdom that is the truth. At the end of my rainbow there was no pot of gold; there was an empty charcoal kettle with a note which read “I told you so.” Because as much as many will view these ideas as pessimistic, I somehow knew that love cannot exist without hate, and pleasure cannot exist without pain; and ultimately, I was right. I reveled in the validity of my intuitions, and tormented at the destruction of my pride. The flame of passion and love within me burnt so brightly and so fiercely that I had inevitably gotten blinded and burnt, simultaneously.
Happiness and love are but a painful memory for me now. As much as I’d like to frolic about in my façade, I cannot any longer. It’s easy for me to decipher the first and only relationship I’ve ever had as a part of maturity, and even a learning experience which helped me grow – but the lessons that I’ve learned are like the scars on my body. Like the big one on my knee – when I learned that skateboarding is a boy’s sport. That I am but a weak girl unable to obtain the strength of a man whose disregard of physical blunders help him accomplish any goal. No, again, a weak and underminable poor excuse for a human being am I, and that lesson proved it. JUst like the one of love - I again get hurt because I lack the strength to avoid the pain. Lessons are but the constant reminders of painful experiences that I’d love to forget, but cannot. The lessons will never vanish – and the lesson is a difficult one. See, I’ve learned that solitude is safety, and that I was right all along to avoid an experience like love. I’ve learned that after years of the relationship’s failure, I’ve managed to cut off all contact with the monster, and yet my heart pines for him ever so painfully. Like a stomach which growls for food when you are hungry, its always lunchtime in my heart.... As it pines away for the only love I’ve ever known and will ever allow myself to know.
It’s that split persona again – where I am fully aware that he is no good for me, that the countless ways in which he’s hurt me and left lasting scars on me both physically and mentally are unforgivable; and yet I cannot explain the loneliness inside me and my hungry heart which cries for him. I remain so unbreakable on the outside, with an iron shield so impenetrable, yet I’m constantly swallowing my pain. After years, he’s still the only man I had ever loved or desire to love. I cannot fathom it! If I were a broken winged bird when we first met, he literally healed the wing that was broken to only rip apart the other one. I thought I had only benefited from the experience of loving and losing, but I had never actually allowed myself to grieve, I suppose. And now, like a debilitating whirlwind its hit me, and I find myself so utterly torn. So utterly torn I am by the one man who said he loved me, and that same one man I viewed as my prince, my Aladdin, my everything! And just like that I gave him everything and set aside my pride to cater to another human being and accept this thing called love.
No, I must admit, I cannot blame women like Emma who succumb to their fantasies and whims of romance. I actually envy her. She’s the crisp romaine lettuce without the heavy dressing. Pure and honest – she wears her heart on her sleeve. I, on the other hand, am draped in heavy dressings which cover up the real me – the frightened, and the lonely girl who cannot escape this pain she so desperately tries to hide. I lock away my heart in a castle far away – and just like a fairy tale, the castle doesn’t exist. My heart does not exist, you see. It’s been broken and the dull beating that I hear are only the footsteps of the former, happy me – walking away from this mess I’ve become. I feel destroyed and alone. The man who I so carefully tried to please and keep beside me – had transformed from prince to villain. The truth of my fairy tale is this; I was never courted by a prince. Unlike Aladdin, the man who disguised himself as a prince was the evil villain of the story – it was Jafar!