Thursday, January 24, 2013

Would I like me if I met me

I would. I would have fallen fucking head over heels in love with me. I see me as I am, perfect in all my imperfections. I would find me a fascinating dreamer, a passionate doer, an impatient explorer, a cheerful and resourceful comrade, an impassioned leader, a reliable friend. If chemistry is there, I would find me hot. I think there is chemistry between me and I. We find each other irresistable. One sigh and that's enough to send the other over the edge. I find me a sexy, slinky, but viciously strong animal where needed. I also somehow find me a gentle guy. A guy who can understand, empathise, whose soul is gentle. I know me comes across sometimes as a way too critical, uncompromising, or harsh, but give him reasons, he understands. In all the idiosyncracies that make me me, I know me is kind. Gentle. Understanding. Patient. Passionate. Single-minded. Faithful. Deep in his beliefs and values. Brainy. Well-read. Sexy. But as easy as it is to love me now (and it hasn't been easy at all to like myself and love myself before my transition, for the forever obvious reasons of hating my body), it's not me I'm head over heels in love with. I can't begin to imagine what I will really feel when I step on that plane knowing I wouldn't see your face for a year from that moment, the face I'd see just before going into the immigration area. I will go through the gates, stand aside to let people go by, and wave at you through my tears. I would see you crying, all distorted from tears, that will make me start again on another bout of tears. Last year's farewell scene, only in reverse. How my heart broke to see you that morning... And this time it is not for a few months, but a year. A much needed year away, to get over. To let go. How weird. But true. Just to see you, just to feel your presence. Just to feel you around. To know I can see you if I just turn my head. Or shift my eyes. Or call you to come over, or drop by. To know I'll be able to see you pretty much anytime I want to see you. Your immediate presence in my life has meant a lot to me. You've opened whole new doors in life for me just by making me feel what I felt, and still do feel, for you. So thank you. You've been my happy-pill. But you're not a pill. I don't own you, never have, never will. We never dated, but somehow I managed to fall head over heels in love with you, over a year ago. But again, this time I'm learning to let go of my feelings. I'm trying. Really. Plus, honestly, people are not slaves to be owned. I own no one. Never would I want that. Someone who is owned is a slave. A slave has no opinions of their own, no thoughts, no sorrows, no highs, no lows, no soul searing love, no regrets. A slave, more than anything else, in their mind where the mind does everything except analyse, deduce, come up with conclusions, a slave without the freedom of thought beyond what one's told. A slave who takes others' opinions for one's own without prior examinations of one's own philosophy in life, without testing them against one's own beliefs and values. That's a true slave. A slave of dogma, a slave of prejudice, a slave of the convention. I'm ready to go and find the one who truly loves (and lives by) her/his freedom of honesty and truth. And who thus wants the same from their love. I'd like to meet me.

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