Is your life today what you pictured a year ago?
Absolutely not.
A year ago, I was chasing down some dude with dark brown eyes inside the Wegmans deli, ending up everywhere he went quite on accident, being tugged by invisible forces to go this way or that. He had everything a girl could want, it seemed like from the outside. Everything but commitment.
He’s been thinking about me as of late. I know that because I randomly remember those shining dark eyes. In fact, it’s reminiscent of Eyes Like Yours by Shakira. “Darker than ebony… And now it seems that I without your eyes could never be.”
She flushes the toilet.
Bye bye! Your infatuation is not enough. I require dedication. Fealty. Commitment. Unbroken promises. Goodwill. Love.
If I could claim better facial recognition, I wouldn’t have bothered to look at that guy so much anyway. It’s not that he couldn’t show me his interest… he did. With his eyes. Glittering, glittering, glittering eyes. He’s a raging inferno of high libido. Too high, actually. I suppose he would do well deriving the feeling of love from more than sexual touch. At least, God assures me that is the main issue with that one.
I have no idea. What I do know is we never met and we’re never going to. I have better prospects. Or prospect, as it were.
You see, there is one man who allows compliments tumble out of his mouth at me. I am not even completely sure he can help it. Now, I don’t really want to learn anything like every time he sees something he likes, he gives a compliment. That would cheapen it slightly, one would think. I’m actually not certain of that, honestly; compliments raise the vibration of people. What’s the harm?
The only harm is when they’re misled to think it means more than a compliment.
I do not understand the average human being. Are compliments meant to be something you only dig out of yourself when it’s over-the-top awesomeness? If so, please get in line to jump into The Volcano(TM). You make women everywhere insecure and, by default, I don’t like you.
I’m supposed to feel threatened by the idea that the man has given compliments to other women. That’s what society teaches me. I must feel insecure because now I am in competition with other women because more than one woman received a compliment.
Or I can choose to view it like so: the man pays compliments on that which he truly likes, which allows another human being to feel good, understanding they touched someone else somehow that day. It was a very tiny and small human interaction that is, in the vast sea of interactions, completely meaningless… yet meaningful at the same time. If the recipient of the compliment went out of their way to look fabulous that day and nobody even cared, he or she might fall flat, needing that little bit of validation and reassurance from outside of themselves so that their self-esteem can stay in tact. As much as it is despicable, our self-value, our self-worth, is still based on the opinions of others, no matter how hard we try to ignore the nasty noise entering our heads on a daily basis.
As a woman, I think it’s stupid to be taught to be jealous about other women. I am incomparable. No one will ever compare to me. I have been cultivating my spirit for generations. I am an old soul, reborn so many times it’d make your head spin. You’d have to meet some pretty high standards to even be in my league, as it were… but what is this league bull shit anyway? Everyone is equal to me. Just because they aren’t on the same part of their immortal journey does not mean they are less than. It just makes them different. They each harbor the same potential as I do, it’s just unrealized yet. That’s all.
If you insert the key and turn it, the tumblers move and it unlocks that potential. Most people aren’t trained to see it, but I am. I call it stepping sideways, but really it’s marching forward. To the tune of my own drum, no less.
Sure, I could look at Candy Cane the stripper and be envious of her flat belly, or I can realize she looks two meals shy of starvation and therefore sickly to me. I could look at a woman with luxurious long locks and be envious they reach her feet or I can realize that anything longer than my chin is a pain in the ass to upkeep (not to mention a waste of time.) I can look at a woman with impeccably flawless makeup and vie for it, or I can realize that she’s aging her face putting that shit on there daily, trying to make an illusion of who she is not. Any man who falls in love with an illusion like that deserves what they get, if you ask me.
And that’s where Eyes McGee is at. He prefers illusions. The dude that I won’t be meeting. Not to mention the dude I proposed to that God ripped me away from (thank you, Sir) and the other dudes I’ve had in the recent past that are carbon copies.
Together, God and I say: FUCK YOU ALL.
That’s right. Fuck you inglorious vain bastards who try to make women compete with each other to show you what they look like in the bedroom, to make them spread their legs before you take them to the altar and commit yourself to a lifetime with them. Fuck you for making falling in love into a competition instead of a simple comparison of how many interests one has in common + mutual attraction. Fuck you for making the diamond industry — an industry built on the blood of nations — successful and “desirable.” Fuck you for selling women into sexual slavery. Fuck you for encouraging women to be the slave without even realizing it, wearing underwear in public with face paint that makes her look freshly fucked just so you can imagine her underneath you, being RAPED.
Just fuck you.
</mic drop>
Angel-Sansara 