Half-Hearted Cynicism
I watched an average Bollywood love story tonight.
I've long criticized the love stories of this industry for expunging any possibility of realism in romance for girls as young as I was when I started watching and believing in the magic of a beautiful couple on screen. I've gotten over that crap thanks to the even crappier crap of real life, but tonight was the first time I found myself rooting against love.
The movie was about a young girl and a young boy (I don't know if they were supposed to be 5 or 10 years of age -- yes, I suck that much at discerning ages of children; anyone want to argue with me about why I shouldn't ever have kids?) who meet in a movie theater and bond over the fact that they know every dialogue of the movie they're watching. After almost a decade of friendship, they have a decade long relationship. They are, of course, opposites: the girl/woman, a risk-taking impulsive-in-a-way-that-is-supposed-to-make-her-endearing creature, and the boy/man, a predictable responsible won't-give-up-on-his-love-despite-her-impetuousness person.
With the predictable hurdles that this perfect-in-character boy and perfect-in-looks girl face, I think the movie intends for us to be hoping for their ultimate union. And I usually do, despite the giant impracticality of most story lines. But this time, with the long distance, the drastic personality differences, the constant tension between these two, for at least a half an hour of the movie I just cursed at them in my head. Screw the fuck off. This shit doesn't work in real life. Distance, priorities, the presence of other "options" -- these aren't just fun wrenches to throw into the already sputtering machinery of a relationship; these are bombs that blow up our life as we know it.
The guy shouldn't get the damn girl. She's ungrateful and impractical. No amount of apology gets her back the guy she loves. She doesn't. Trust me. Just fucking trust me.
So, I was rooting against them.
Then came the scene where they see each other again. And she says the fake-ass sorry with fake-ass acting that was a lot more fake-ass than people in real life feel and attempt to express to the ones they love. And suddenly there was a part of me that went, "Oh man. Fine whatever, let her have him. Let them be happy."
The feeling of betrayal that hit me about 10 seconds later was massive. Betrayed by my own realism. Also commonly known as cynicism. Where did the stone sitting on my heart go?
I know you don't remember what my fingers felt like between yours when you were driving the car with only your left palm because your right hand refused to let go of mine, even if that meant you had to reach over with your left hand to change the damn gear. I know you don't remember what my hair you loved falling over your face and shoulders felt like. I know you don't remember what my whispers felt like when you held me close. I know you don't remember that you -- your face, your arms, the hair on your chest, your naked body -- were perfection to me.
I know, I know, that you don't remember how you knew that your hand on the small of my back was all I needed to block out all thought and believe that I was always safe and always loved.
So fuck these movies that make me doubt my cynicism. No amount of expressed or unexpressed-but-felt apology and self-derision is ever enough for the universe to be kind to a broken heart.
Your hands have new destinations. And the small of my back? It's been a deserted town since the last time it felt the warmth of your lips. The world ends every second. That spot on my back has died with it every second of the last seven years that no one has discovered it. And I have just learnt to not even notice.
Yesterday would have been eight years. Your dizzyingly beautiful eyes looking into mine could spark fires on the other end of the earth, and I was too fucking dumb to appreciate it. So here I am. Knowing that yesterday would have been eight years.
Nothing ever changes. Our perception does. What I have felt for you, and those after you, does not change. I have just learned to perceive it all through unaffected lenses.
Love doesn't die. People's ability to sustain it does. I hope I die before my ability does.
I'm just happy smiling with my cynicism protecting my heart. But when that betrays me, then I'm really broken.
I've long criticized the love stories of this industry for expunging any possibility of realism in romance for girls as young as I was when I started watching and believing in the magic of a beautiful couple on screen. I've gotten over that crap thanks to the even crappier crap of real life, but tonight was the first time I found myself rooting against love.
The movie was about a young girl and a young boy (I don't know if they were supposed to be 5 or 10 years of age -- yes, I suck that much at discerning ages of children; anyone want to argue with me about why I shouldn't ever have kids?) who meet in a movie theater and bond over the fact that they know every dialogue of the movie they're watching. After almost a decade of friendship, they have a decade long relationship. They are, of course, opposites: the girl/woman, a risk-taking impulsive-in-a-way-that-is-supposed-to-make-her-endearing creature, and the boy/man, a predictable responsible won't-give-up-on-his-love-despite-her-impetuousness person.
With the predictable hurdles that this perfect-in-character boy and perfect-in-looks girl face, I think the movie intends for us to be hoping for their ultimate union. And I usually do, despite the giant impracticality of most story lines. But this time, with the long distance, the drastic personality differences, the constant tension between these two, for at least a half an hour of the movie I just cursed at them in my head. Screw the fuck off. This shit doesn't work in real life. Distance, priorities, the presence of other "options" -- these aren't just fun wrenches to throw into the already sputtering machinery of a relationship; these are bombs that blow up our life as we know it.
The guy shouldn't get the damn girl. She's ungrateful and impractical. No amount of apology gets her back the guy she loves. She doesn't. Trust me. Just fucking trust me.
So, I was rooting against them.
Then came the scene where they see each other again. And she says the fake-ass sorry with fake-ass acting that was a lot more fake-ass than people in real life feel and attempt to express to the ones they love. And suddenly there was a part of me that went, "Oh man. Fine whatever, let her have him. Let them be happy."
The feeling of betrayal that hit me about 10 seconds later was massive. Betrayed by my own realism. Also commonly known as cynicism. Where did the stone sitting on my heart go?
I know you don't remember what my fingers felt like between yours when you were driving the car with only your left palm because your right hand refused to let go of mine, even if that meant you had to reach over with your left hand to change the damn gear. I know you don't remember what my hair you loved falling over your face and shoulders felt like. I know you don't remember what my whispers felt like when you held me close. I know you don't remember that you -- your face, your arms, the hair on your chest, your naked body -- were perfection to me.
I know, I know, that you don't remember how you knew that your hand on the small of my back was all I needed to block out all thought and believe that I was always safe and always loved.
So fuck these movies that make me doubt my cynicism. No amount of expressed or unexpressed-but-felt apology and self-derision is ever enough for the universe to be kind to a broken heart.
Your hands have new destinations. And the small of my back? It's been a deserted town since the last time it felt the warmth of your lips. The world ends every second. That spot on my back has died with it every second of the last seven years that no one has discovered it. And I have just learnt to not even notice.
Yesterday would have been eight years. Your dizzyingly beautiful eyes looking into mine could spark fires on the other end of the earth, and I was too fucking dumb to appreciate it. So here I am. Knowing that yesterday would have been eight years.
Nothing ever changes. Our perception does. What I have felt for you, and those after you, does not change. I have just learned to perceive it all through unaffected lenses.
Love doesn't die. People's ability to sustain it does. I hope I die before my ability does.
I'm just happy smiling with my cynicism protecting my heart. But when that betrays me, then I'm really broken.
posted by Kriti at 2:48 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home