A Woman After Her Own Heart

A day for tinted roses, soft words, thoughtful prose, and tender songs. Most of them I still find either lovely or silly cute.

From across a window with glows of tiny moonbeams infusing my home, an air of sweetness has honored one faint white line.

I fancy the language of gentleness within my own heart — that my blog has, in sooth, become a true love of mine.

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Most Favorite Love Song When I Was A Young Girl

An apathetic fraction of me asserts romance novels and songs like this must be held accountable for womenkind’s desolation from then till now. But it’s Valentine’s day and, as always, this memoir must hold true to my every remembrance.

I recall quite a sunshine across a vibrant sky whenever I hear this song. Oh so so young I was – around eleven years of age – and dreamy… singing while unbelievably convinced by forevers and of undying love. 🙂

– geena, feb2016

 

a beautiful lake in Jungfrau, Switzerland; photo taken by me in 2014

So the weary traveler, tired of passing through,

Stops to get his bearings, and stays on to wait for you,

When the moon disappears forever

and the sun shines electric blue

And the mountains and trees tumble into the sea

to rest there for eternity

No matter what you do, I will still love you.

 

Persuasion Around A Valentine’s Day

Because nobody can break out from the digestive process of this feeling our whole lives. Certainly not me.

Destitute in spirit, I’ve given out my love and care in unlikely places where they’ve been needed and I’ve let the warmth of that knowledge enfold me.

But I’ve also wandered over emotional fires where I’ve soon begged for raindrops to fall onto my face. I’ve no want for anything murky, punishing, unequal nor untrue anymore.

I’ve to unravel this part of me that isolates such uncertainty. This part of me that fumbles across a barrenness that barely retrieves my understanding.

Who is this woman, and how has she grown past her wounds?

All I see is the girl whose face is turned upwards with arms outspread wide waiting for the flames of sky to claim her.

Wild in affection. Deep in love. My heart. My soul. This paradise.

 

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— geena, feb2016

 

Prose on Love for the Month of Hearts

During my early blog reading days, I came across a few ladies who had been writing love poetry — in their forties and onward. Bemused and amused, I thought no way could it happen to me. But time moves on and perspectives change. Well, it’s still the month of February and I don’t want to miss this chance of being able to compose something that’s so close to what I may be comprised of: All feelings, a silly heart, and not much else.

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Tale of the drifter, the loner… of someone who has yet to write her life certainties — barreling along an emptiness which fuels her boldness.

What future can she find in your own dreams? She’s been a prisoner for some time, shackled by a guilt pieced from her own blood.

Another lifetime can take you and her to another world, and reasons nor rhyme would flow in haste.

But love springs on her own terms, with ideals as delicate as of a nun taking her vow.

It can’t be love if there has been no pledge of faithfulness; It can’t be love if a promise of forever isn’t whispered by both hearts.

But both have become pawns from across the margins of time.

When the moon has called her back to you on a quiet evening, she begins to lace a bond that will make it all worth remembering. And you take her by the hand, you enfold her in a careful embrace, while feeling the night through the gentle demise of your own affections.

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.

 

Valentine Season Ponderings of Single Women Like Me

I hate to put out another sappy piece here but Valentine’s Day is coming around the corner and that gives me fair enough reason to write about love and men-my most favorite topics- once more. Yipee.

Please take note that I’m still resolute in granting my weary heart a sabbatical, which means I’ve no plan to put it on the line yet. Be that as it may, I find no reasons not to be happy. Life has been good recently and it still is.

To be honest, I’m not totally loveless on this special day. Aside from my son, there’s one in particular who’s gonna be so happy to see me and spend time with me. My cat. As soon as I get home from work, she’ll start following me around, making unintelligible sounds equivalent to saying she missed me the whole day, and then proceed to show me her undying devotion in her own feline ways. For sure, we’ll be having dinner together sharing a can of sardines afterwards. No kidding. Hey, it’s not that bad. I do love my cat. And some sardines can be tasty and delicious.

You know I put up this blog so I could start to chronicle my life’s narrative. The question is, am I ready to narrate to my dear readers my love stories of epic dimensions? (ho-ho, I’m exaggerating, of course) Nah. Maybe not yet. In the near future perhaps. But here’s the deal. Whatever you’ll learn about me and my past romantic misdemeanors, just promise you won’t report me to the nearest Police Love Station. Ok?

There’s one thing you should know about our race. We are widely known for indulging in the extravagance of our feelings and emotions. Crimes of passion are not extraordinary occurrences here. Only in this land can you hear of mortals actually willing to die for love, or surrender in all foolishness in the name of unmitigated, relentless ardor. How we revel in its sensations, never lacking in PDAs or ingenious ways to demonstrate our supposed infinite (?) affection for each other.  I have to admit that we sometimes find western movies on love lacking in dramatic embellishments. They’re a little flat and laid-back, in our honest opinion (sorry..). Our romantic films in comparison are intense, high-strung, oftentimes tempestuous, laced with intricate angles that twist and turn. That’s how we normally favor all things romantical here.

Freddie Mercury of Queen sang about this crazy little thing called love, remember?   

And there are times too when I liken this whole notion of love to an inconceivable dream. You try to reach for the stars and in certain magical moments, you feel as though they’re already within your grasp. Just as you’re about to touch one, you plummet back to earth and crash down explosively in unfathomable fashion. It’s as if we aren’t meant to mingle with the brightest in heavens, after all..

Alright, alright.. Before I lower the curtains on this entry, I’ll confess to keeping someone somewhere in the outskirts of my heart for this particular Valentine. Not so much on the romantic sphere though. But I consider this person special to me because he inspires me in a good sense with his gracious manners, erudite mind, elegant writing style and flawless grammar. Don’t dare ask me who he is or I’ll turn tail and flee. Comprende?

Happy Valentine Season, dear readers!