April 16, 2009

•       Another thing that used to rile me but which I afterwards enjoyed was his complete indifference and, almost, disdain for my appearance. Never, either by word or look, was there a hint that he thought me pretty: on the contrary, he would make a wry face and laugh when people complimented me on my looks in front of him. He took a positive pleasure in picking out my defects and teasing me about them. The fashionable clothes in which Katya liked to dress me up and the way she did my hair for festive occasions only provoked his mockery, mortifying the kind-hearted Katya and at first disconcerting me. Katya, having made up her mind that he admired me, was quite unable to understand his not liking to see the woman he admired shown off to the best advantage. But I quickly came to see what was behind it. He wanted to be sure that I was devoid of vanity.[...]My hair, my hands, my face, my ways - whether good or bad, it seemed to me he had appraised them all at a glance and knew them so well that I could add nothing to them[...]. I felt that from whatever angle he saw me, whether sitting or standing, with my hair up or down, all of me was known to him and, I fancied, satisfied him. If, contrary to his practice, he had suddenly told me, as other people did, that I was beautiful, I believe I should have been anything but pleased. But, on the other hand, how happy and light-hearted I would feel when, after something I had said, he would gaze at me intently and say in a voice charged with emotion which he would try to hide with a humorous note:
        "Yes, oh yes, there is something about you. You're a fine girl, that I must admit."
  -Happy Ever After, Leo Tolstoy, pages 25-26

  I'll readily admit, for those that know me, opening as I just have is no surprise. I ought to probably note that there's more going on in that passage and I took what I needed and liked from it (though that often does happen when you take but a piece from a larger work). It's a disheartening piece, for they go from a practically idyllic love to something I would regard as settling; yet I know what Tolstoy meant to say with it. In any case, I suppose I ought to get to the point of this entry sometime soon...

  We (myself, siblings, and mother) were sitting in the car before a doctor's appointment and the conversation came about to when my parents first dated. I believed this happened because it was prefaced by me and my brother noting she wasn't a virgin her wedding night (partly to point at the hypocrisy of her abstinence only stance - though, as most know, I'm very pro-abstinence while my brother is on the fence since last I talked to him - and also to bother her since we have no issue of talking about sex while, for her, it depends on her mood and situation; more than often, it's amusing uncomfortability). So, she notes that the first time she met my dad was at Market Fax (crudely referred to as Market Fags due to the amount of Queer people that often worked there); she, of course, doesn't bother to mention the FTM transsexual who happen to set them up together (honestly, for a straight couple, my parents had the gayest adolescence when they dated; I should have a post dedicated to when they went out sometime).

  We ventured into what is essentially the same stories we've heard a million times before, though I enjoyed hearing them anyway. Stuff like the first time my dad tried to pick my mom up for a date and how she thought he had a cute butt when they worked at Market Fax. Of course, I can't help but note that the cute butt line comes at the expense of her now current (continual) detractions of his appearance now (as if he could magically hold back the pressings of time all on his own) or the detractions she levies towards my siblings and myself. However, I enjoy these stories because they give some color or background to these people who I've had to basically sever as well as I can from my life. Talking the past (i.e. before I was born) was always something rarely done so that I don't know much of my ancestors or my parents' life before hand. And, for someone who obsesses about the past and loves history as much as myself, this is a travesty. More so, though, I think I like to think there was a time when they were in love.

  Of course, that sentence implies they aren't in love now. Which I think could be accurate enough of a statement. Or at least not a healthy love. Their communication is terrible. They constantly insult each other (and then wonder why the other ones gets pissed off). They're fantastically selfish (which is an obvious no-no in a relationship). And they aren't there for each other anymore. I mean, of course, I'm talking from an outside view; and while they've told me their own woes about the other from their very own mouths (and I stumbled across a few journal writings of my dad's on accident one time), for the most part I am speaking from an outside view. I readily admit this. Yet they don't even seem interested in each other. Being young and hopeful and, possibly, naïve, I have very idylic perfect ideas of love. Given that, I'm will to argue (from my very unexperienced viewpoint) that there is merit to them and no reason to believe they can't exist or happen. So I lament dearly at the fact my parents never seem to really talk beyond the day to day stuff. They own interactions are built on the jobs they have to do for the day. I rarely see them (even when they're unaware I'm viewing them) interact in a way outside of what chore needs to be done. Even their kiss when they see each other is done as if it's another thing in the schedule. And their laments never end....

  And so I'm reminded of Junior year. I believe we were talking about the relationship I had at the time and we happen to come to trust. I'll admit, rather assuredly, I said that I'd trust Victoria (Mendez) with my life, to which my mother objects with the style of one sympathetically correcting one she knows to be inexperienced (I've said this story before, if it's sounding familiar). She then proceeds to tell me that she rarely trusts anyone. She specifically says she doesn't trust my sister to sleep over my uncle's house for fear he may touch her (out of the ordinary, that is to say). She even (I almost want to say boasts) didn't trust my father for the first few years after they were married (and she wonders why I object to dating a total of 2 years (or less) only before marrying). Now, I understand worrying about making poor choices on the behalf of others for fear of failing them. How do you possibly look at yourself again after essentially sending your daughter to rape (though I can't imagine distrusting my brother that badly; might say something about her childhood and their relationship)? 

  But for myself? I've suffered too much to put myself through more. Yes, you might hurt yourself - you can hurt yourself in many ways. But to live a life of isolation such as hers? You never hurt but you can see what the results are - a marriage which is empty and soulless. I've only loved once but (all relationships included) I could tell you exactly what caught my eye about the girls worth remembering. And I'll admit, while not every person I've dated was exactly "utterly rapturing and fascinating" (or exactly worth remembering...), those of real worth not only are remembered but make a "physical" mark in my own development. As I've said somewhere on here before, a relationship should ideally (particularly if it doesn't succeed) create a far more strong bond between the two people and a deeper appreciation for each other (which I'm not properly describing right now, nor seem to be able to). And, no, that's not love. If my actual assumptions of love are correct, they're a shadow of what it is. But it is and should be related to it. You don't get even the slivers of love if you don't open yourself to it. And, yes, that means many possibilities of things which you probably don't want. But that's life. To be honest, I think there's only two people in this world I trust wholly and fully without a doubt (at this point in my life). But to shut the door with a, "Well, that's all that's probably possible in this lifetime," may be one of the biggest mistakes I could make.

  Ay, what point was I making.... I guess I was just waxing over the idea of Love in general (though particularly in relation to my parents). Thinking about it now, there's probably too much (or a good deal I've said before) which I wouldn't even know how to get into from this frame point. Yeah, I think I've said my thoughts on love before rather well in the past, right?

  • 3:13 am
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