7th transcription & last 31.7.13

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
We each have our own demons to face, we can support each other through it, but we have to live it on our own...

Submitted: September 02, 2013

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Submitted: September 02, 2013



“Yeah”, I said, “I know what you mean. Dude is there and ready to support, and the idiot is the one who’s forgotten you, or can’t forget you and is ‘clinging’ to your memory desperately. He’s suffocating your dreams either way, through the incomprehensible rejection, or the shared soul connection. Whereas Dude offers fresh air and peace of mind. Tough one my friend. If I relate to it my family, they are the reject and cling variety, unlike yours who are up in your face all the time about what you should and shouldn’t be doing. I don’t know which is worse: up in your face and openly making you feel revolting and unacceptable inside, like you aren’t adult enough to live your own life, or being forgotten by people whose actions don’t match their “love you” words.”

Angel looked at me, and after a pause of contemplation, she asked me, “Is that why you find it so difficult to love anyone?”

Now it was my turn to let the tears well along my lashes, “I think it’s the other way around, they find it difficult to love me. Family saying they love you and it doesn’t feel like they mean it, because their actions never show it. They’ve always told me I’m difficult though, so maybe it’s my fault. Maybe my conscience knows I’m not easy to love, and it wouldn’t be fair to put another human being through what I’ve put my family through. They’ve always made it quite clear that I’m “too much”, and that they view me as a “drama queen” and they reckon I want all the attention. It’s bizarre, because I always try and stay as small and as out of the way as humanly possible, so I’m not in anyone’s way, so that I don’t make their lives harder. So my experience of love is people telling me the ‘truth’ about who they think I am. Love for them is all about their perceptions and has nothing to do with truth. It hurts and I’ve had to build up a wall so that it stops hurting. I’ve also been taught that because they love me they can tell me these things, but I must not “talk back” or voice my opinion, because that means I’m being insolent and disrespectful and not returning the ‘love’ because I don’t ‘know my place’. But I can’t keep quiet, I can’t be dishonest, I can’t hide what I’m feeling, I can’t be who they want me to be, under all their ‘conditions of love’. The ‘control’ of ‘love’. The way I have been ‘taught’ love, doesn’t fit with my soul, but I think the rest of the world practices love like my family, with all the conditions; with everything their way. My family is right; I’m not like everyone else. So, it makes sense that if my soul doesn’t practice the same type of conditional love that others practice, then it won’t be easy to ‘love’ just anyone in the way I see real love.” I looked at her, “Does any of that even make sense to you?”

“Yes, Shannan, it makes sense, and it makes me sad too my friend, because I reckon you deserve to have all the love in the way your soul feels it. I’ll put it to prayer, I’m sure God has an AWESOME plan ahead. Your soul is too attractive.” She said with all the faith of a 5 year old.

Attractive? My life experience flickered through my mind and it was only a tiny, almost quiet voice in the far reaches of somewhere in myself that still believed like she did in a plan. The whole eastern karmic law thing stipulates that there is no plan, its all self-creation… another mind-soul clash I was battling with.

As sharp as always, Angel looked me in the eyes: “Why that look?”

“Angel,” I laughed out loud, “I don’ think you and your blonde hair, green eyes and size 8 figure have any idea what it’s like to be a 12 sized, blue-eyed brunette!” I didn’t want to get onto the topic of different faith beliefs.

“What on earth do looks have to do with it?”

“Everything!” I laughed. She was so sweet and open, living in her own faith-filled reality. “Angel, guys go for the hot chicks, like you, not the brainy, intimidating chicks like me. I can’t giggle like you can, I don’t wear the perfect make-up like you do, I don’t have an aura that says ‘available’. I’ve always, since primary school, had a ‘don’t bother’ sign on my forehead when it comes to guys, and you know that. You’ve seen them look straight passed me, you’ve seen them ditch me on the dance floor, you’ve seen them next to me too intimidated to even ask me out for a cup of coffee!”

She looked at me, then down at the remains of her tea, slowly stirring it. “I know,” she looked up again, “but that doesn’t mean I understand it. Nor does it mean I’m going to stop hoping and praying that there is someone out there who won’t be intimidated and too childish to realise how fabulous you are. How can no-one want to date my life-line? If I was a guy, you’d be my first choice!”

I chuckled at her commitment, “Ah, bless you my friend. I reckon you’re right, we’d have made a great couple,” I winked at her, “Maybe God needs me more as a single person so I can give all the love to the learners I teach, and not be distracted by having to pickup after some guy with an insecure ego, who needed to marry his mother and maid combined.”

“Surely not, you can’t believe that. Haven’t you ever even asked God for someone to be your supplement and compliment?”

“Of course I have. At 14, then 16, then 18, then 21, then 22, and then at 24 I did as I was told and even wrote it down in a prayer list. A few other people I know wrote theirs down and within a year they were happily paired off with God’s choice opposite. Me? I think God’s taking tips from my family on this one, loves me lots, but it’s in His Word, in His time. With that list I handed it over, and I guess it got lost in the mail, you know what the postal system is like,” I laughed over the soul ache of rejection that lodged itself in my core every time parents, friends, grandparents, cousins, learners or colleagues asked me why I didn’t ‘have a man in my life’. They’d been asking for over 15 years, you get used to covering the up the useless waste of unwanted flesh you feel like every time it happens.

“That’s not funny,” Angel berated me.

“I had to stop crying Angel, laughing was all that was left.”

She shook her head, “Have you ever imagined love? Have you projected it into the Universe with a positive perspective on it all?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes,” she said challengingly.

“Angel,” I breathed to cover the tears of my unreal dreams, “Angel, in my night dreams and day dreams, there is someone there, and I feel so safe with him, I feel like he will look after me for always, in always, and it won’t be questioned, ever. I feel him holding me and wrapping me up in warmth and real love, that no matter what happens; he won’t let me go, ever. He won’t mock me, or judge me, or tell me that I’m ‘difficult’ or ‘special’ or ‘too serious’. He makes me smile, he makes me laugh. When I sense him next to me there’s a joy in my soul that I can’t contain, it ripples onto my lips so that I can’t stop smiling, not even if hell itself was falling from the sky. It’s a quiet space of such acceptance, contentment and mutual respect that it overwhelms me to tears with its intrinsic beauty, and absolute perfection. Most of all, there is an unbreakable loyalty and trust, a love of each other as individuals and best friends. No secrets, no lies.” I paused, “That, Angel, is what I’ve been dreaming of for years; that is what my imagination has been cruel enough to create. It is what I have had to teach myself is God’s presence, that it is only a dream of heaven that I have to squash while I live this life, because it has never been my reality in the decades I’ve been alive. It kills me inside to have a soul-knowing that that is what love is, and a mind-knowing that it’s not in my life; and because my expectations are too high, and I don’t feel that dream from those around me, I’m ‘creating’ my alone. It’s my fault. You aren’t the only one who has mind and soul clash trouble, Angel. Some of us have it worse than you do. At least you have the reality of feeling that love, you have a chance to grab onto it either way.”

The bill arrived, we paid.

We hugged good-bye. I hugged her tight, knowing somehow we’d get through it all.



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