Unrequited love

Unrequited love, very interesting topic, I guess every single human being has experienced something of that sort.
Actually I had the idea for the following piece  from a story my ex-gf told me which happens to be a shared experience of a classmate of mine. But I guess the male view point has never been explored, currently most college guys will look in mockery at the following piece criticizing the lack of game on the part of the person who is supposed to be the author of the letter but honestly before any of us came to any understanding or possession of what we now recognize as game we were all at this point one stage or another in our life.
All I can say is, it's just a made-up letter to a made up girl so enjoy.

Letter: Unrequited love

Hi,

It feels like I’m standing afar off watching you while you live your life, all the while admiring it in its essence and beauty, wishing to be a part of it, wanting nothing more than an invitation of permanent residency.

It feels like I’m standing on my own, unnoticed, lifeless without your recognition, a vague idea in the recesses of the public mind until your affections give me substance as though my very existence is majorly dependent on your recognition of my presence so I am left helpless, helpless to watch, watch and stare at the magnificence of such unearthly beauty; ebony black hair with a waterfall-like contour as it runs down to your back, the toss of which reveals a face of skin tone out of this world and an excellent  choice in perfume, the whiff of which leaves me thinking of the cooling effect of morning dew on grass in colourful meadows and  when you rise to walk, you reveal a figure; a true attestation of the fact that we’re all the handiwork and expert craftsmanship of a superior being, you’ve made me a believer! A figure of curves, hills and valleys perfectly bound together to equate to this eye-candy right before my eyes. A figure which reminds me of the leaps and bounds I’m willing to go just so you’d notice me and when you walk, it’s with such grace and elegance as though you just floated by on a cloud; a soothing vision, a vision soothing enough to calm the roughest storm yet somehow its stirs a storm within me, one turbulent enough to rival a typhoon.

It feels like my chest is about to blow up, having been puffed up with all these feelings and things I want to say to you, feelings repressed, statements withheld as the thought of approaching you strikes up fear and anxiety. Not necessarily a fear of rejection, but a fear of the total loss of potential; the potential of what could have been, for I fear that I may not have the right words neither the silk smoothness nor the good looks to keep and hold your attention long enough to win your heart. But what I lack in these I make up for in other areas. Areas not readily accepted nor immediately looked upon as attractive unless presented with expert skill. So I am left longing and waiting, waiting patiently yet while plotting, plotting as an expert strategist, connecting the dots and linking the way to the pulsating division of your bosom; the fort I long to conquer and stake my flag in.

I can make no promises of grandeur but rather of the simple things, simple but of timeless value; promises of loyalty, dependability, of honesty, truthfulness and faithfulness. I can only promise that my two hands will be there to hold you up when you are down, wipe the tear drop off your cheek and hold and comfort you every night. All these I seek to make known to you and to show you the man i can be if given the chance but first things first I am yet to say ‘Hi’.

-The guy sitting next to you.

The Walking Manuals

Intricacies of defining moments; friend or foe, too many trip wires, one wrong move and you miss it; it all blows in your face. The potential of what-could-have-been now turns into nothing more than what it isn’t. Relationships are defined by such moments, a simple answer as silence, will ascribe the trajectory of a helical downfall for what would have been an otherwise blossoming friendship, it all goes spiraling down being flushed out of existence. A ‘yes’ for a ‘no’, a nod for a shake and days could’ve been better. “Nobody said it was easy.” Oh! If only Chris Martin knew how right he was.

Some say relationships are not a science of exacts, I call bullshit on that one, relationships are not exactly a science. There is not one correct answer to any situation much like anything else in life, there is no manual handed out at birth and no one has even bothered to write one. It’s like being forced onto a rollercoaster, the best you can make of it is to enjoy the ride. Yet there are so many situations where some sort of expertise is required, some experiential knowledge of living else we stand the risk of countless mishaps, mistakes and horrible decisions.

Some say the Bible has all the answers, not to dispute or argue against, but the problem here lies in the different factions or schools of thought concerning theology in Christendom hence the various denominations. There is not a single accepted interpretation by all factions hence the obfuscation of the Bible’s meaning. Secondly, not all of us believe in it or live by it, and it would be unfair to others who do live by it while the rest of the world slap them just praying the other cheek would be just as fun but being the believer I am I believe there’s an answer for this written within its pages.

Currently, I sit behind my laptop, looking, staring, peering hard trying to see past the cloudy horizon of what makes a bleak future. The thought of old age scares me. Yet some sliver through the fog, a glimmer of hope, the thought of many who have once stood where I stand and have made it and still making it. This only makes me admire and appreciate more these veterans of life and I would love nothing more to sit at their feet listening, drinking up every word, while they show their marks of battle telling stories of battles old. Fact of life; not everyone turns out good, truth, there are many cautionary tales in life, people who have gone off the far end and their pages serve as nothing more than that; a cautionary tale on how not to live life.

I have come to appreciate the worth of having parents and I would be proud if I could turn out to be half what mine are. After all they are the only true manuals on life; the walking manuals.

‘If I have seen further it is only by standing on the shoulders of giants.’

-Isaac Newton

Nanos gigantium humeris insidentes: Dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants

Day of Small Things

First blog, wheew this is harder than  I thought but on with it. The title doesn't say  much but to those more inclined to seeking and faith and religion; light and enlightenment that biblical allusion says it all about this post. Stolen from the book of Zecharaiah the phrase speaks of beginnings; "Who is he that despiseth the day of small things." its explanation is quite lengthy and honestly I'm currently in no mood to shed light on it.
It's interesting I've never been a fan of words in both reading and writing and have often found the two tiresome; writing more so but recent developments have shown that I have a quick wit about words. Not entirely convinced, I'm putting it to the test.

I have decided to put my amateur-'ish', underdeveloped writing prowess to the test by engaging in a little piece of creative writing. Honestly this piece is nothing personal and has no bearing on me whatsoever, something cooked up in boredom while listening to thought inspiring tunes of The Fray (Happiness) and The Script (Exit Wounds). This kinda brought up questions such as: "What would an unhappy life feel like?" and "What truly is happiness and why do we all seek a happy life?"

Oh yeah, before I forget, this is to someone( you know yourself), tracking down Bruno Mars was too hard but hey I've gotta start from somewhere. With that being said I *Drum Roll*:

Title: Monologue of a bored ‘unhappy’ lunatic.

What is this feeling?

What is wrong with me?
Is there anything wrong with me at all?

Nothing comes to mind but the verses of Exit Wounds.

Finally, I‘ve figured it out.

Rather than sit around and crave the company of some significant other; while brooding over all past wrongs, I’ll put my mind to better work; one of more reputable worth, of fame and fortune. Yeeaaahhh, like money solves all problems. Yet something stirs within me as I write; the sighing relief of venting. Who knew writing could be so relieving yet gay. The masculine ego quivers at the thought of anything touching emotions or anything requiring the phallus-‘ed’ one tuning into some vague feeling so as to vent. Words have never been a passion, irksome as it might seem to them not in touch with Mother Nature’s resources of creativity, writing does have its perks. Truly these are the ramblings of some sort of depraved genius; hurt, wounded, incomplete or terribly lacking but yet ingenious. As though everyone else’s life is perfect, true that, preach it, we all walk with social masks and robes; hiding our scars, we’ve all seen dark days and anticipate yet more, darker days. We wear masks of confidence and pretend our lives are perfect, yet this one finds his mask getting heavier.

Narcissus- most suitable, a name most be-fitting, his constant need to fixate on him; be it in word, deed or thought, as though he were so pleased with himself, yet no one else sees it, the one flaw; the constant need to deride others so as to inflate a rather worn out and battered ego.

Honestly come to terms with the fact that we are all not perfect. Excuses, excuses, nothing more than excuses, why are we all nothing more than meat bags, emotional punching bags with bullet holes, all seeking closure of some sort as though ‘closure’ closes up exit wounds. We all have our scars, some more than others, we sympathise as much with others as we can, yet we consider it a weakness in others who seem too needy yet secretly when brooding in our quiet places, with the most pensive of looks and haughty air of wisdom and enlightenment we’d all want nothing else than someone in tune with our hurts, a psychic of some sort, someone to lift us out of the byzantine gargantuan quagmire into much more joyous days. But where is happiness ever promised in another, or within ourselves, or have we rather come up with this most slippery and elusive thing we  chase, like a dog running after its tail, till we tire ourselves out into depression; unable to attain what we seek the most, ‘true happiness’- is there such a thing at all?

A rather poor attempt by humans to answer that nagging question within us all, “There must be more than this to life?” We all seek some nirvana or heaven, a place of constant ecstasy and joy where we can wear our scars proudly like an ‘S’ on our chest amidst our entourage of the slain; Einherjar in Valhalla. Where our constantly heightened states serve as rewards for all the crap we suffered in life; poetic justice or just plain justice. We look for it in people, marriage –‘the one’, religion, goals and life achievements as though it is enough to thwart the sorrows life throws at people impromptu, as though life needed permission to toy with us. That bitch!! In all our efforts we can only grasp it, that elusive drug, seeming like an eternity yet ephemeral in duration, after which we send out SOS calls written all over our faces and our moods. Yet we search more for happiness just to find more unhappiness as a result we’re all messed up, we all have scars, what’s the point? We all just need a reason; something in the realms of plausibility, a suspension of our disbelief; that our lives are worth more and ‘happiness’ serves as such.

“Happiness damn near destroys you
Breaks your faith to pieces on the floor
So you tell yourself, that's enough for now
Happiness has a violent roar”

-Isaac Slade/ The Fray