Relationships

Love is…

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So when I was younger I religiously read one of our daily newspapers, The Daily Nation, because it had this comic strip – Love is – which it turns outs, has an awesome love story about its creator and how she drew the cartoons for her future husband… *swoon*

I used to race each day to find what love was each day and I savored every reading.

Recently, I have been wondering what love really is — especially now that life has happened to me and things are not what I thought they would turn out to be.

Turns out that love is not as simple for me as I thought it would be. Unrequited feelings, loss, and personal tragedies make it difficult to ease into love or even to trust that things work out. Isolation is a safer space than it should be for a romantic… and I am far more familiar with loneliness than I ever thought I would be.

But this is not the only story about what love is or has been. I have loved many wonderful souls and some were really wonderful people to love. I have loved others who did not love me back. I was loved by some that I did not love back. So, really, love has been a retrospectively wonderful experience.

Some days, though, like today, love seems to be one endless journey of searching, connecting, disconnecting, falling and failing, and I suppose for the most part, just waiting. Waiting for something magical to find me and surprise me and stick with me… in the most pleasurably challenging ways.

https://loveiscomix.com/daily/20050914/

Historical Romance

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The first time I read a Historical Romance novel, I had a weird reaction. I was late to the party so I must have been in my early twenties. Until that point, I had only explored contemporary fiction and romance — I really loved chic lit!

A friend was getting rid of her books and gave me a few new ones to try. Because of the book covers 🙄🙄🙄 I thought there was no chance in hell that I would enjoy them… except I did. There was something about the way the writing appealed to my fantasies… the phrases the characters used and the tenderness with which they expressed the simple desire to connect. I found that with historical romance, I was rooting for the couples to find each other, to resolve their conflicts, and to agree to let each other in…

Now if you’ve read these books, they’re very formulaic. They focus on the couples meeting, loving, conflict, then resolution of this conflict, and at last a satisfying or happy ending (usually they marry because this is often the goal). I didn’t expect to like this formula, but over time, I have relished and looked forward to discovering how these characters love, what makes them clash (and there’s a whole range of conflicts, I have found), and what makes them have faith that to love is to forgive, compromise, fight for the opportunity, etc., etc., etc.

For some reason this quest for love, in this particular format, also moves me the most. It is not unusual for me to feel sad when the couples fight or have my heart skip a beat when there is, at last, a confession of love. I am often frustrated when they just can’t get it together… all the near misses and unvoiced longings prolong the time to the confession and this is, of course, a highlight in this journey! So yeah… I am often very, very, invested.

Secretly too, if I have a love interest, I often think of them in these moments. My heart sighs with longing even as these characters move along their story line. I never would have thought that I can identify with the characters in these kind of books… but I guess the desire to be wanted and loved is “universal” in that sense. Maybe that’s really why I love all forms of romance.

In any case, reading a historical romance is today, one of the highest forms of indulgence for me. I savor and slow down the reading… only two to five pages at a time. I look forward to the next stage of conversation and to lovers finding love.

That’s not all. When I finish the book, if it’s not a Kindle purchase, I will lovingly shelf the copy and note the emotions I felt carefully. And then on a slow dusk evening or lonely day or weepy weather day, I will pull it back out and jump back to the places that made me feel, and reprise the emotions.

I love romance novels because of the possibilities, the words, and the tenderness they capture. It’s like a delightful box of written surprises.

Let me get back to my latest one… About a certain maidenly aunt and her beau, both in their fifties and looking at a second chance at love. I am about half way in… *Sigh* …

I have a silent ember of longing too… I need to feel the promise of finding true love for me. (I could also write a historical romance, too, huh?)… Let me see what side of hope they will push me towards.

Back to writing

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I finally got back to writing. I took a break… an involuntary one… there was too much going on around me and I couldn’t focus on my writing discipline. It’s a shame how life’s difficulties can sip into the very things that keep us in balance. I think I have written this before — I am my best self when I have sufficient time to write. I feel grounded and reconciled. Still, I can’t say why the first thing to be chucked out the door when I am struggling is the writing.

It feels like moving my writing from the fickle land of my whims into more permanent territory will be a lifelong venture.

I do have to admit though that my current project doesn’t lend itself to big spurts of writing. I am re-visiting a painful place. It is not easy. I’ve had a few bouts of crying… and sat in my sadness… and even held several pity parties. I want to excuse it all as being quite necessary since my current project is about healing on a very personal level. I am realizing that as I re-tell myself the story of the hurt, I am also filing away things that have been holding me back. So I suppose it will be alright in the end.

When it is too much, I have to remind myself that I must write this book because all the others won’t get written if this one is still in the way. Besides, I am pre-occupied with maximizing my happiness potential. The very idea that I have this large expansive of satisfaction that I have yet to feel drives me to search fervently. If healing is necessary for me to access it, then I have to keep going.

Also, since I have a longing to experience relationships on a certain level of authenticity, I guess it means that I have to confront my hurts and deal with my domestication (… this is a veiled reference to Don Miguel Ruiz’s Mastery of Love — I should reflect on that one of these days…).

Needless to say, the writing project that I am trying to finish now requires a deeper level of reckoning and well, the result is that I am running from myself even as I am reluctantly trudging towards the healing that it brings.

There is one fringe benefit of having completed one book project though: the prospect of getting to the end of this road fills me with anticipatory joy. I know that I will get there eventually and that it will be worth every morsel of pain and struggle.

Energies and music

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Energy is a curiosity. It is telling of stories yet to be written and some best forgotten. As relationships develop, they often take on energies and personalities distinct from the ones of those who participate in them. When coupled with music, it is a beautiful thing — it can be inspiring. But maybe it’s anything that involves crowds working together — dancing, flash mobs, riots (maybe not those so much)… but something changes when people direct themselves into similar intentions and interactions… I think just as everything has two sides, sometimes herding is not as bad — it’s not as great when it manifests as group think, but it’s great as vaccinations and herd immunity, and also dance fests… and most things counter culture that are artistic in nature like breakdancing.

I was dancing today and then I sat and watched people around me dancing together… it was truly magical. I was swept up in the emotions of it. It was beautiful. I want to do it again. It was different from clubbing… happiness from movement and joy from moving together… it was magical.

Sometimes I am slow – part 2 of 2

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And now, the letter…

Mmmhhh… so continuing from the previous post, here’s the letter that I wrote. Somehow I am not as enthusiastic about it as I was before. I don’t even know why it was so important for me to write it or even post it. I guess it’s me needing to be heard.

I am of two minds now. Not sure if I have resolved anything. Except maybe the chance to have a one-sided conversation and make up for being really slow… Anyway, here’s the letter:

Dear Lover,

You know one of the most beautiful things about me, I think, is how much I love love… it’s kinda my thing. 

My biggest wish has been, and remains, to find this Big Love. The other night we spoke and I was not clear about the things I thought I wanted. You insisted that I knew what I needed. And I said I was not sure. I was not being disingenuous— my processor was overwhelmed by you and so things were just not ringing true in that special inner place where true wishes do.

Afterwards, nearly a week later to be honest, I was able to access myself in a way that I have not done in a long while.

It probably does not matter but I finally realized what I want. Lover, I desire to be loved deeply and truly. Being with you the other night showed me how intimacy could be. How much I missed being connected to someone. How much I really wanted to love someone back, to touch them, to nurture them, to fulfill their desires, to be close — and perhaps to give them the things they secretly wish for too — and maybe help them uncover bits and pieces of themselves they thought were lost to life experiences and disappointments.

Sometimes, like now, I am overwhelmed by how romantic and idealized my thoughts are regarding love. I am afraid that my desire to be loved in such a specific way stands in the way of me finding love. But while I know there is a good chance that these could remain longings (I am so aware of time passing), I am so totally convinced about the one thing that I cannot possibly give up: I deserve to be loved fiercely and decisively— not to be someone’s ambivalent number one. But to be wholly and boldly desired. To be chosen as the One. 

Despite being now so clear about what I desire and seek — I am terribly scared to admit it — sometimes, even to myself. 

I want to thank you, Lover, for helping me realize how important it is for me to be loved and wholly accepted and to be able to bear witness to this showing of love without confusion.  Without hesitation. And without shame of the sometimes bearing of my insecurities and neediness. 

(I am so incredibly aware of my own imperfections and inadequacies).

So you were right. I do want to be able to point and say, “Mine.” But above all this, I want the chance to be loved and to love unconditionally — and desired too — with unwavering conviction!

Conviction… Not a very romantic notion, huh?

xoxoxo

So now…

So that was the letter. I am so hopeful that I will find someone who will be sure about me.

And one who will (gasp!) give me their heart. 

And that I shall be in the privileged position of loving them too and hopefully doing it in the way they desire the most.

Sometimes I am slow – part 1 of 2

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Oh boy…

I recently had a bit more insight into myself and what I found was quite exciting. Well, to be honest, it was more terrifying than exciting but oh! the stories I tell myself!

I found that I am often slow to process my thoughts and emotions, especially when I am feeling tenderly for someone. The sharp wit, the quick come backs, and the articulate expressions often leave me. I probably will need to unpack why this happens but I now understand how people can get overwhelmed by feelings and emotions.

While I was thinking about how slow I go, it occurred to me that maybe all my senses are so tuned in to that one moment, that my brain cannot do the quick thing it does and I am at a disadvantage.

So you can guess by now, that I was in a position of disadvantage recently. I was trying to have an honest conversation with a very important “Him” … and I was incredibly frustrated by my inability to access myself and be true in the moment. I was apprehensive. I felt under pressure to appear cool. Maybe my ego didn’t help because I was already so enamored by “Him” and quite unable to process as quickly, that I was being really slow.

It wasn’t until days later that I began having the conversation, with myself obviously, that I should have had with “Him.”

It took me a week nearly to figure out my thoughts. I couldn’t go back to have a conversation because well, it was a week later. I wasn’t too keen to be as open just yet, because, well… ego… Still, my inner romantic teenager was screaming at me to ventilate my issues. I have written about ventilation before and how satisfying it is to just put things out there. Of course, the post has a different context but the theme is the same: confront the fear, deal with the issue. Anyway, I decided to write a letter.

So there’s a bit at stake here, right? There is the exposure and vulnerability of being so open. And there’s the risk of discovery— right now, I have the privilege of being undiscovered and unread. It’s so much easier to write when no one’s watching. Even better when I can disguise my most innermost thoughts and feelings as an exploration of myself as Writer (yes, with a capital W).

So anyway, I wrote this long letter. I haven’t the courage to share with “Him” so I decided to confessional it. It’s actually pretty poetic because I want to copy and paste it into the post just as the bells of a nearby Church are pealing… I will take that as a sign to proceed.

I think one of the fringe benefits of being a cowardly romance writer should be the ability to use my own inadequacies as material, not so? But I think I will create a whole new post with the letter. This one is a bit too long anyway.

You know, as I was drafting the letter, I did feel an abnormal amount of satisfaction— not only in having articulated myself as I wish I could in what I think was a defining moment of romance, but also in being honest with myself.

In my twisted romantic mind, I sometime think that one day, I will have magically earned the level of honesty with myself that will allow me to truly connect to another human being and perhaps enjoy love. Every time I am able to courageously express my innermost desires, I feel as though I am closer to finding my Big Love.

Of course, maybe I am completely off. But some romantic teenager inside me whispers, “What if you’re not wrong?”

Coming up next: Part 2 of this post.

Pull of the past

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So I wrote this whole post about the pull of the past but I lost it somehow.

Anyway, I was musing as usual about how I feel the pull of the past.  I am nearly done with my first book project – the short stories – which I think are coming along nicely.  I don’t think I am this great literary but I love to tell the stories… hopefully some people will agree with me.  But as I near the end, I am feeling a little sad that the mad rush is over… next is the phase of other tedious tasks – editing, graphics and layout, and then at last publishing.  I am proud of myself for getting this far but it’s got me thinking about my next project.

Lately, I have been fantasizing about writing a historical romance.  There is something about being able to place myself in the time of two lovers who wished their story could be told that is quite appealing to me.  And it sounds romantic doesn’t it, to write about 11th century Malindi and maybe two young lovers indulging in a forbidden affair.  But of course, I worry about the authenticity of the writing – will I be true to how love was conducted in the time… how did they love? How did they woo? How did they express their longing for freedom to be who they are and to celebrate who they are?

My fantasy tells me that I would enjoy immersing myself in the time and the culture.  Learning little known facts, revealing them slowly, and savoring the outcome.  I can nearly see it.  Sneaking love notes on a wall – tucked into some nook.  Moving quickly past each other so that no one can fault them for familiarity and knowing.  Solitude and longing.  And maybe I could salvage a little of what’s lost about the Swahili coast and the living that was to be had there.

I wonder if it is bad luck to think this long about a story — but I will write it.  And I am hoping some two lovers, across time, will reach me and tell me how to tell their story.

About dimensions

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It’s quite human — and somewhat convenient — to paint people simply.  It’s much easier to label someone as all good or another as all bad.  I am learning that people are far more than just one “thing.”

I am also conscious that this is the same thing for me… it is possible for me to exist in these seemingly contradictory spaces. I have had a hard time understanding for instance that being angry and expressing my anger does not make me an inherently evil person.  I have a lot of guilt when I express anger — and I don’t know where I got this false belief that being angry equals being a mean person.  Especially when I know that anger is a healthy emotion and that it is basically a way of signaling that I feel an injustice has been done or that I object to how a story is unfolding.

But I think what I have learnt that is truly humbling is that because I was previously opposed to letting myself comfortably occupy these contradictory spaces without losing my identity, I was unable to lend this grace to others.  And it is really sad.  I think I used to see the world as black and white — and in some ways, I still do (but hopefully less so). Living that kind of life can be quite difficult…

I suppose with age I am softening and learning to live in the grey areas and getting more comfortable with not having this purist view of life… It is both refreshing and terrifying… but it fills me with great compassion.

Fringe benefit – this realization of dimensions makes it easier to really enjoy the Meredith Brooks “Bitch” song as popularized by Alanis Morrisette:

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover
I’m a child, I’m a mother
I’m a sinner, I’m a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I’m your hell, I’m your dream
I’m nothing in between
You know you wouldn’t want it any other way
So take me as I am…

Changing direction

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So there are many life defining moments that a writer like me would bookmark.  The first time I read a book and was so moved by the emotions that little butterflies roamed my tummy and I had to catch my breathe.  The first time I felt emotions of love and adoration. The first time I was told that I was loved.  You get my drift…

But there are other firsts which are so significant that they change how you experience life and therefore how you express yourself.  I think I had one of those “Damascus” moments this year.  I want to write differently after this experience (no doubt will be a confessional post one of these days) and the only regret I have is that I hadn’t been writing consistently so that I could see the change.  I’m guessing it would have been awesome to see.

Nevertheless, I think because I have changed how I see life and a lot of my core beliefs have been challenged, my writing will change and indeed has changed.  I feel bolder and find it easier to access my voice.  And I had been searching for an authentic expression of myself for a while – so that’s a relief.

Anyway, I am happy that I am evolving.  Let’s see how it changes my stories.

Everybody’s story is delicious

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Sometimes I can be quite nosy.

As I have confessed before I love everything about love.  I enjoy hearing about relationships — between parents and children, siblings, lovers, could have been lovers, best friends who secretly wish that they were lovers — all those delicious little bits that reaffirm that love makes the world go round.  So… I can’t help myself when people tell me they’re married or dating or in a lifelong committment or not dating — I want to why, know when, how did it happen, what did you say, what did he/she/they say, and then… And for me, it’s like one delicious slice of red velvet cake.

And I keep these little stories with me.  Every so often I will refer back to them.  Visit the imagery in my head — hear the words, remember how the stories were told to me, how the teller looked, how their eyes moved, and what I felt when they shared… Sometimes to break up the conversations in my head or to occupy my bored mind.  Other times to enrich a story that I am writing or to give color to a character.

My confession today — these little stories also give me hope that the Big Love that I desire so much and long for so much will soon be mine as well.  Surely with all these wonderful stories going around, one day I will be able to have my own.  Hopefully, it will be about living it daily for a long, long time — instead of daydreaming or wishing or longing… delicious.