Being an international has told me a few things. One of them; I love you is only "I LOVE YOU" when it's said in English.
If you're a nice and sociable person, falling in love with you is effortless. I personally bump into love at least twice a year. (That also means two breakups a year). Falling in love is not a big deal. How somebody treats you is.
But this isn't about that children, this is about how I personally communicate my love for you.
Food.
Feeding someone is such a spiritual practice for me, that I could make it religious.
For one, I cannot cook for someone I don't love.
Yes children it's true. If you have eaten the fruits of my culinary love labor, I love you. Not loved, not used to love... Love.
I care for you more than just enjoying your company. I care for your well being. So much so, that my body wants to nourish your body while it's in my presence. So I will go to the stove and make something delicious. And I will give it to you as a symbol of my love for you, and we shall eat from the same pot, and drink from the same juice bottle communion style.
This is a fact. I know you're thinking, damn that's deep. But I really sincerely honest to God can't cook for people I don't love. Something always happens. Too much salt, too much water, no flavor, something burns... nothing works I tell you. And even the people that know me will tell you how long it took them to taste my food. One time a guy had to go and buy special ingredients because he was dying to eat African Food, but I was never cooking when he came around.
Of course there are people who are fed by me who I don't love, indeed, people I barely know, but they just happened to come in the company of someone I do love. So they are fed on behalf of my love for that somebody else.
Why did I write this? Whats the point?
I want to express to people that loving is more than just telling people you love them. I personally take physical care of people I love. For instance, if you're my man or if you're someone I wish was my man, granted you're getting physically adored around me. I'm cooking for you, I'm massaging you, I'm bathing you, I'm fantasizing about washing your feet. I know. It sounds crazy, but it's true. I like making your body, where the amazing spirit that makes me feel amazing resides, feel better. I almost NEVER actually say it, I don't see the point. I literally act under the assumption that your spirit will recognize what my spirit is doing. I live under the order of Love;the Verb. Not Love;the Noun. If I'm loving you, I just show it. I prefer not to mouthly communicate things that needn't words. It means more to me for you to intuitively know that I love you. I'm weird like that.
It's not hard for me to love people, and it's not hard for people to love me
(at least I'd like to think so).
But if you were ever fed by me, then you can definitely consider it a privilege now. Not everybody is fed by me. Let me rephrase, not Anybody is fed by me.
BTW This is not only romantic love I'm talking about. I'm talking about friends, family, and lovers. If I fed you, I did it because I love you and I will forever care for you. It's much more wonderful to be my proton than my electron.
Showing posts with label Ah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ah. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Conversations in Passing: The Person. Capital P.
I had great conversations this weekend. Some revolved around people that you think are your soulmates in your head, but would never openly say it. Only because of the impact they have on you. Another one is about love. I'll separate them like egg whites and yolk.
On That Person.
That Person, is a person you've messed with before, or someone you've always wanted. Someone just outside of your grasp. You want them, like real desire-want. Not lust-want. You want them like if they told you that to have them, you have to walk to Wisconsin, or climb Mulanje mountain, you'd seriously consider doing it. It's beyond physical. Someone who you have seen in all their glory, and lights and bad angles. Someone you can say you "Accept as they are". Someone who has pissed you off before, but when the dust settles, you're that bish from the "House of Flying Daggers" who's crying after killing her lover asking him why he "didn't move? Why didn't you dodge? You knew I didn't really want to kill you! I was just mad." Someone who makes you crazy from wanting them. That Person, if they even HINTED at interest in you... you'd immediately break up with whoever you're with. Like, drop of a hat DUMP. #Noexplanationnecessary.
Everyone has That Person.
Shit, I've been a victim of That Person.
It's interesting knowing your lovers' Person and it's not you. You know it, and they know it. They didn't intend for you to know it, but because you have a Person too - you know the signs and symptoms of a hopelessly-in-want situation. The only person who doesn't know they are that Person, is That Person.
This is when the separation of topics is like egg whites and yolks. This is the bit of white in the yolk and the bit of yolk in the white.
If you were with Your Person, 9 times out of 10 it wouldn't work. For some reason, Persons always come attached with a fucking airline amount of over-weight baggage. This is why this thing blends into soulmates. They've moved your spirit so irrevocably, you think you would still be with them with all the baggage, but you try it, and you FAIL. Nobody can be with their "perfect" person. It's too real. It's too jaw dropping. It's too RAW. No matter what anyone thinks, in reality, Every relationship needs a thick layer of fabrication to coat it to protect it from damage. THAT'S why marriage is hard. It's ALOT of pro-bono acting, and who has the energy?
Meeting and loving your Person will also be an indicator to how much you love someone else. It becomes your temperature gauge. You start saying things to yourself like, "I like you - but if insert name called me right now, would I still be sitting here?" The answer is usually "No." and you proceed in your #non-chalant-about-you ways because #I've-loved-harder and #you're-not-inspiring-me-to. You know when there are true contenders when you think that thought and the answer is Yes. That is when you know like you know the sky is blue and peas are green and chocolate is delicious that You Have Met Someone.
I've experienced a twist of this. I once watched my lover see their Person and react to them. React to them in the only way someone hopelessly-in-want can. By hanging their head, and never shutting up about them - especially to me.
Now, I have a sexual chemistry radar. I can sense sexual energy, I can feel it tingle my skin. I sensed this connection between them, that of course he denies. She's his Person, he's not hers. It was fascinating to witness. Since he's not my Person either. I just took notes. Ladies and Gentlemen, I did not blow my top. I empathized. But I did lose the little I had for him. And you know it's little when you witness with your own two eyeballs something as intense as unfulfilled-desire-that's-not-for-you in your own lovers eyes and you didn't lose a wink of sleep about it. You didn't even change a facebook status over it. You didn't even bother to break up. Yes indeed, you're still fake-frolicking in fields of Lilacs singing "The hiiiiilllls are allllliiive! With the sound of Muuuusiiiiic..."
Whereas, had your lover been your Person, you probably would have been so stabbed you would have ended the show with a dramatic exit to have your heart tended to by the Emergency Heart-Repair Service at the Heartbreak Hotel. Where you lie naked and Doctor Ambrose snaps on a rubber glove on his right hand and puts one finger in your anus, making your chest pop open like the hood of your car. Propping it open with a rib bone at a forty-five degree angle as he pokes around in your chest, and asks you when the last time you had it cleaned was, and you say, "Never." and Ambrose takes out a thin, long and sharp stainless steel instrument and tells you to think about your Person while he shoves it into your aorta. Through the pain you start seeing ghosts of everyone you've ever loved rising from the depths of your beating heart. The deeper he pushes the instrument into your aorta, the more Ghosts of Ex's rise from your heart, and at the end of it all. Ambrose tells you it's good you cleaned your heart, because the pain will go, but the heart is still broken. "Maybe it'll mend itself" He'll say, "Sometimes, they do."
And he'll set the rib bone back. He'll shake his head, won't say a word, and he'll leave.
On That Person.
That Person, is a person you've messed with before, or someone you've always wanted. Someone just outside of your grasp. You want them, like real desire-want. Not lust-want. You want them like if they told you that to have them, you have to walk to Wisconsin, or climb Mulanje mountain, you'd seriously consider doing it. It's beyond physical. Someone who you have seen in all their glory, and lights and bad angles. Someone you can say you "Accept as they are". Someone who has pissed you off before, but when the dust settles, you're that bish from the "House of Flying Daggers" who's crying after killing her lover asking him why he "didn't move? Why didn't you dodge? You knew I didn't really want to kill you! I was just mad." Someone who makes you crazy from wanting them. That Person, if they even HINTED at interest in you... you'd immediately break up with whoever you're with. Like, drop of a hat DUMP. #Noexplanationnecessary.
Everyone has That Person.
Shit, I've been a victim of That Person.
It's interesting knowing your lovers' Person and it's not you. You know it, and they know it. They didn't intend for you to know it, but because you have a Person too - you know the signs and symptoms of a hopelessly-in-want situation. The only person who doesn't know they are that Person, is That Person.
This is when the separation of topics is like egg whites and yolks. This is the bit of white in the yolk and the bit of yolk in the white.
If you were with Your Person, 9 times out of 10 it wouldn't work. For some reason, Persons always come attached with a fucking airline amount of over-weight baggage. This is why this thing blends into soulmates. They've moved your spirit so irrevocably, you think you would still be with them with all the baggage, but you try it, and you FAIL. Nobody can be with their "perfect" person. It's too real. It's too jaw dropping. It's too RAW. No matter what anyone thinks, in reality, Every relationship needs a thick layer of fabrication to coat it to protect it from damage. THAT'S why marriage is hard. It's ALOT of pro-bono acting, and who has the energy?
Meeting and loving your Person will also be an indicator to how much you love someone else. It becomes your temperature gauge. You start saying things to yourself like, "I like you - but if insert name called me right now, would I still be sitting here?" The answer is usually "No." and you proceed in your #non-chalant-about-you ways because #I've-loved-harder and #you're-not-inspiring-me-to. You know when there are true contenders when you think that thought and the answer is Yes. That is when you know like you know the sky is blue and peas are green and chocolate is delicious that You Have Met Someone.
I've experienced a twist of this. I once watched my lover see their Person and react to them. React to them in the only way someone hopelessly-in-want can. By hanging their head, and never shutting up about them - especially to me.
Now, I have a sexual chemistry radar. I can sense sexual energy, I can feel it tingle my skin. I sensed this connection between them, that of course he denies. She's his Person, he's not hers. It was fascinating to witness. Since he's not my Person either. I just took notes. Ladies and Gentlemen, I did not blow my top. I empathized. But I did lose the little I had for him. And you know it's little when you witness with your own two eyeballs something as intense as unfulfilled-desire-that's-not-for-you in your own lovers eyes and you didn't lose a wink of sleep about it. You didn't even change a facebook status over it. You didn't even bother to break up. Yes indeed, you're still fake-frolicking in fields of Lilacs singing "The hiiiiilllls are allllliiive! With the sound of Muuuusiiiiic..."
Whereas, had your lover been your Person, you probably would have been so stabbed you would have ended the show with a dramatic exit to have your heart tended to by the Emergency Heart-Repair Service at the Heartbreak Hotel. Where you lie naked and Doctor Ambrose snaps on a rubber glove on his right hand and puts one finger in your anus, making your chest pop open like the hood of your car. Propping it open with a rib bone at a forty-five degree angle as he pokes around in your chest, and asks you when the last time you had it cleaned was, and you say, "Never." and Ambrose takes out a thin, long and sharp stainless steel instrument and tells you to think about your Person while he shoves it into your aorta. Through the pain you start seeing ghosts of everyone you've ever loved rising from the depths of your beating heart. The deeper he pushes the instrument into your aorta, the more Ghosts of Ex's rise from your heart, and at the end of it all. Ambrose tells you it's good you cleaned your heart, because the pain will go, but the heart is still broken. "Maybe it'll mend itself" He'll say, "Sometimes, they do."
And he'll set the rib bone back. He'll shake his head, won't say a word, and he'll leave.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Homage to Edna
So, it's my maker's birthday today.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMY!!!
I have to call her. If I could, I would make her the thobekile designed card to likelyfly the homemade ones I made as a bambino, and I would write this:
"I miss the way you smell, and the way you make me feel better by simply Being.
The way you hold me when you know I'm falling apart.
The way food tastes better for the simple fact that you made it.
I used to think I was imagining things, but no!
Food literally tastes better because you made it. I'd taste flavors like the skinny chef in Ratatouille.
I didn't know it then, but this was to be my body's way
of telling me that I love someone.
When I love someone, I even see them with a warm light around them in my dreams.
It touches my heart to know how you love mom,
for yours is not an extroverted love
It's introverted. You feel that shit deep in your soul.
Every time I'm sick - I think of you. Because the thought of you makes me feel better
I'm not sure what went on when I was living inside you for those nine months,
but we have a phenomenal mommy/baby thing going on.
When I was sick with:
Malaria
Typhoid
Bilharzia
Conjunctivitis
Hernia
When I broke my limbs
When I got attacked by bird's nest fleas
When wasps stung me
When I was jumped by two boys
When I almost drowned
When I got chitedze
When I was afraid to learn how to swim
When I saw you heal spotty
And many more things...
You took care of me.
I don't take that for granted. I associate you with healing powers Mom. I think you're SUPER. Like literally, flying with a cape. When I get sick, it's your presence. I used to cry for you when I thought I was dying, and you would come and laugh at me - saying I'm a baby at heart. And it reveals itself when I think I'm dying. I giggle about this now, because I never said I thought I would die but you could always see it in my eyes. Then I'd weakly ask for a Fanta. Or a burger. You know, those are privileges where we live.
I love you, Mom.
I appreciate you, Mom.
I miss you, Mom.
I'm crying as I write this, Mom.
You Are The Best.
Even when we get on each other's nerves, you are precious about it.
I still can't believe how seriously you take me as a grown up.
I miss being mema'd by you around the house
(you know that was really hard for me to give up)
Happy Birthday, you are loved.
Ninkumpoop number:2"
If anyone see's her today, kiss her cheek for me and tell her it's from Gabi.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMY!!!
I have to call her. If I could, I would make her the thobekile designed card to likelyfly the homemade ones I made as a bambino, and I would write this:
"I miss the way you smell, and the way you make me feel better by simply Being.
The way you hold me when you know I'm falling apart.
The way food tastes better for the simple fact that you made it.
I used to think I was imagining things, but no!
Food literally tastes better because you made it. I'd taste flavors like the skinny chef in Ratatouille.
I didn't know it then, but this was to be my body's way
of telling me that I love someone.
When I love someone, I even see them with a warm light around them in my dreams.
It touches my heart to know how you love mom,
for yours is not an extroverted love
It's introverted. You feel that shit deep in your soul.
Every time I'm sick - I think of you. Because the thought of you makes me feel better
I'm not sure what went on when I was living inside you for those nine months,
but we have a phenomenal mommy/baby thing going on.
When I was sick with:
Malaria
Typhoid
Bilharzia
Conjunctivitis
Hernia
When I broke my limbs
When I got attacked by bird's nest fleas
When wasps stung me
When I was jumped by two boys
When I almost drowned
When I got chitedze
When I was afraid to learn how to swim
When I saw you heal spotty
And many more things...
You took care of me.
I don't take that for granted. I associate you with healing powers Mom. I think you're SUPER. Like literally, flying with a cape. When I get sick, it's your presence. I used to cry for you when I thought I was dying, and you would come and laugh at me - saying I'm a baby at heart. And it reveals itself when I think I'm dying. I giggle about this now, because I never said I thought I would die but you could always see it in my eyes. Then I'd weakly ask for a Fanta. Or a burger. You know, those are privileges where we live.
I love you, Mom.
I appreciate you, Mom.
I miss you, Mom.
I'm crying as I write this, Mom.
You Are The Best.
Even when we get on each other's nerves, you are precious about it.
I still can't believe how seriously you take me as a grown up.
I miss being mema'd by you around the house
(you know that was really hard for me to give up)
Happy Birthday, you are loved.
Ninkumpoop number:2"
If anyone see's her today, kiss her cheek for me and tell her it's from Gabi.
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