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Posts Tagged ‘Love’

Thanks BlackLullaby & Polka Dots for the tag. I’ve opted to use a term from Richard Bach when he wrote a letter to his younger self in The Bridge Across Forever because it is essentially things I really wish I knew then, which I’ve learned now.

Future__Present__Past_by_JusT_ShanT

Dear sandwich of 17,

You turn 30 this year and it’s been a long journey. Most of what you’ve done is pretty darn good between where you are and where I am now. Here’s just a few things to look out for along the way :

You’re going to skip an A/L exam. It will make for a pretty neat story to tell when you’re older, but it will also prevent you from getting the aggregate you need to go to Uni. You’ll regret it but you ought to know that you do pretty good for yourself career wise until you wake up one morning close to 30 and realize that you’ve been selling soap for a living, albeit in much prettier terms.

Your save-the-world complex never really goes away. It converts itself into a mother hen variant though. You are a nurturer through and through so don’t you ever doubt it when your own mother says you can’t even take care of yourself. There’s plenty of evidence out there to the contrary.

Don’t be such a prude about sex. 23 is way too late in the day to give it away. Trust me, when you finally find someone you can completely open up with sexually, you’ll be able to unlock doors within you that you never knew existed. In my case it was fairly late in the day that I discovered that. Go out there, get laid, enjoy it. You don’t have to worry about becoming promiscuous; we just aren’t built that way 🙂

Your mum was right though. You don’t really take care of yourself. Especially your heart. As a result it will lead you to making the worst relationship decisions of your life until you turn 29 and finally discover otherwise. It will also result in the terrible friendships with people who walk all over you. But you finally learn to stand up for yourself at 29 too. You get married way too early and it takes you away from the person you are now at 17. But rest assured, 29 will come with you rediscovering your former self and your former passions like never before. You’ll have someone perfectly unorthodox to thank for it. I’m not telling you who though. It’s someone you need to discover for yourself. And trust me, the surprise will be startlingly pleasant. The friends I have today and the people I love in this very moment, I wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

You look for the poetry and romance in everything. You’ll watch a masterpiece called 2001:A Space Odyssey and feel all warm and fuzzy inside when Dr. Floyd video conferences his little daughter & feel like crying when HAL 9000 is disconnected. You’ll watch AI and curl up in a ball and cry because the robot is abandoned. Don’t ever regret your ability to feel so intensely even if the fact that no one gets that about you will bring you down. You will hurt a lot. But you will also love a lot. Don’t ever deny the intensity and the capacity of your heart. You feel everything. It’s rare. Treasure it.

I know you’re in a rush to grow up, but I have some bad news for you on that front. You never do. Live with it. Your child-like optimism will get you through some pretty dark days and trust me; the decade ahead will be the darkest of your life. But you will come through it and learn to live and love again.

Irrespective of what anyone tries to tell you, you’re a good girl Nat and that’s important to know. I’ve watched you for years, seen how you’ve handled things that would have turned most others stark raving mad or the epitome of bitchiness, to say the least. You’ve just stood there with so much grace and smiled through it all, opting to hurt alone. No matter how hurt you are, you try your hardest to keep things peaceful for anyone else involved, both victim & villain. You have a fierce sense of loyalty that seems unparalleled sometimes and woe unto anyone who hurts someone you love.

Your strengths are your weaknesses and what hurts you most is the lack of reciprocation of feelings. But it’s all-good. You’re going to get through it all. People think you’re superwoman because of how strong you come across but you’re a bloody softy on the inside. I repeat : You’re a good girl. Don’t you dare forget it.

I won’t promise you a storybook ending, but you’re going to have the kinds of adventures others only dream of, every step of the way. Now go out there and live it!

Love,

Me, now aged 29 years, 10 months and 16 days.

P.s. Stop looking for the meaning of life, the universe and everything. Doug Adams already did that. The answer is 42. Go figure.

I hereby tag Hissyfits/Drama Queen/ The mad cat woman etc & the lovely ladies over at Aappa Thachchiya

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The Missing Sandwich is proud to present her first guest writer, with a stunner post at that! I know you usually read him over at the black lullaby, but our very own author, ad-man & actor exraordinaire has written a post for my blog which I will share with you shortly. First the schpeel : this was done on a brilliant LSD trip which resulted in him writing about the paradoxical beauty & torture of love. Without much ado…. please join me as I present AUTOMOBILE!

You make me feel like an automobile and I know I must be tripping balls to think an automobile has feelings and the fact that I’m calling it an automobile is just so fucking lame. But that’s not even the point of the damn story. Yes there is a story. So I’m sitting here getting high with my friends, watching the moon (I even howled at it secretly when I was out on the balcony by myself), getting, high, did I!… say that already? The punctuation, marks; in this extremely long sentence are quite… trippy… yea. Anyway, back to the story. So yea, um, I was thinking about the kinds of cars that guys just fall in love with. Please be of the understanding that I’m talking about a car here and this is not some twisted metaphor that means something more. Right. So back to the car.

You ask any man’s man who his baby is and he’ll show you his wheels, but not the ones that take him to work, oh no, she’s far too important for that. It’s not the ones he goes partying with, she’s way better than that. It’s not even the ones he takes on those special weekends out of town, no, she’s too damned good for that.

She’s the engine he ignites when he wants to give the rest of the world a big ‘fuck you!’ She’s the gear he shifts into when he explores the part of himself that no one else will ever get to see. She’s the leather he sinks into when he thinks no one else is watching. She is his infinite statement of beauty. That is why she can be explored by him alone. That is why she can be experienced by him alone. With her he can be the boy that the adult world won’t let him be. With her he can be the raw lover his wife won’t let him be. With her he can be exactly who he is inside and not be ashamed of it. She is his release, she is his easel, the one on which he paints his joy and his love. She loves him no matter what and he knows it and he also knows that she’ll be true to him till her last fucking breath.

But he knows that this world is much more than just her. He knows about responsibilities and other grownup things. He knows that he’s got to leave this earth with something more than just a car to his name. So he keeps her locked away in the darkness, so she won’t distract him from the dumb charade he calls life. But when he wants to live, to really, really, really live… (pause for dramatic effect) that’s when he takes her out. He takes her on the spin of a fucking lifetime and then locks her up again until he’s got enough time on his hands to appreciate her for the fucking beauty she is. That’s his baby. That’s how you make me feel.

And now you know why you make me feel like a fucking automobile.

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Vampire | by Blood Lover 03

Vampire | by Blood Lover 03

You spend you life on a manic search for something to desperately make sense of your life and you tend to occasionally look back and wonder if it was even worth it.

Your fruitless searches beat you down, your shoulders browned by the garish heat of an angry sun that won’t let you dance in the moonlight.

Life was never meant for creatures of the night. Creatures that lurk in the darkness, waiting to pounce on happiness. To grab it. Possess it. For surely that must be the only way to have it. An elusive something that shies away from your blood lust.

And then when you’re not searching and stop for a little respite, life starts to happen to you. It’s when you stop hoping, stop wondering when meaning will dawn that it comes and grabs you by pure accident.

The possessor becomes the possessed. You find yourself in a carnal, primal dance to the rhythm of some ancient drum that seems to have found a home in your heartbeat.

You wake up and finally you can walk out into the light again. And all you feel is the soft warmth of the sun, the mellow tickles of the breeze.

You finally hear every little sound that comes together like a perfectly synced orchestra and you wonder why you didn’t hear them all this time.

The taste of blood no longer lingers in your mouth. The hunt is over. The hunted is now the hunter and you have let go and given in.

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No, no this not about the Lansi Recreational Group. If such a thing even exists that it. What with the BRC and BA, I wouldn’t be surprised. And I’m certainly not complaining. For someone whose an ethnic sambol, the Burgher side of me loves the put a party attitude.

Getting back to the topic at hand though; BRG. One might call it a tad old fashioned, but I think it should still hold in this day and age when everything else of value that added to the quality of life seems to have diminished.

Take your average relationship. I am talking strictly in a concrete jungle and its suburbs kind of sense of course. People meet and date. They use the term going out, as if to imply that their relationship consists primarily or even solely of going to places together and I don’t mean in a metaphorical sense. A few years into it (and in some cases mere months) the parents are told and eventually introduced to each other as well. The couple move up the career ladder, mingle with each others’ friends from school and work. “Party” together. Apparently going out and getting smashed and dancing the night away is a party. It is no more the thing you got an invite to. Party has become a word. People go partying. A few years into it a rational discussion takes place as to when and where since it’s high time and before you know it you’ve booked a hotel, a band, sent the invitations and low and behold you’re a married couple. Slightly reduced goings out and partying, but you still go out of course. Cook together, watch TV together, travel together…

I could keep going on and on about this pattern, but my point is that something vital is missing. And I’m not talking about love. I sincerely hope that in the midst of going to places and partying, some love managed to creep in and stay there! No, that’s not what I’m on about at all!

The BRG I was referring to at the beginning of this post is the Big Romantic Gesture. Sweeping her off your feet. Taking his breath away. Marriage is supposed to be as a result of a proposal. A knock the socks of him or her proposal. And it’s not just in reference to marriage at all. I’ve become the biggest supporter of the un-marriage these days after all.

Swept off his Feet | by SKILZFLIX

Swept off his Feet | by SKILZFLIX

Romance doesn’t have to be about roses and chocolates. I agree very much that we’ve moved away from such clichés. It’s not about the movie gestures. It could just be a blog post that the other person will read and walk around with a shit-eating grin as a result. It’s going to Nuwara Eliya and looking for magic mushrooms like a madman. It’s bringing her strawberries because they tell you it’s an aphrodisiac. Romance and the BRG is what you make of it, what feels right for the two of you. But please don’t let it be dead!

Call me old fashioned, but like I mentioned earlier, we’ve given up on so much else, should we also be content that romance is dead in a new age world of “adult” relationships and sedate expressions of love?

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On the end... (by Niepatrzsie)

On the end... (by Niepatrzsie)

There must be something to be said of the effervescent adventurer. The one who manages to keep that smile on her face when there is no destination in sight, when the night has grown dark and even her purpose seems murky at best. The one who sometimes forgets to live each day as though it wasn’t her last. The one who leaves the comfort of her wicked ocean and ventures higher, to the very end of the world.

She stands on tip toes so the clouds could touch the tip of her nose as they move through her. She was where the world ends. The half-way point between heaven and the abyss. And she had come in search of what she turned away from.

She felt like Radha, stealing away from her cold husband’s bed at night to meet Krishna. Except that she was only stealing away from herself. Because she needed the refuge of his arms, before another lonely moon took to the skies. She turns back from the breathtaking sight and heads back to her car.

There must be something to be said of the one who breaks free. The one who ignores the call of her heart. The one who cares nothing for protecting herself. The one who will wantonly walk into your arms and stay there for as long as you’ll have her. If you’ll have her back.

A cold chill fell in the air as she tentatively moved towards where she knew he’d surely be. Bare-chested, letting the wind thrash through him, enjoying the feel of the biting cold on his skin. She inhaled sharply at the vision. Just over the next bend in the road she hoped, debating if she should put the shutters down and let the wind travel through her as well.

She would lie to him. Tell him that she simply misses him. Needs him. Longs for the lingering glow on her skin that only he could leave. And then when and if he takes her in his arms, she will pretend that it’s for more than just the magnetic pull of skin on skin.

There must be something to be said of the grown-up, love fool. The one who walks away from love to protect her heart. The one who is ready to offer love even when she knows that it will never be returned. The one who has learned to hold her tears and smile, just when her heart is breaking. The one who’ll never let him know.

She knocks the engine off and tentatively debates how she will make her entrance into his refuge. His secret place in the clouds. His precipice at the world’s end. Night had begun to fall.

She looked up, searching for the moon. But she still seemed to have a little more time. Closing her eyes and muttering a prayer to some unknown goddess, she walked forwards. Each footstep felt like it was setting off vibrations through the universe and ricocheting back into her soul.

There must be something to be said of the woman in love. The one who is ready to take the plunge again, even if life has given her every reason not to. The one who recognizes love when she finds it, even if all her stories before have been about loss and lies. The one who is ready to love if only she knew the other side of the story.

The front door was locked, so she decides to walk around to the porch at the back, where she was sure, she’d find him. The wind howling in her ears, darkness looming on the horizon, she keeps walking. She nearly slips along the muddy track, but picking herself up she continues, determined.

He is sitting exactly where she knew he would be. The music reached her ears in muted tones. She’d recognize the song anywhere. A melody made for solitude and expression. Eerie and haunting. A wild-child being tamed. A smile slowly etched its way through her, finally reaching the corners of her mouth. He looks up to see her silhouette walking towards him. And as she draws nearer, he stands up, letting the last nine thousand words of his story fall to the floor, abandoned & momentarily forgotten.

Their eyes meet as she slowly passes on a silent soliloquy towards him. To the exact point where their gazes met half way. Many truths are spoken, yet not a word is uttered. Suddenly a blackness sets in the world around them. And then they both hold their collective breath as they begin to lose sight of each other.

There must be something to be said.

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August Moon

Ocean Magic by Lunaya Wolf

Ocean Magic by Lunaya Wolf

She wakes up from her afternoon slumber & shakes the sand out of her hair like a dog just out of the water. Everyone had already begun to head in except for the few late evening swimmers who were just beginning to show up. All was quiet on this side of the horizon. Off season was the best part of the year. No busy days and busy nights. Just lazy afternoons in the sun and sensual nights by the ocean.

She turned to look back at the hotel as she stood up and dusted the last grains of sand from her bare thighs. He was sitting by the bar sipping a cool beer and smiled at her cat-like. She walked over to him and took a swig of his chilled bottle, letting the Lion cool her lips and throat before he could warm them up again.

When did you leave? She asked half accusingly, after pulling away from him.

You looked so happy sleeping out there, I didn’t want to wake you.

But I though we were going to take a swim together? She pouted.

He stood up, drained the last dregs of his beer, nearly slammed the bottle back down on the wooden bar counter and promptly carried her, racing to the ocean’s edge.

She didn’t laugh or giggle. She simply threw her arms around his neck and enjoyed the ride, looking into his eyes all the while.

Once far enough out in the water, he flung her in. She slammed into a wave and felt it thrash hard against her body. The pain and the rush of water in her nose felt almost welcoming. Finding her footing, she looked for him. He emerged from under a wave a few feet away from her, wiped the water back from his hair and started wading towards her, confident that he would find solace in her arms, even with madness of the ocean surrounding them.

He loved her like this, when it was just the two of them. And it always was, this time of year.

Every year, he would come to her in June and leave her in August. 3 perfect months, tuned into 33 over the years. And she would wait for him. Year after year. And when he was gone, he was gone. Not a word, not a sound. And she was left with her ocean and her memories to carry her through the dark nights. 11th time’s the charm, she realized as she breathed into his chest, soaked by a warm wave.

Tomorrow he would go home again. But for tonight, a perfect August moon was on the rise as the sun began to escape from her world more rapidly that necessary this time.

They climbed out of the water and stood holding eachother as the last rays began to disappear. She bid a silent farewell to him as darkness began to set.

Shower? He asks, invitingly?

He takes intricate care with her, making sure every last grain of sand was washed away from her hair. She just stands there, taking everything in. Normally she would partake in this evening ritual of theirs. She couldn’t bring herself to, needing to feel every last touch against her skin as he takes control. He doesn’t know, she smiles.

Noticing her expression change, he stops and looks into her eyes, questioningly. She shakes her head and motions for him to continue.

Later that night, they lay on the beach again, as Bob Marley wafted through speakers somewhere in the distance. Stir it up, little darling… A solitary lamp from outside a nearby bungalow threw shadows across them as he slept, cocooned like a child in her arms. She gingerly moves his arms away and gets up, ever-so-gently so as to not wake him.

She had work to do.

She took off back to his car. Taking out a pocket knife, she slashes his tires. A small smile of satisfaction creeps in. Shaking it off, she dropped the knife abruptly and dashed back out onto the sand. The cold grains felt welcoming as she began to shed her clothing until she stood alone, a few feet away from him, her lithe body bathed in the glow of an August moon.

11 years had been enough. Too much. A life of regret for a man who took and took and ran back to his wife each time. She let herself be taken by a man who forced her into dance of betrayal, making her leave everything she held dear at the door, every time he would come her way.

She looked up at the moon and silently wished him pain. He would have to stay longer and live with what he had created in her. He wanted to tame a wild beast, and instead he turned her more fierce in her determination this time around.

Her palms reached upto her lips as she kissed them both. She reached one hand out to the moon and blew the kiss upwards. The other one she turned, wanting to send it to him. Instead, she clenched her fist, keeping even that last goodbye close to her, refusing to let him have anymore.

Ready now, she walked out into the one source of comfort over the years. The waves almost stood up with open arms, welcoming her home. She had overstayed her welcome and now it was time to go back. Further and further out she went and when she was almost a mile out, she turned, looking back at him. But she couldn’t see him. All she could see was the moon, smiling down on her, thanking her for the goodbye. They were old friends. It was the August moon that she had seen when she came here first, like a solitary welcome party.

She turned away and dived in, going deeper down. Once near the ocean bed, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth and spoke a language known only by the chosen ones. Her long lithe legs vanished as her tail swished and swayed in the water, taking her further in.

It was over. She was going home now.

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Drum Beat - Heart Beat by Telophase

Drum Beat - Heart Beat by Telophase

A was talking to a friend of mine last night about the many things that are going on in my head and as quiet as she remained at the time, I woke up to her sending me this amazing piece of writing that echoes exactly what I’m going through. It’s a toughie, this one, and it helps sometimes to know that a someone else has felt the same way. I’ve been going through the stuff she’s written, and I find her to be a very sensitive writer. Kinda like our Gyppo, who knows exactly how to hit a raw nerve. Super stuff.

On another note, I can never acknowledge who this is for, but I know that they will read it at some point. And for me, that’s enough I guess.

This heart beats to the rhythm of your beat
Then crashes with a roar
Now your drums, they play off beat
And I just can’t take the hint
I think….maybe…not so
Oh what does this leaping heart know?
Won’t beat in time when you play so slow
Where did your spirit go?
Can’t hear your beat, once my retreat,
You want to play so slow
The notes you hit are low
Like the emptiness below
Like your drum with hollow notes
Never cared for words or votes
So in silence we will go
Yes you’ve mastered all alone
Those sounds of silence that echo…

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