Love Isn’t Always On Time and Things I Wish I Had Known

Caution to probable male readers: This is not for the faint of heart. I had flicked off a few of my blog buddies, one by one, just to be able to write posts like this. But then, I suddenly found myself earning a new set of dude pals because I just couldn’t help myself from clicking Like on your impressive blog posts. Now I may have another batch to flick away – soon. 😀

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Nobody in my childhood and teen years had hammered to my awareness the value of enriching the mind. I was raised in a household that glorified good looks more than cerebral strength. Same as to the necessity in complying with societal norms; Everyone should get married, have children, try to live happily ever after.

In the recent past, almost everybody never gets tired aiming these questions at me: “You aren’t seeing anyone anymore? Do you realize how much you’re missing out on not having a man?”

If the inquisitor is a female, it’s tempting to bounce back with: “You know, you’re just too dull to cultivate any hobbies instead of immersing yourself with the crap your man throws your way.”

If it’s a man, it would be lovely to imagine myself blurting out: “@s$h*l*.”

But I try to manage with a smile. Sometimes my counter goes like “Eh, they’re all the same” — although it may prompt me to run for my life afterwards. 🙂  My safer candid reply has come down to, “If only it was that easy to hook up with anyone for hooking-up’s sake.” 

Look, I’ve been through all that – young love, sweet romances, affairs, marriage, matrimonial dissolution, dating, younger men, etc. They entirely sum up to an unfortunate truth: I wasted too much of my precious time on men.

Don’t get me wrong. I do like men. No, to be precise, I love men. They’re fabulous friends, buddies, helpers, acquaintances, entertainers, co-workers, bosses, business partners, etc. I am grateful for having them around.

And I still get crushes: I blush helplessly in front of a ridiculously handsome, humorous, charming man; glance surreptitiously at the hottest-looking guy inside a 7-11 store; fall off my chair (out of admiration) reading well-crafted blog posts of interestingly (emphasis on the term interesting) intelligent men. I may be jaded, but I’m not dead.

In the actual romance department, though, it’s undeniable men are fantastic only during the early stages — best to enjoy them while they’re still into you, I mean. Subsequently, things inevitably turn downhill.

Before I forget, the words sharp and “very wise” have also been used to describe me.

The highest number of responses I garnered came from my “opus” —  https://justmarj.wordpress.com/2013/11/16/the-satirical-hard-facts-about-being-single-strictly-for-ladies-only/ — which received mild criticism from one or two co-bloggers who told me I had been merely lashing out for all the romantic blows I took in the past. Partly true, I guess. Even so, my major issues remain: Why do women generally have to come out as the pathetic gender in the sphere of love? Why are they willing to swallow a massive nutty pile of bullshit from their partners just to duck the prospect of being alone, at least, for a while?

Unless you were fortunate to have ended up with the person The Gods of Heavens had matched you up with, sustaining a relationship would be a lifetime of struggle. Especially for the woman who’ll always be on the losing side by reason of her cultural status and emotional constitution. Why has jumping through hoops always been the woman’s task?

The principal cause of men misbehaving happens to be us, too. We women let them get away with unacceptable behaviour. Then we feel dreadful and disgraced for having allowed the mistreatment.

All around me I see only couples who simply go on enduring the company of their better halves for whatever reasons. They aren’t happy, either. A greater number are even tons unhappier than the unmarried ones. And there’s this thing I have noted as well: The inevitable crisis of growing old could tame some men and make them behave better, or finally results to them becoming improved, docile mates. Nevertheless, what kind of woman would be willing to wait that long?

Loneliness is likely the no-joke repercussion most single women can’t bear going through. As for me, I don’t feel the type of loneliness these women are straining to dodge. Honestly. Maybe I’m finer flying solo. Or perhaps, for mysterious reasons, it just doesn’t bother me. The conformists will, however, always have something unpleasant to say to my case and argument.

I watched an Oprah episode on man-woman issues ages ago that had one man asserting, “Most often (for us), it’s all about right timing.” The rest of the men in the audience nodded. It’s that simple. I wish I had known that in my much younger days. I wish all women knew that. So they wouldn’t have to shed all those tears and keep jumping through hoops which are undesirable corollaries to the “privilege” of staying as the other half of a couple.

To my mind, still, that man’s sentiment is a brown nutty pile of bullshit.

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I couldn’t think of a better title for this post other than the the words “love isn’t always on time” from the lyrics of “Hold The Line,” my favorite from the band Toto. The song says it well: It’s never really about what the woman does to keep a man. Please get that, my fellow gals.

The Satirical Hard Facts About Being Single (Strictly For Ladies Only)

Whenever my memory pokes to remind me of my naive self in my 20s, I get a strong urge to hop on any time machine available to be able to hunt down the younger me from years back – and give her a couple of large slaps on each cheek so that she may wake up to her senses when it comes to dealing with the affairs of the heart.

Reading some single ladies – both young and old, including highly intelligent ones – blog about romantic love or lack of it in their lives these days makes me cringe and wonder if I had sounded that much asinine myself in the annals of this site. After all, this blog has been serving as my diary and memoir – where a huge lack of shame on my part must be exercised to target its purpose.

It’s impossible to chronicle my romantic past without somehow indulging in a moderate degree of male bashing here. It is something I have evaded for too long as there are a few male blog pals who have become dear to my heart; each of them earning a special place in my blogging world in distinctive ways. Basically, I like men as friends and as the opposite sex. But I need to set that fact aside in writing something like this for the enlightenment, hopefully, of women my kind. A blog buddy has given his blessings for me to go ahead. So if any of my other male pals comes across this post, may they have the better sense to skip reading and turn away. This piece is dedicated exclusively for female readers – the single ones to be precise.

I wish all single ladies, young and old, feel this way.

Listen, my dear ladies: Once you’ve reached your forties, you will make a fool of yourself if you treat the search for a good man a serious matter. When you begin approaching middle-age, a nice-looking single guy with good character and good intentions is already impossible to find. It’s not your fault. Blame it on the globe’s oversupply of our gender species. Now in case you attempt to make it with a dude younger than you – it’s gonna be pointless still. Unless your intention is pure torrid sex and lotsa fun. Men generally think in the “What’s in it for me?” mode. They are naturally inclined that way. As a result, we women will be a never-ending subject for exploitation and humiliation – if we don’t watch it. On the other hand, if you go for an older guy, well… I doubt a man your age or your senior will take an interested glance your direction by reason of your (maturing) good looks. You see, older men could only itch for girls young enough to be their daughters. Again, it’s their natural inclination. Just like when they glue themselves much into free porn and are busy subscribing to sites that exhibit very young poor girls from all over the world taking their clothes off online. If you’re a wife to one of them, you might ask, “What’s become of my role, then?” Not to worry, you still get the “honor” of being your husband’s caretaker in his twilight years. FYI: Why do ya think Japanese wives are in a hustle to divorce their husbands once retirement years come around? Simple. To claim both their freedom and the money from their pervert mates. Clever Asian gals, huh.

Others will advise you “Don’t lose hope. Keep on searching for the frog. For your Prince, I mean.” That is mighty old school. I say, let it go if it’s not meant to be. Let your rational mind rule your heart. You deserve the best things this planet can offer – including a True Love or The Real One meant for you. Not just anything and anyone. You don’t need to waste your precious time… nor your precious heart repeatedly.

Look, ladies, I do believe in soulmates. How else can you explain the few cases of undying commitment and amour (with lust) between a couple like Prince Charles and Camilla, Sting and Trudie Styler, John Lennon and Yoko Ono, Paul and Linda McCartney, etc. They definitely have what most other couples don’t have. Unions other than theirs are either based on fleeting attraction or pragmatic matters which require a lot of hard work for continuity. If you’ve really found the right one for you, Congrats. If not, ask yourself these questions: Don’t you have better things to do than settle for less than the real thing? Do you really need just any “distraction” to get you through life?

Remember as well: If it isn’t written in the cards for you to grow old with a man, no amount of whining and seductive verses on your blog can alter your single status. I mean, c’mon… Sure such verbal stunts tickle the dirty fantasies of your male readers. But that’s all. You still are plain entertainment, in their POV.

We can always choose to release ourselves from the bondage of vain hopes and the disappointment of unmet expectations. Don’t forget how blessed a woman is if she doesn’t take for granted the many things she actually enjoys on her solo flight such as her family & friends, her job, her hobbies, her freedom, her independence, and her sanity. If I hadn’t suffered the severest blow of my whole existence earlier this year, you’d still find me on my knees counting my lucky stars above. Life is awesomely beautiful, with or without a man on your side.

I swear that when I reach my 50s, which is some few years from now, I’ll be totally holding my peace about singlehood and go commit myself to the nunnery. Until then, let’s all try harder to be dignified about this “not having a man” thing. Do we have a deal, single ladies out there?

I remember a certain children’s song from my childhood: “Calm down, Sit down, Stop rocking the boat.” Aah, wrong lyrics. But you get the message, I’m sure.

The Heart That Recognizes No Time

Valentine’s Day might have rolled off without me as the other half of a romantic couple, but please, sing no doleful songs for me – because love still abounds within and around me. Love that I have for my son, for the few family members and friends I’ve still got, for the things that make me happy. Even though I have made the decision to eschew actual liaisons in my life, it still holds power upon my being as a woman… and I would forever have this need to write about it. A misty-eyed 14-year-old red-rose dreamer I remain.

Talking about the four-letter word that has consumed every female being on our planet since time immemorial, is there any higher mystery that has ever lived inside our minds and souls? How often have I seen women appeal for love in the same way they appeal for mercy in the face of life’s unforgiving peripheries? How many women like me have been taken in by its glowing illusions and promises?

In a land notable for people willing to die in the name of love; where round-the-clock “telenovelas” lord over TV ratings, and endless media themes speak of passion “conquering it all,” people here from all walks of life clutch stories of high and low from the annals of their beloved sentiments.

A measure of emotional chaos had already presided over a huge fraction of my younger years – courtesy of many a rambunctious affair of the heart. Could it have something to do with the precarious self-esteem I’ve carried around which stemmed from my childhood insecurities?

One delicate lesson I’ve learned from those years: The surest way to drive yourself batshit insane is to cling to the notion that love will stay, when it is in fact wiggling in all directions to depart from you.

So I’ve often found myself asking this question: What do I make of the rules when my heart usually does the thinking for me?

The rules of love I am always in danger of forgetting.

The rules of love I have, in helpless frustration, inked onto my skin.

It’s been more than a year since I’ve freed myself from any romantic entanglements on my side of the globe here. The main purpose of which is to keep me away from an internal cage I have long since escaped. I was starting to think I’d never get the brand of peace I’d been searching for. So I had to run away in hopes that tranquillity would be able to find me. Gradually somehow, it came and I got it. I almost couldn’t believe it. Simplicity and space had held dominion; allowing for sensible calm to reign inside of me; granting me a tempered existence…and a liberation that surprisingly gave me some of the most remarkable times of my life. So I began to think happiness would be here to stay. Finally. Then came the major blow last month that brought me to my very knees. The one that shattered my hopes for a continuous path layered with calm and beauty.

It’s like I’ve closed my eyes with a smile and dreamed of rainbows and butterflies. But when I opened them again, a totally different world has taken place. Completely.

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Months ago, I watched Rihanna’s tearful confession at the Oprah channel of how she still feels for the man who has assaulted her. She got castigated and maligned by the public as a result of that interview. I may not have gone through what she experienced, although as I watched her painfully shedding tears over a first love she just couldn’t let go, I somehow understood her. I don’t necessarily condone the actions that took place between Rihanna and Chris Brown. But the girl merely in need of drama in her life, they say? No. It’s just a woman in love who couldn’t help being true to her feelings.

When we were little children, my parents would watch popular reruns of Tom Jones’ musical show and made us dance every time he commences with the upbeat tune of “It’s Not Unusual.” Before the end of the show, he would belt out tender, ardent songs like “You’re My World” and “I know” – and my sister and I would listen. When we became young girls, we’d remember and be dreaming of the princes in our futures who would feel that way about us. Just like in those songs.

Then we all grew up…and we lived…and we learned.

You began to realize no man is worthy enough to make you consign your heart to prison once more. In the same vein you get jaded by the reality that princes do turn into frogs eventually.

Valentine’s Day – and what it stands for – will preserve its magic in my mind nevertheless. Besides, it’s always good to foster the feeling until the end of your days.

That‘s how you find the emotional girl in me. The girl who may be cited for not truly condemning drama in her life. A woman, to be more precise, who would turn 80 decades from now, and still be longing of walking along some rose-full field of dreams.

The woman with a heart that would probably never know of time.