Bagi saya yang rajin menjadi pengunjung gereja setiap minggunya, judul diatas pasti menjadi sungguh kontroversial. Pemeluk agama, siapapun mereka, pasti tanpa berpikir panjang akan menjawab lugas: “saya memilih mencinta Pencipta saya.” Jawaban berikut adalah lumrah; dimana menurut saya, sejatinya jawaban seperti apapun adalah lumrah. Saya bukan berkapasitas menilai benar atau salah atas pilihan orang lain.
Di Indonesia, fenomena seperti ini masih memiliki ketertarikan tersendiri. Seorang beragama, dalam budaya non-monokromatik agama, tanpa disengaja pasti bersinggungan terhadap manusia lain dengan perbedaan keyakinan. Lumrah. Yang (kurang) lumrah, setidaknya di Indonesia, adalah ketika harus menyadari bahwa “bersinggungan” tersebut memiliki kemungkinan menjadi cinta dan berpotensi berakhir kepada keinginan untuk komitmen seumur hidup alias menikah.
Why is it that we have such a hard time letting go of things that aren’t good for us?
We’ve all been there. We know something is terrible for us and we know that it will do more harm than good, but we still hold on to it. “Hold” may be too light of a term. We cling. We cling to things that will ultimately leave us worse for wear – and it’s ridiculous.
Usually, this is the case with relationships. We stay in less than stellar relationships well past the expiry date. Like spoiled milk, curdling in the fridge, these toxic relationships taint everything around them with their shittiness. Yet, we’re hesitant to get rid of them. Thus begins a vicious cycle. We allow ourselves to sacrifice time, dignity, energy and self-esteem and, in the end, we’re left looking back at the mess wondering how we allowed ourselves to become that desperate person.
Date a girl who writes because she will be able to recall in detail the dialog between you two, and while it gets you in trouble, it’s endearing and sweet at the same time that she remembers. This also forces you to choose your words carefully and you will become an expert in diction.
Date a girl who writes because she understands the complexities of characters, and knows you are more than your successes, failures, winnings, or losses. She loves all the layers of you, all the deep parts and even the shallow. When you are acting like the villain, she will see the goodness in you. When you are the hero, she’ll still secretly admire your flaws. All the depths of you become her big adventure.
There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away, the things she won’t remember, and that, she can’t even let herself think about because that’s when the birds scream, and the worms crawl, and somewhere in her mind it’s always raining a slow and endless drizzle.
You will hear that she has left the country, that there was a gift she wanted you to have, but it is lost before it reaches you. Late one night the telephone will sign, and a voice that might be hers will say something that you cannot interpret before the connection crackles and is broken.
Several years later, from a taxi, you will see someone in a doorway who looks like her, but she will be gone by the time you persuade the driver to stop. You will never see her again. Whenever it rains you will think of her.
Originally wrote by Neil Gaiman
Photo featured by here
Truth for anyone is a very complex thing. For a writer, what you leave out says as much as those things you include. What lies beyond the margin of the text?
The photographer frames the shot; writers frame their world try these out. Mrs Winterson objected to what I had put in, but it seemed to me that what I had left out was the story’s silent twin.
There are so many things that we can’t say, because they are too painful. We hope that the things we can say will soothe the rest, or appease it in some way. Stories are compensatory. The world is unfair, unjust, unknowable, out of control.
Because you’re addicted. Because you know exactly what Edward meant when he called Bella his own “personal brand of heroin” and you’re ashamed to admit you feel that way. Because you’re like a moth to the flame with this person, because you know you’ll get hurt in the end and yet. Because a part of you knows better and another part doesn’t want to; because you’re not ready to all-the-way know better. Because this is a suicide leap but the way they make you feel makes it somehow worth it.
Because they speak your language. Because they understand you even when they don’t. Because on some deep, intrinsic level you just get each other. Because sometimes it seems like they know you better than you know yourself. Because they’ve seen the worst of you and the best; because, regardless of how they hurt you, you still feel an inexplicable trust.
Because you’re afraid. You’re afraid you’ll never be loved like that again; you’re afraid no one else will be in tune with you, your moods, the essence of who you are in this necessary specific way. Because you’re afraid you don’t have the capacity to love anyone like that again; afraid all your love energy is spent, afraid you’re incapable of ever emotionally getting it up for anyone else. Because you’ve never been so vulnerable with anyone else and the thought of even trying makes you feel hopeless and tired.
Because you think this time will be different, think that with all the naiveté of someone proposing marriage to their drug addicted mate hoping that’s the move that will cure them. “This time will be different” — you hear people say that and you roll your eyes so loud you wake up the neighbors but you do exactly the same thing; the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Because you think you can make this work if you try a little harder, if you just push a little more.
Because you believe in it, against your better judgment. Because you think it’s worth it; because you don’t stop to consider the very real possibility that the negatives outweigh the positives. Because you think you owe each other, your history, something still; because you feel inherently bonded and you don’t want to break it. Because you leave logic out of it; because after all, the heart wants what the heart wants and what can you do about that.
Because you live in the past, because you remember who you were once, who they were, and what you had; remember this and want to rewind. Because you think it’s possible to somehow recreate an idealized past in an unsure future. Because you’ve been holding onto the possibility of becoming a whole again for months, for years, safe and protected by the idea that no matter what happens, you’re not alone because of that faint background possibility of us.
Because you think they’ll change, you’ll change, the circumstances will change; things will somehow mysteriously get better. Because you think this time around you’ll appreciate each other because you know what it’s like to be without. Because you have kids together. Because you have a dog together. Because you have amazing memories together. Because you have an “amor vincit omnia” tattoo. Because Hollywood or literature or God made you believe that love is enough. Because you don’t want to think about the possibility of a world in which it isn’t.
Originally wrote by Mila Jaroniec