I’m smoking a cigarette and waiting for my bath water to fill. While I’ve been doing this I unfortunately caught about ten minutes of Sex and the City.
Now before I move further with this rant, I must make it clear that I am contractually obligated to never bitch about Sex and the City. The contract is my relationship with Kyra and the consequences are painful guilt trips, yelling and generally a little bit of arm hair pulling.
But today’s show was particularly painful because Carrie Bradshaw has decided she’s a cynic who doesn’t believe in love and her friend ‘Cute girl with dark hair’ (Can’t recall her name now…) is the one who always believes in love.
Anyway they went on and on about how you’re supposed to believe in love and you’re supposed to put yourself out there and then it’ll come to you and blah blah blah. Now. This is all very run of the mill right? I mean it’s on every single show on American television. But it suddenly reminded me what I hate so much about this widely accepted notion that love is the indefinite mystery which exists and floats around and controls people’s hearts.
I’ve been a proper Indian lover for about 15 months now and I’d like to finally, categorically put forth my own notion of love, which believe me, is a far simpler fucking notion.
Love is boring. It is not a good movie script. It is barely even a good memory. It is nothing more than a really good feeling. Love is the unhindered belief in something’s core, something’s essence. The reason people spend so much money and do so many things for other people is because they trust deep down and count on the other person’s deepest self.
People love money right? If you love it and work for it you’ll get a hundred bucks which you can then spend on candy. And then you’ll think ‘hmm money’s dependable!’
With people, you don’t always get the candy. Sometimes you get the wrong type of candy. Then you get disappointed and you cry and your heart breaks and you lose faith and you think ‘hmm people- not so dependable!’
Most people wear masks to hide themselves because they don’t think they’re more valuable than what’s on the mask. Which is horrible right? It’s a fucking mask for god’s sake. There’s people with values and experiences and dreams and hopes and memories- who presume a plastic mask is more valuable.
It’s true masks are fun. And they’re wonderful at times too, but when all you have is your mask, you start to fantasize about what love really is. And you romanticize it and you build it up and completely miss the reality of it all. My love for Kyra is not the flowers I got her on our anniversary, it’s the idea that she’s worth the effort to make happy. Love is not something you wait around for- it’s something you DO!
Marxists love Marx and capitalists love profits. Hindus love Shiva. They just do. Everything I do and feel for Kyra is because her core, her self is so fucking awesome to me I can’t help but love it, NOT because of a baby with a cross bow sitting on a crowd in designer diapers!
My point, at the end is, if everyone just went ahead and loved and got, that when it doesn’t work out, it’s because it didn’t and the world is not against your middle class urbanite ass. Men are not assholes. Women are not sluts, and if we keep believing in the bullshit they’re feeding us on most TV we’re just going to get confused.
For me, the truest depictions of love in American Cinema are the relationships in the movies ‘When a Man loves a Woman’ and ‘Marley and Me.’
Love IS like Oxygen. Not in a romantic ‘Oh so can’t live without it’ kind of a way- more in a yes it’s there, and yes it’s fucking awesome and yes I’ll always appreciate it, but what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
That is all.