This is another random musing that I’ve thought up round about 5 in the morning, and I decided that since I was having a very bad case of jet lag, I might as well get on my computer and write it down. I guess it’s really a justification of self brought on by some cultural questions I’ve had to answer, but then again, it’s something worth sharing and sounds mildly intellectual.
I’ve just been thinking of relationships. Touchy subject, especially given that I haven’t had anywhere near the ‘normal share’ compared to most English people, and probably even less than most Malaysians. But as far as I’m concerned it’s not the number of experiences you have, it’s how much you take out of each one that matters.
I was thinking of the process of the ‘ordinary relationship’. And I’ve realised that it’s fairly standard. In the words of Sir Ian Fleming, “sentiment, the touch of the hand, the kiss, the passionate kiss, the climax in bed, then more bed, then less bed, then the boredom, the tears and the final bitterness”. Granted, some cultures allow more or less bed, but men, as we all know, think with their balls so I’ll assume they take as much bed as they can get away with.
I’ve broken some hearts, and I’ve been burned in turn, just like most others. I don't hold any grudges, but I’m not happy with the process – I didn’t agree with the way it messed up a woman, not least because I felt a good amount of pain for her. In that way, I suppose I’m a gentleman, or perhaps my morals are ridiculously strong. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t want to do any more damage looking for the lady of my dreams who, as far as I know, may not even exist.
I guess that’s why I can be quite cynical when I meet a woman who appear to fit the criteria. I venture into unknown territory here – my personal view is that I’m afraid of hurting her as well as myself. Freud would say that it’s because of the relationship between my parents, which at times can be ‘stormy’ (hah, understatement there!). Well, whatever the reasons, I happily confess my sarcasm – I do it partly to confirm that she does not actually meet the criteria, and partly because I’m afraid that she may actually fulfil all the tests I’ve set for her. Sarcasm is a form of armour sometimes.
But, (again borrowing from Fleming), “like all harsh, cold men”, I am “easily tipped over into sentiment”, and with sentiment comes the danger of a relationship. I do my best to trim the branches before they can bloom into flowers, but I let the odd one grow at its own pace, and I’ve been rewarded once in a while with something more important than a relationship – trust. And I guess that’s something I value more than a quick romance.
To the few whom I have let flowers bloom for (I know one among you who knows I’m talking about her), thank you for your trust. I’ll do my best to keep it.