June 4, 2009
All I can say is, I'm sorry. And that I didn't use to be like this. I was neither fickle nor flippant, although at present I know I appear to be both. But even as I apologize for it I'm not sure if there's anything I can do to revert to the person I was once-upon-a-time-when-life-was-less-complicated. I'm not entirely certain, morever, that I'd want to. The first boy I ever 'fell' in love with was four years older to me at school. He was the epitome of cool and a shy, lonely just turned teenager fell head-over-heels for a self-created illusion. The illusion stayed with me for years, long after he finished his A-levels and left the country for his undergrad. I cherished the memories of the single time we had a conversation that lasted longer than ten minutes, the time he held my hand as we crossed a road (only because in a what-was-in-hindsight-a-brilliant-move I had confessed to him that I was afraid of the cars zipping by) long-long after he was gone. I fell in love again a little later with a boy who I kissed on lonely steps under starlit Lahori skies. I stayed in love for years this time with unparalleled intensity. My life revolved around him, and I was happy to let it. Until it ended. And I painfully came face to face with the underlying truth in Oscar Wilde's assertion that perhaps the only lifelong romance is 'to love oneself'. I fell in love for the third time not too long ago, but that story was also an abbreviated one. It did, however, last for over two years. Except two years is not four, and four is not the nebulous time-frame of early teenage 'forever'. Love is easier to get over now. And the effects of a relationship which comes to an end are not as disastrous. Staying friends post-romance is easier with each successive romantic aftermath. But yes, to answer your question: Over time, there have been an increasing number of romantic aftermaths. I don't know if that is because I've become fickle, or flippant, or if it's just part and parcel of understanding that love is really not as painful as other disasters. That, and an acceptance of the transient nature of most emotions. I suppose the more I 'move on', I realize that it's only a matter of time before the next exciting possibility appears (and as they all have, disappears) along the horizon. And even as I wait for the forever-after, I indulge in harmless romantic diversions. They will not last, most probably, but they do make the journey and the interminable wait far, far more interesting. I think.