Author’s note:
This is a rather long post. I know some of you would not have the patience to read it. But its one of the posts I’m actually proud of. Its for my baby, it’s her vday present. Well, an aspect of her vday present at least.
In the course of this piece, I had borrowed, paraphrased, tinkered with and interpreted inaccurately certain phrases from
Fear and Trembling by Kierkegaard, a book which I wouldn’t recommend. I didn’t like it much.
But i hope i would not disturb his spirit by this rather irreverant account of his work.
Also, to all those existentialists and budding philosophers (ming?) please don't be offended.
Hope you like this entry dear.
-------------------------------------------------
There was no sleeper more elegant than she, with her curved body posed for a dance. Her head tucked inward, and her hand angled statuesquely on her forehead . She was Divine. Her smooth, rhythmic breathing epitomised all that was peaceful and tranquil in this turbulent life.
I turned and faced her. The weightlessness, or rather, lack of weight on my shoulder was rather unusual. I had become accustomed to her head resting on it, that and waking up with a numbness on the upper area of my arm and neck. It was a strange reminder of our love. There was something wrong with her hair, wrongness so pure that it was sexy. It was jutting out strangely from her forehead, and coming out at odd angles from all sides, her split ends showing mercilessly, and yet it was this natural beauty that I loved best about her.
She tried her utmost best to keep my life free from tumult by her diligent hand. In this golden silence, save for her breathing, I started to think about many other occurrences from the dim and turbulent areas of my memory. That diligence had grown tiresome, and for a period was cause for a lapse of affection. As I indulged in reverie, the being in front of me began to speak. And to…mutate.
"I'm really glad I've engineered this chance to talk with you, Yan."
I was taken aback. But rather than being scared out of my wits, I allowed myself to be carried by curiosity.
“Engineered?”
It was whilst I was pondering over this rather curious use of word that I noticed she had a cut lip and a bruised cheek.
“Are you alright baby?”
She brushed off the question with a perfunctory “I’m fine”, and continued:
“You see, I’m an Angel”
Being the usual wisecrack I am, I replied rather ebulliently, “I know you are. You are my Angel. Forever.”
“No, Yan. That is not the point. You are a very tiring being to love. This bruise and this cut were caused by you. You never raised a hand against me, but your tongue and actions have inflicted injury that is far beyond the realm and reach of any physical abuse.”
Her face was really starting to change now, clearly and without mistake right before my eyes. Her cheekbones, nose and eyebrows were morphing slowly inside of a Vaseline haze. Her laced bra and panties were absorbing into her skin, folding in and darkening into something else entirely. For some inexplicable reason, I was not startled at all by what was happening. It seemed perfectly natural, and ordinary, and a bewildering calm more profound than the one prior to this incident settled over me. And she started speaking in third person, rather than first.
“She is your girlfriend, and one day hopes to be your wife. But I’m not sure if she can handle it. Only a person blinded by love could be so complaisant toward the grief you have caused her.”
By now the person who had once been my girlfriend had completely transformed. The legs had been covered over with the textured cotton of my shorts, the breasts had receded into a snappy oversized tee; she had short but floppy hair. And an impeccable sense of style. I was staring at myself staring at myself, or was until I noticed that the bruise and cut remained.
“She has drained the cup of life's profound despondence for you. She felt the bliss of having the infinite number of suitors she once had. She has bore the pain of renouncing everything, everyone, who didn’t not mean a thing to her when put beside you. Her acceptance of the finite did not bear a trace of the cowed and fearful spirit produced by the process of training; and yet she has this sense of security in enjoying it, as though the finite life, replete with your love, were the surest thing of all.”
I was starting to get upset with her overly dramatic language and vague use of imagery. As if it were something repeated verbatim from a book I once read but didn’t enjoy. I think it was Kierkegaard . I searched my mind for something witty to say, and retorted emphatically when inspiration struck me.
“Angel, you are basing your assumptions on a false premise. My love for her is infinite.”
“That is not what I am trying to say. But I shan’t deign to argue with you. Stop being nitpicky Yan. There are bigger things in life,” she unhappily replied and continued with her recondite and injudicious use of language.
“ It is supposed to be the most difficult task for a dancer to leap into a definite posture in such a way that there is not a second when she is grasping after the posture, but by the leap itself she stands fixed in that posture. Perhaps no dancer can do it–that is what this knight does. Most people live dejectedly in worldly sorrow and joy; the knights sit along the wall and do not join in the dance.”
This really got to me. I wasn’t well acquainted with Kierkegaard’s literature, but I decided to solve the issue with a tinge of sophistry.
“Look, Yan. Or should I call you that? Do Angels have names? Whatever. Paraphrasing a whole passage from Kierkegaard is not exactly an appropriate way to make your point. Who is the dancer and who is the knight in this relationship? Kierkegaard used masculine and feminine words as he was bound by his time, we know now that his theory is not restricted to gender. There may be a female knight and a male dancer, and right now I’m not sure which is which. And you’re confusing me. The Delphic Oracle caused many deaths in Ancient Greece by pronouncing deliberately abstruse prophecies which were open to misinterpretation. I suggest you stop it.”
“You are intelligent enough to know what I’ve said. Think about it.”
The next I knew, there she lay. Quiet and breathing. As if nothing had happened. It was still the dead of night. Time seemed to have frozen during my conversation with the alien. In my semiconscious state of awareness, I began to ponder. I didn’t think that being was an Angel after all, not in the strict sense at least. She was who my girlfriend was. One and the same. She had become me, since quintessential love is found in the physical manifestation of the same primordial being - she was the other side of my whole. Yin and yang. My dominant half was suppressing the other half. And it was harmful to the relationship.
I thought I had always been the knight. The protective one. The one that didn’t join in the dance since I had always made a point to differentiate myself from the proverbial common folk. But that wasn’t the case. I lived my life the way I liked to live it. I had lived in worldy sorrow and joy. I had not abstained from the ignominious dance of the masses.
She had. She had been living on the fringes of a society’s prejudices. Cohabitating before marriage. She had drifted away from ones she once valued because of me. Not exclusively, but contributorily. She had stood fixed in the structure of our relationship, both within and without the relationship itself.
When the cocks crowed and daylight perforated through the translucent curtains, I had an epiphany.
