I've only ever deleted a blog post once. I regret it. In fact, that should've been a cue. Re-posting.
Written and originally published: April 27, 2009
Written and originally published: April 27, 2009
My plan was right. Everything was all set. And it looked perfect, ofcourse. It had to, it was afterall set to the minutest details by the people who cared the most about it, my parents. There was a boy in view, it was like one of those postcard perfect cogs. That was what was wrong with it, it was all so right. Something about that never quite fit well with me, and it wasn’t before last night that I had realized what it was. Some holy matrimony, that.
There were no wrongs here, things are so well defined that you have to be insanely blind to make a fall. You can’t even argue with someone like that, they essentially are too understanding. They had to be I guess. It was the setting. I get his sense of humour, sharp one this time. I look up and smirk at you big guy. Nicely done.
So as I feverishly ravished the irony of having all rights done to me and not being given any reasons to rebel out of it. Out of nowhere, the reason came to me. It took some nasty amount of alchohol and a grossly imperfect boy to make me see it, all in one night.
The touch of his fingers at my back was as alien as the thought of being there with him alone. A room full of things I had never seen before, someone I didn’t know a few hours ago, with me, at a distance of less than two fingers.
“You turn me on intellectually”, he said. I don’t even know your last name, boy. “Is it weird that I just want to keep talking to you all night long?” Guess that’s logical, since you really do not know where I’m coming from. “Sometime back, I had a neck injury which sent me straight to bed..” Tune out, tune out, tuning it all out. No shirts, haan. Fuck, that’s beautiful. Quite a work he is. He looks really young. Is it okay to ask his age now? Tune in. “.. and I hope you’d get to meet him, you’d like him”. No, thanks I think I’d pass on this one. I don’t need more problems, I need solutions.
“You have a charm of a little boy”, I said. “It’s starkly pervertish of me to be here I think. Umm, meaning very exhilarating!” Brown eyes, perfect chest, pretty hands, white starchy shirt, brown eyes, brown eyes. I’m in deep trouble. “I knew that when we were dancing earlier in the club”. The glitter of the lights, your hands on my waist, I knew all along. “Knew what?” huh? “Umm, that you’re not drunk”.
He spoke with such fervour I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not so simple. And I stared in utter disbelief. And some longing. I sat cross legged and looked on, why can’t I be so lost in life. Why do I need to know everything, anyway. I want to have a distant dream, something so quintessentially outrageous, that it’s scary to ask for it from the world. I need some loud smirks, some cold judgments, some discomforting confrontations, what’s that word they say, motivation, yeah, all that. I’m used to it, that’s the life I’ve known, why change now? Why?
“Is this a one-night stand? Just say yes, it’s kick-y, I’ve never had one.” “Yes, it’s a one night stand”. “SUPER! Haha” Yes, yes. Super se oopar, Ha Ha. “So how old are you?”
Those perfect hands and the set of perfect eyes had every other imperfection of the suitable boy for me. Some screaming, some moaning later, I’m just as not-so-simple still, just a wee bit more sober than earlier. “It’s not even funny how much control you have over me!”, he said. That’s what I need in life, some grave mistakes that I don’t feel guilty for. Some wrong people who set your vision adrift.
I could be a hero now, or I could lose it all again, at once. What do I do? Do I do what? I’ll see what I do. I always end up doing something other than the plan anyway. Rights are too romantic. I need some aggression, I yearn some power. Some original game. Feel like the bad guy. Some flak. Or sympathy. Anything other than lucky and blessed, so fucking degrading.
“I want to know what’s so complicated, maybe the next one night stand then” “yeah, sure” Turn around, space. Breathe. 5,6 ,7 and go. “Alright I think I’d leave now, long ride back home” It seems going well, oh just say something simple and not promising. “Wait, isn’t the guy supposed to leave first? And feel like a stud?” Now, smile. Look cute, Smile. “You look fabulous in white, or I would’ve taken this shirt with me” Dress quickly, turn around, wink and obscene air kiss. “Alright you, later then”. Hugs. Walks. Walk out.
Just as easy as that. That’s what it took , and the long ride home. I want this. I want some genuinely interesting problems. Some real sins to think of. Some fiercely distinguished stories. Some invigorating, intriguing conversation with random strangers over rum, some whitewashed and renewed sense of freedom every morning. Un-surety. The foolish exhibition of things I don’t have, can’t do. I so do not want IT all. I want this. And I want it quick and everlasting. Tell me how? Tell me, do. Lie back on the seat, turn Sinatra on. Look away.