I’ve always wanted to start a writing and make it feel like how the Hungarian Rhapsody 2 sounds. Dramatic, and kingly, yet seductive as it continues. Reflective as it passes the threshold of your brain. Telling you sweet little stories of gay adventures and the part their mistresses played. And what satisfying, happy endings they had. You can just imagine their flighty journeys through terrible countries and dangerous peoples. How they braved all that for the sake of glory and renown. In your shoes that looks perfectly acceptable and very much a desirable thing to endure. You’d be right. Except that you aren’t in their shoes. You’re in yours. Which are warm and comfortable and trusty. No irksome little stones at the corners picking at your toes. And they fit you well so the top edges round back don’t pinch the skin above your heel. They don’t have holes at the front where your toes peek out and the water seeps in. They don’t have sand in them to remind you of fairer and finer places you left behind.
Change is inevitable. Change is the only permanent thing; man does not step in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man (Heraclitus). Everything leaves an impression. It is an accumulation of all these that give rise to the change. You can just wake up and decide to do something. But after a long and taxing contribution on your part. As you think, so you are? To an extent that’s true. If you act on your thoughts. If you dive headfirst into what you want to achieve. Shiver at the first freezing pricks of the cold water as it attacks your skin and other more delicate places…and the terrifying darkness of not knowing where you are, what’s ahead, or how far you’ve gone. What a panic-stricken little poodle you are right now. Knees knocking, eyes bulging, quaking in shoes full of pee, drenched in your sweat.
But those are the shoes you wanted; perfectly acceptable and desirable to endure.
Not so easy after all is it?
We have a veteran cowards club you’d really be into.
If not then remember, it isn’t that you do Not have the fear, it’s that you go on despite it. Fear comes with everything worth fighting for. Just make sure your desires outweigh it. You have to want something more than you fear losing it. Otherwise fear will always bridle you, the weight of it dragging you down, crippling you. You won’t be able to move. Few things are worse than a lack of personal growth. Philosophy of the mind classifies this as a personality failure. You’re inhibiting the actual you from emerging; actively blocking your Self from budding or flowering. You are stopping yourself.
And fuck society as far as wanting some things for yourself goes, this is one thing you really need. Because you should have something to give first. Then you can mother Teresa around the continent as you please. Can’t have an empty shell walking around like a zombie looking for brains in the way of internal completeness.
This is why, and some of y’all may hate me; I don’t much advocate for perpetual dating. The thing with me is, it may seem like we’re deep, self-replenishing wells of love, but we’re not. That childlike optimism we possess growing up, you will all bear witness, dies a quick and sudden death soon into our young adult lives. And the harsh reality of the human condition is quick to replace it. Mine died when I was in pri-school and my fellow classmate had developed boobs that so clearly showed while I didn’t even have raised nipples. True story. And it’s not even that I’d wanted the attention it elicited, no. I am a feminist, an actual proud female of the species. Not those butch made representatives. So my desires were more about identification than anything else. I wanted them because I was supposed to have them; because it was part of my distinction. I shouldn’t have been so carried away. But there I was, comparing cups I knew would never be mine. I wanted those kinds that look really cute when you put on a body fitting short sleeved tee. The kind that made you look like a nymph in the woods when you lowered that neckline a little.The kind of breasts that show at the sides when you wear a size smaller. The kind of boobs, that look like yellow beach mangoes when you bend at the waist. The kind of boobies, that are one light colour while the rest of your body is another because they are probably the only healthy part of you.
Since I will have to feed my infants via milk bottle, let me settle for conquering the other aspects of my life. As must all of us.
We can’t all have nice boobs, but maybe we can avoid a thigh gap.