I don’t share very often about feelings or experiences of love and romance in my life, but maybe, February 10th of each year will eventually become my typical day for exposition along such lines. It’s quite like me to want to publicly express myself through writing and art, yet still keep a certain cloak over what’s really there—revealing the form of what I feel and experience, without lifting the veil to let the features show….because it’s difficult to lay open the barest of my thoughts, feelings and emotions; I feel exposed, vulnerable, hardly a picture of perfection– and on occasion, repulsive. With time though, it becomes easier to reveal ‘the hidden’…but also, it often becomes more unnecessary to do so—a win-win situation if ever there was one. I’ve spent a long time worried that I’m destined to be alone, wondering whether ‘someday’ will again come when I feel loved in my ‘Kalifaness’. I spent years pondering on the ‘what ifs?’ What if I’m incapable of loving? What if I’m incapable of being loved? What if I never reach the point of emotional maturity enough to enjoy the beauty, and survive the challenges, of a relationship? These have been sobering thoughts, sometimes only barely missing the mark in becoming ‘depressing’ and stagnating, but…
‘Someday’ came. 🙂
….and now I smile every day in the continuing presence of the age which began on that day.
It’s wonderful, freeing and beautiful to have been caught and to be held; to have found (/been discovered by) someone with the strength and patience to catch me now that I’ve allowed myself to fall. Someone finds my me-ness attractive—as awkward, emotional, and sometimes contentious as it is…’pew boop boop boop’ >_< It’s wonderful knowing that. Though I know that we’re still in the ‘baby stage’ of our relationship, and my feelings of foofy-ditzy- joy should be expected to temper out, I feel at ease knowing that the foundation and instigation of it all was a great friendship and sincere, mutual care, concern and liking. Having him around has instilled me with a greater sense of peace and contentment that feels almost alien in its rarity—but the alienesque rarity of that feeling is exactly what allows it to feel and be so natural, so close, so real, so special. It’s comforting to be able to return/concurrently exchange the gifts of ‘supporting’, ‘appreciating’, ‘knowing’, ‘caring’, ‘laughing’; ‘loving’….and I hope to continue exchanging those gifts with him for a long time to come.
“We know the signs are too dark to see,
Close your eyes and lean in to me” –Mononoke
I actually wrote quite a long note some time ago about things Europeans asked or said to me that I didn’t know how to respond to without disagreeing. I never posted it. However, one of those things that pops up often enough, as said to me by Europeans and non-Europeans here alike, is the typical description of beautiful people. People would talk about these awesome people who are “blond, tall, with blue eyes that everyone would fall for (as opposed to other ‘plain’, non-blond folk)”. My usual reaction is to smile, say nothing, or say “Yeah…I’m sure”; but running through my mind would be “Umm, no eh… I have nothing against blond people with blue eyes, but I honestly can’t identify with your objectification of them as some special group of hotness. They look just as pretty/plain as everyone else does”
It’s different because, having gone to an all-girls secondary school, I’ve heard many girls talk about beautiful girls and guys. Whilst the hot, blond, white dude from a movie may factor into a conversation, the description of a beautiful girl never involved blondness or blue eyes…it instead might have involved fair skin and long hair. This wasn’t because blondness isn’t ‘beautiful’, it’s just because people in Trinidad generally don’t go through life swooning over and thinking about blond folk. I think that of all the Trini black/brown people I’ve met who have a ‘thing’ for white people, they just have a ‘thing’ for white people…they couldn’t care less what colour their hair was. So it’s really strange to hear people in England make this special distinction between ‘blonds’ and ‘everyone else’. I’ve seen many a good looking blond person here, but try as I might, I can’t begin to grasp why they’re any ‘hotter’ than brown-headed, black-headed or red-headed white folk. Maybe if I had lived here longer I would be seeing things differently.
Either way, I generally never fit into any description of ‘beauty’ that people tell me; so for very selfish reasons it often goes in one ear and out the other. I still find the subject fascinating though… I wonder if people in the US also hold blond people up on some higher level.
It’s been almost one year since my fateful fight with the dragon. Luckily for us all, I killed him. Unfortunately for me, I still bear battle scars. It doesn’t bother me most of the time, but from time to time I would look at my face and vainly think “You used to look so much nicer before you got that scar by your eye” and then I’d think “But at least you still have your eye Kalifa. You came pretty close to losing it…you could have been blind on one side.”
That’s how life is I guess. It would be wrong to not be grateful, thankful for what you have, for small mercies, but you still wish that calamity hadn’t hit you in the face in the first place. You still wish that you didn’t have to fight as much as you do. You wish that life hadn’t thrust the burden of living on you. In some ways you wish that life was more like death; in other ways you wish that it involved more vigour…because maybe then you would be strong enough to live, to love, without ever being knocked down.
…but without the falls, life is nothing but a boring, pre-programmed script.
I guess though that I’ll see how my feelings change with time. Ever since taking off my eye patch I’ve worn my glasses outdoors just about every day; not because I wanted to see more clearly, but because I wanted around my eyes to be more obscured from the world.
As trivial as a problem, loss, flaw, hurt, pain, disappointment may be in the grand context of society and existence, it still often means a quite a bit to the singular, selfish heart and mind.
**I came almost on the verge of tears just now because my tablet wouldn’t come on. It eventually did, but it has a very bad short it seems, so I’ll have to work/sacrifice to buy a new one…because I don’t think I can survive in any state of happiness without painting. Such is life!**