Wednesday 26 June 2013

Rants From The Relunctant Homecoming Queen



On the Absence of Victory and Defeat

When is it possible to say that one has won in the game of love? There is no basis for victory. Everything is subject to self-pity or glorification, the acceptance and denial of reality. Not one person can narcissistically claim himself a victim or an aggressor in a given event, for each is a fool of emotion and among fools, there is no leader, no guarantee that one's vulnerability is less than others'.




There are no victories, only uncertainty and regret. Conquest and subjugation may only be established between parties playing the same battlefield, under the same rules. Love, in all its purity, cannot be considered strife, nor can it be categorized as objective. The degree of affection between two people, regardless of their attachment to one another, would always be inclined towards imbalance – one loving or needing the other more.  Ungoverned as people are in love's subjective rules of engagement, so to speak, love becomes an abstract connotation with the complexity of endearment, doubt, and remorse.  People persistently believe in love as the ultimate goal, yet flee at the slightest hint of anything resembling commitment.  Passionate individuals over-whelmed themselves with self-imposed delusions of attraction, only to later deflate their own emotions with cynicism or insecurity. Human frailty and orientation towards committing error may be attributed for the perception of relationships as entities which could have been made better, the results of action or lack thereof.  Lovers ceaselessly remain wanting of desirable traits, while the self-continuously chastises and criticizes the inner workings of its persona. Happiness is negligible in the light of pain, confusion and misery, in the sorrow and rejection of separation, and against lofty, unrealistic convictions on love.

In this day and age, it is quite unfortunate to find people who derive pathetic sense of pride from their success in surviving relationships unscathed because of their dexterity at breaking hearts. Paradoxically presumptuous and cowardly, such individuals shroud their loneliness with an armor of PRETEND STRENGTH and invincibility, the latter coming from the need to deny their emotions and assert themselves as a means of coping with pain and loss. Such self-absorption derives such persons to undermine the essence of love and relationships. In their rush to escape situations that call for the humble acceptance of reciprocal defeat and lowliness, they become oblivious to the fact that love has never been an issue of emerging victorious or defeated.  They forget that relationships are supposed to involve partnerships which seek to provide the best for the self, and more importantly, the other person involved.  Love should never be about rising above or sinking below a loved one – it has always been meant to surround two people with passion so strong, it would enable them to be but one soul experiencing all things as a single being. 

The essence of love and existence, therefore, is not self-preservation, but rather, the submission of the self in a commitment that knows no individual defeat or victory. In love, each must be prepared to die a little to himself, his pride, and his desires, to offer part of himself as a willing sacrifice for a cause that knows not to the boundaries of time.  Although full loyalty and commitment are necessitated by relationships, it is only when two lovers are mature enough to realize the importance of both intimacy and personal space that their love will be able to transcend mere attraction and fondness.  For as much as love is not an issue of issue of victory or loss, it is also not about placing everything on the line, in the so-called "name of love". Oftentimes, knowing how to give unconditionally is as consequential as being aware of when to stop giving, when to cease running after a loved one, and when one must put an end to making a big a fool of himself for a futile cause.  In so many words, a part of one's own heart and soul must be protected and made to stay intact in the uniqueness of its nature and experience, in order for the self to retain its identity even after loyalties have been severed.  This is not to say that a single soul must disjoin itself in order to cater to its needs and those of its soul mate. Rather, this implies that loving another person demands loving oneself enough in order to be able to forego desire and happiness for the sake of the other, in the knowledge that such an act grants the self a true hold on the meaning of love.

In totality, love is not a battle, for to determine victory or loss in such would be to undermine its sanctity. Love for the self and for the others must, in its very essence, be able to draw out the beauty in each person, such that each one sincerely hopes for the very best for the other, regardless of the pain that such desire entails. At that state of unconditional devotion, there should no longer be any need to qualify success or failure, for the intensity of love, as well as the fear of loss and loneliness, serve as the common, unifying factor between two souls made one.


Now ask yourself this question: Are you the type who is ready to take the fall?

UNDER THE STAIRS

As minutes walked on, deep pockets of sleep started at the back of my eyes, enlarging, expanding until they threatened my grip on reason and consciousness. My head felt so heavy upon my shoulders that I was doubtful if it was my head at all. It weighed a ton. It didn't occur to me how feeble my struggle was in the face of this enemy. This enemy who offered me a state of insensibility that seemed such a sweet escape to oblivion.  I was tempted. My eyelids were drooping down, obscuring my view of the tree and the front door. I was certain I just needed to know where they came.  Only then I could finally give in. yet, moments later, sleep already won over the self, leading me by the nose to some place different from the cold wall and top base of the stairs. My head was haphazardly tilted to one side, my lower back numbed to excess, my feet cold and my mind in anarchic disconnections. I was in a deep stupor and at the mercy of my dreams. In dreams, I have often known, lucidity was a lost, absent gift. 
 
In this space, I felt the wings of the wind, the rush it gave me as it ran against my skin, sprinting from my arms and legs.  And I wanted to run forever just to feel the exhilaration that it gives me. Yet in pseudo-reality, a perpetual black cloud of anxiety continued to hover overhead. There was no arousal of recognition, yet the air grew heavy with the weight of it. I turned then to see a pair of white birds. It seemed a normal sight, but my stomach began to churn nervously until a shot thundered through the air, shattering the idyllic atmosphere that had barely started to envelop the space. I squinted my eyes to see the trespasser. A huge, beefy man with a holster strapped to his side and a gun in his hand. He was laughing, letting out loud roars of hilarity that made me inexplicably angry. When I turned back to see what had befallen the love birds, I was stunned. The two were bleeding, but only one had an apparent wound. As I shuffled closer, I was inextricably amazed and a little afraid of what I saw. The wound was profusely bleeding, but the harmed creature seemed to feel no pain. Instead, one looked incredulously healthy as the other, except for the crimson spots on their once pristine feathers. You wouldn't even know they've been shot at. 
 
However, I noticed something different. There was a wicked gleam visible in their eyes – a nasty sheen of malice and viciousness, even making them shine brighter. They started poking each other, their sharp beaks digging deep, the webbed feet coming up in the air to kick and injure. It was vile. The attacks demonstrated a nauseating display of cruelty to the self and to the opponent. They were bathing in an obscene parody of love, except that their embrace spelled death and destruction. And everywhere they went blood spurted, turning the battlefield into a graveyard. The space obliterated any reminder of the living world and I felt like someone suffocating and drowning without a lifeline in sight.  A desperation seized hold of me, strangling my neck like a hangman's noose. I knew I should have stopped them. But I couldn't even trod near them until the battle reached a crescendo, and so I, in my blotched self trembled at the edge to await the victor. 
 
The space started to fall away. It was stripped layer by layer, pulled from the sides of my brain. I was blinking the mist of sleep from my eyes, trying to ascertain what had pulled me from my alternate universe. I stood up rubbed my eyes, walked across the room to sleep.