At the airport, past the security, on my way to L.A.
Something happened that is worthy of taking note of…
It was an answer to a childhood discord; it was the form of communication that caught my attention. A form of communication I developed around the age of six and still use it as if to talk to angels of chances and fate. The first time I tried to explain it, I explained it as the communication existing but without a receiver; or a receiver existing but without the communication; or a receiver and communication existing, but without the giver… This is what I meant to say:
So I was checking out girls like I usually do, and there was this one girl, who responded in a very familiar way. I was shocked by the way she responded because until that moment, I only recognized that type of response in myself.
Like wanting something, but being afraid to ask for it; a forbidden desire; an ambition that is looked down on and therefore must hide it with my life. But at the same time, the hope that dwells in me urges to get out; to give out some kind of sign of my desperation, for a chance that someone, someone willing to help, may hear it; and only this someone who is willing to help, may hear it.
The tragedy is that even deep inside myself, I feel as if this someone does not exist, should not exist. How selfish of me, how naïve to think that someone would help me with such a cheap desire. Naïve of me to think that such a person would exist that would be interested in participating in such a repulsive act with me. For this reason, my request for intimacy, was whispered into the wind, aimed at nothing; whispered, not even with the desire in mind I whispered. It was aimed at no one, only a hope, a hope that I believe with the bottom of my heart that it should not, and could not exist.
I recognized that desperate affection, from my own experience: the heat of contention, the clot of hesitation, the building up of heartbreak as I try to build up hope (because I realize that the more hopeful I become the more naïve I am becoming).
It took me by surprise, what she did; it amazed me, it made me realize that I was not alone in this desperation, that I am not the only one who is desperate for intimacy.
It is not an easy thing to figure out and even less easy to feel okay about believing it, because of how each person tries to play it off… “I would never be desperate, if there is anyone that is weak, it is the other person. Everyone needs intimacy, it’s a fact for every human being; except for me, I am strong, I am the one that satisfies, I am not the one who needs help.” And I know this can easily be identified as bullshit, but the thing is that, I would rather believe your lies than break your trust.
It took me by surprise, what she did; it amazed me, it made me realize that I was not alone in this desperation, that I am not the only one who is desperate for intimacy:
After taking a couple of glances my way to make sure I may or may not had been looking, she faced my direction, while looking at the corner of the ceiling behind me and lipped the words, “I love you”. She did not dare look at me after she had done that; as wishing that I got the message, but hoping I wouldn’t.
I recognized that desperate passion as her little sister smiled at me as she observed me, only then to report to her that I had just been staring her way. All of her gestures and responses, they were too familiar to me. Until now, I was the only person I knew that had felt such things that causes one to respond in such a way.
“I love you” she said, and this love between strangers is as genuine as the love that couples, even most married couples, have today.
I wanted to let her know that I loved her too, and that I would do anything for her (and this was as much bullshit as the crap your boyfriend tells you). That my heart, at that moment, craved to spend a lifetime stuck with her in a secluded room; it craved for us to live through ecstatic adventures as one. I craved to have known her even before I was born; that it broke my heart that I didn’t know her until we met, and that it broke my heart even more, to know that I will not get to know her even then; because I did not have the courage, or even the tactic, to approach her perfectly, in the exact way she dreamed.
By her vibe I knew she was thinking the same.
I wanted to let her know, but each time I wanted to express it, my doubts got in the way: “You are deluding yourself, she didn’t just…, she couldn’t have meant it, she wouldn’t even consider doing such a thing, no such person could ever exist, you are just a desperate creep and you are, in fact, alone”. My mind kept trying to convince me that I was alone”, but in her I saw the same thoughts I was having: it was like looking into a mirror in which your reflection exists as its own soul, but at the same time having the exact same mind. I let my doubts take over my behavior, but not over the memory of what I had just witnessed. My mind kept trying to “bring me back to reality”, but the ambience of her behavior was still there, it was still real.
This incident was indeed, a consolation to a childhood dissonance: it was like a remedy that alleviated a line that measured time with a hopeless and forgotten affliction. It was like coming face to face with the child you had been, it was like getting that Christmas present that kept your heart broken since you were six; it was like waking up the magic that you believed in when you were innocent, but turned your back on, as you began to believe that pain was necessary, and therefore became addicted to misery.
As beautiful as this was to me, I must not get attached to it; for the value of fixing a broken heart is meaningless compared to the value of being enlightened by the fact that there was never a heartbreak. This is something I still have to learn.
