Archive for the ‘When a World Ends: The Series’ Category

What should have come first, but didn’t: The Vixen

Earlier, I spoke of no historical references, but the first will always be the first, and that is you.  Really should have put you first, but you didn’t, so I didn’t either.

We were young, so young, so rebellious, angry, clean, pure, and seeking the ugliness of the world.  You were defintely my first “love”.  I remember crying my self to sleep while holding something you gave me the night our world ended.  So gay!

Lets see, where should I start? What is the most important event between us? It wasn’t the you cheating on me with a friend, or me forgiving you, or that you dumped me a week later.  Maybe it was the fact you came to church with me, or we made-out for hours on end, or the fact that I considered being with you the rest of my life.  None of that I think.  It was probably the fact that you were an eye opener for me, you showed me that it is not all peaches and cream, or that romance trumps all.  I loathed your existence for months, but now I thank you everyday.

It is sad to see what you were disappear, you have become something completely different than I remember.  Your tolerant self is replaced with a hateful one, you have become aggressive and a patrol of the wrong cultural side.  It was bound to happen, you were pushing the boundaries of darkness, I tried to stay the course with you, but I couldn’t, I had to eject.

Who knows who will be featured in the next episode of the series.  It is really getting hairy from this point on . . .


Second entry: The Spy

Ohhhh you . . . You flipped my life upside down,
inside out, irrational and unwise.  I might be writing this due to my recent brush with Miss Congeniality or the recent mishaps with Miss Beautiful Disaster, but in reality your spirit is behind any creativity in this post.  Aside from the fact that you introduced me to “The Face Book”, back when no one knew what it was, no other human has inspired me to write so affectionately as much as you have.  Short and sweet it was, maybe it meant nothing to little to you, but for me the impact was impeccably sensational.  Only a couple of months long, with long winded “love” letters travelling back and forth, flying to  random cities to live the moment, laying in bed, sharing headphones, consuming the lavish room-service main course with our young hands instead the cutlery we dropped on the floor a few minutes before.

Come to think of it, I won that battle of the roses.  My letters in the end trumped yours, and you stopped putting as much effort in them, even though you continued on calling.  Maybe it was because calls where not recorded like our words were, maybe its due to the fact that I spent hours on hours in sleepless night to craft those letters?  You did not have the time, you were young and on a mission, I was wrapping up mine and getting ready to start a stable life.  Six years later, I see you.  You are older, you are wiser, you are less of a loose canon, yet your eyes are the same and your heart isn’t.

For some reason, it is much easier to write about you,  maybe its the comfort that I have all our letters saved, or perhaps that I know that you are the one that doesn’t hold a grudge against me.  What ever it is, it made it easier to write you up first.

Way back then, in the hotel room, in the Rome of this century we told jokes:

The Spy: “What is one Palestinian in the sea?” . . .”Polution”.  “What is all Palestinians in the sea?”  . . . “Solution”

The Strict Machine: “Well . . . How many Jews can you fit in a BMW”.  “Two in the front, two in the back seat, and 96 in the ashtray”

We laugh. We sleep. We are gone the next day. Forever gone.

Next episode will discuss the one and only, The Vixen . . .

‎”Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being ‘in love,’ which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.” –St. Augustine

I wanted to do this for a while.  Instead of just living the memories in my mind, write them down, lest I forget, lest I render them, shape them or mold them to fit what I have become.  Putting my inhibitions aside, forgetting the notion, that our emotions can be kept at bay, or swept away.

Due to emotionally horrific events that occurred recently, and after deep thought, I decided to write about the most influential relationship I had over the past ten years and share them, bare, with the world.  This is the least I owe my self, my memories, and the ones who molded and sculpted my perception of relationships, more importantly my self and what I need.  This will probably require more than one post, I figured I could start with the ones that crashed and burned a long time ago.  The ones that I am at 100% peace with.  There certainly be a second installment, if not more.

This will be a series of posts, episodes if you will.  I will neither go in order of impact magnitude nor historical lineage.  Also, don’t assume intimacy or the lack of which.  This will be a spew of memories, just how like my unfiltered brain works every day.  These are memories that will stay with me till either I or the world ends, which ever comes first.

Without any further verbosity, here is subject number one: Miss Congeniality

For the sake of simplicity, I will refer to this very unique creature with the initials MC, for Miss Congeniality.  Its a damn shame she asked me to delete all our pictures together when “our” world ended.  There was this perfect picture of our feet toying around in the Venice Beach, CA sand, with the Pacific Ocean as the background.  Long lost now thanks to feminine emotions and me keeping my word.  There were so many pictures that are long gone, completely erased from the history of mankind, forever gone.

The pictures might have been deleted, but the memories are safe in my brain.  This superlative connection ended because of one thing, and one thing only, the epic, ever-old clash of religions.  She is on one side of the thick red line, and I am on the other, she wanted to ignore it, but my experience with The Vixen hardened me and made me realize that it is not possible to work it out.  People fool themselves everyday thinking that they can make things work even if their core beliefs are completely different.  It is possible, but then, there is always something at the bottom of your heart that you don’t fully share.  It does not matter if you come from the same religious/cultural back ground, this is not the trick here, its what is in your heart and mind.

You are owed this much, you were the first woman to show me the real meaning of comfort, the true meaning of passion.  You were so bright, smart and witty, and I was so proud of it.  My friend heard my many words about you, when he saw you first he said “I hear you are really smart, now tell me something smart”.

It was your attention to the details, I buy a box of fortune cookies on a rainy day, you send me a silver fortune-cookie ornament in my birthday gift package.  The Christmas card that I yelled at you for sending, the call after my first debate and my face on TV.  The hell you had to go through to spend time with me.  It was your unwavering attempts to make me happy on my birthday, your acceptance when I told you I was sick and contagious.

The memory of you & I playing in the waves, on an isolated beach, then one wave carying your little body and dropping you so hard that you broke your ankle, I had to carry you till I couldn’t, I had to leave you alone to get help.  Then at the hospital you assumed my last name for the official records.  We smiled, we laughed, you were in pain, yet still making my world such a happy place.  You were falling apart, and I forced you to carry on, on a wheel chair I put you on an airplane.  It was the last time I saw you in that way, with the eyes of a lover.

Needless to say, this was probably the relationship that continues to define me the most till this day.  You made me realize what I want in woman, I want you, maybe not entirely, but you set the standard pretty damn high.  I know one day you will be present in my funeral.  Many women are cursing your living daylights every waking day after you came into my life.  It makes me so happy.

Next entry will discuss The Spy.  Stay tuned . . .