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The Madness of MokcikNab
Motives, movements and melodrama in the life of a thirty something mum.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006
And Let Your Arrow Fly

Not so long ago, when we were both safely ensconced in our marriage, and too fat to run away with someone else, I asked Saiffuddin why he loved me. Wives are typically neurotic and insecure, and this is the sort of question that would surface once every few months, one that the poor husband cannot escape, no matter how long he has been married.

I had rattled off the reasons why I loved him -- because he was a man of faith, because he's a great father to the kids, because he makes perfect three quarter boiled eggs, because he's funny, because he has a dimple in his right (left?) cheek, because he can do advanced calculus and can explain me the theory of thermodynamics, because I like him in a pair of bikes et cetera et cetera. The list was long, and at the end of it, I looked at him and asked what made him stay.

"So, why do you love me?"
"Because you're you", he said simply,"Because you're Elida".
"Nothing specific?", I asked, dissapointed he didn't say it's because I have nice hair or I smell good or I look delicious in the morning.
"No. I have absolutely no idea why I love you", he pleaded, "it won't be called madness if I were able to explain it."

And that, you have to agree, was a very, very good answer.

Over the past few weeks, though, we have ignored this wisdom and it has been our Great Attempt at the office to try and dissect and deconstruct this delirium called Love, and identify its many forms. The mistake is thinking that you can analyse something that defies logic, and then make plans around it.

Of course you'd want to make plans. If you're about to jump off a cliff you'd want to know that you won't break your neck. But listen, when it comes to this damnable love thing, there is no guarantee you won't get hurt. The only way to ensure you walk away unscathed is to walk away. Forget about the whole thing altogether and lose your self in whatever else you think is a good substitute - work, meanness, celibacy, food.

And the catch is, you will find out there is never a good substitute.

So it's a choice : be safe but lonely, or be madly in love despite the fear that you'd be badly bruised some time in the future. But it's the fear that quickens the heart, no?

And who knows, maybe in the end, you won't get badly bruised after all. I've never expected much from Saiffuddin and I was fully prepared for injury, but look, it's been almost twenty years.

So just let go, and we'll see where it goes.

Your resident psychoanalyst will be leaving the country Sunday 10th of September. I'll leave a number for emergencies (Emergencies is like when you're about to kill yourself. When you can't contain yourself because he bought you teh tarik ais and you simply must call me up at 11 pm to tell me, that does not qualify as an emergency).

But other than that, you're on your own, kids. You'll be missed, my insane friends.


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