I resigned myself to the idea of sleep at about 7:30 (after going to bed at 6:30) when I was bitten for the sixth time by the same bloodsucking, high-pitched flyby, damn mosquito. Accepting the impossibility of sleeping, I decided that the best way to spend the next hour was huddled in a corner of my room, lights on, actually speaking out loud to this insect, its brain several hundred times smaller than a pinhead, which still outsmarted me.
It got to a point where I would randomly slap myself around, completely paranoid and itching all over. Every time it buzzed in my ear I kept wishing that God would smite it down in His wrath even if he took the entire apartment building down with it. Then I realized...how well has the whole "make a wish" trick worked out in the last eighteen years? Not so well...
As we go through the early years of our life, we are awarded random "carte-blanches" with which we can actually point out a specific thing we desire and, supposedly, obtain it. Usually these rituals take place on the anniversary of your birth and whenever you lose an eyelash.
At first of course we begin our series of silent demands with pure, unashamed and perfectly magnificent (if you ask me) materialism. The good thing about those wishes is that there is a good chance they might come true. In my case, it usually went like this: I wished for something, I then told my parents what I had wished for and, if there was money the wish came true, and if there wasn't any money, I saved up and the wish came true anyway....sweet. Enter love, generosity and the whole cart of horseshit. The way I see it, that's where we went wrong; we are selfish by nature, materialistic, pragmatic and yet completely ashamed of these traits even though we do little or nothing to prove otherwise. So we wish for the welfare of others....let me make a short list of the latest consequences of "I wish he'll be happy" for me:
1.) A phone call on my birthday in which, instead of hearing "happy birthday cutie" or something similar, I get "Hi! I fell in love with a guy I just met!"
2.) A Thai flight attendant....
3.) Walking in on the guy I like getting a blowjob in the bathroom from a woman and then giving me all the details, having to nod and smile all the way through.
So, the scoreboard doesn't look too good...
And now, the question: What causes us to go against our genetic composition and natural tendencies of selfishness, forgoing them in order to "wish he'll be happy"? I understand physical attracion, that I get completely. We need to keep the species going and look for the Alpha male (p.s. I just learned today that there's this fetish involving Alpha jackets....the world's going nuts). However, it's not only biosexually motivated attraction, but in many cases something deeper. If the -logic part of biologic applied, we would know better than to believe we can act as something other than animals if that is what originally drives our attraction.
So instead of following biology, we have created this type of masochism where, not only do we have to work much much harder for the sex but, we have created such a chemical inbalance in our brains that we actually feel pain and joy which aren't physical and a whole variety of feelings in between. Even more, we have created a type of attraction where we obsess to the point of saying "he's the one" and being absolutely positive about it until we either succeed or move on. In a nutshell we have discarded the idea of choosing the fittest maleS to obsessing about one for vast amounts of time and basing our choice on something other than genes (I'm sure you thing he's cute but for God's sake open an Abercrome & Fitch catalog then tell me your going on purely Darwinian criteria here).
Last month I met up with a guy I used to like a lot and, even though we had a great time, I kept asking myself how it was possible that I used to drool over him, waiting for him to call, counting the days until we saw each other again....even the physical attraction which had been so strong several years ago only inspired a miserable "meh" when I saw him. And yet, at the time I was convinced that things could work out and he could turn out to be "the one". Why do we obsess with perfection? Why one? Can't we be a bit more realistic and assume that there will be more than one person who can relate to us and spend time with us? Can't we come to terms with this idea, especially after a pattern of "he's the one" NEXT "he's the one" NEXT?
I often wonder if there is a "one" whether or not that person would be attainable. I have no problem admitting when I have failed in a relationship or being rejected to start with but....what about the impossibility factor, or rather the "straight or gay" factor? What happens if the real "one" is the only one we can't get? What happens when our brilliantly romantic, chemically imbalanced, alternative to biology hits a brick wall?
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Solo Un Deseo
Clamar al destino, al cielo rogar
tapar nuestras yagas, la llama alumbrar
y jurar....
Promesas que nunca podremos cumplir
al creer que podremos el tiempo domar
si, ya sea por mérito, piedad o valor,
nos fuera otorgado ese único amor
que ansiamos con rabia, pasión, sin pudor
Bendita ignorancia, maldita ilusión
al creer que con ello la pieza encajó
que acabó todo el puzle, que la incógnita hayó
Y ver que al mirar desde lejos la obra
no es sino un sucio lienzo, mil tonos de sombra
que ese final no hizo mas que poner
en paleta colores, en un corazón querer
Y es que ansiar una flor de un esquejo invisible
sin mirar más que a un punto esperando un milagro
sin querer admitir que no es todo a una carta
nos pudre por dentro, rabiamos por falta
de no poder ver que no hay sólo un querer
Que la vida es tragar y sentirla escocer
y saber que los tragos que habremos de dar
seran mil harto amargos
mas que dulces vendrán
que mil hay sin su fruto ni su jugo darán
que son secos y largos sin motivo ni son
Mas a cada respiro que ansiado tomamos
buscamos sin falta volver a empezar
y ver que los llantos, sollozos y golpes
las fuertes mareas, los vientos, los nombres
de aquellos que pudieron ser, que fueron, que duelen
que creimos rompieron lo allén construido
son las cicatrices que crean el lienzo
cada una un dolor, cada una un recuerdo
Y al los años pasar, y al caer cien mil veces
al levantarnos con rabia, al volver a fallar
nos reimos sin miedo frente a nuestro destino
sabiendo que caer no es más que el paso previo
a surgir de ese suelo que ya conocemos
y la sangre que fluye de las heridas nuevas
ahora es solo el sembrado de nuevos recuerdos
Seguimos rezando, pidiendo un deseo
apagando las velas, susurrando en secreto
sólo eso, Dios mio, dame sólo ese algo
que lo cambiará todo, lo demás será en vano
Y al beber tantas veces de ese amargo licor
descubrimos forzados su oculta dulzura
cada trago es más dulce por haber sido amargo
y al final lo pedido sin saberlo fue dado
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