Monday, October 26, 2009

In which I am too reliable.

Did anyone ever think they could be TOO reliable? I never did.

I know it drives me crazy when people don't answer their phones, and then don't call back; or make plans and then don't come through and don't let me know, etc. My family is very trust-based and so on, so growing up I've always done what I wanted - as long as I let them know where I was and when I'd be home. Course now I don't live with them, but I usually go by on weekends, and then they need me to sign stuff and so on, so again I always let them know when I'll be there, and let them know if I'm delayed.

I also always answer the phone - or call back soon. My phone is only off when on a place. (Yes, I'm an addict.)

This Sunday, I was due to go home and sign something at 930am. I fell asleep with my phone, on low battery, in another room, and thus missed my alarm, missed their frantic calls, and eventually the phone died. I woke up at noon and promptly called just in time to stop the search parties. The SigOth, who was contacted in a disturbing manner (Appa called his dad's office and got his dad's cellphone number, so SigOth was treated to the joyous event of having his father say, SigOth, MinCat's dad wants to talk to you), also panicked. Neither he nor Appa has the numbers of most of my friends and so began the mad calling to find someone's number. They even called The Roommate in another city!!!

Everyone was relieved, if with slightly shortened lives when I woke up and called and slunk home to marinate in guilt.

So does that mean I'm TOO reliable? Because if people think that only Terrible Things can keep me from keeping appointments and answering my phone, clearly the bar is insanely high.
Or does that mean I wasn't reliable enough, and I should have given Appa all the numbers of all my friends - though in this case it would only have spread the panic.
All in all it was an eventful weekend. For many people.
My poor SigOth. The double whammy heartattack of "he's calling my dad to tell him to keep me away from him innocent lil' daughter" and "MinCat's missing" can't have been nice on a Sunday morning.

I must, however, waggle my hand in the air to point out gently, to SigOth, that he NEVER answers his phone! And every time it happens, I have a mild heart attack, especially when I've called him five times in five hours, and have heard nothing back. So maybe we all just like to panic?

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

The Great "Dearth of Good Men" Debate

All usual disclaimers apply. Please remember I'm trying to make a theory about relationships, and no-one is evil, no not even MEN. Please remember I'm drawing on personal experience, the experience of people close enough to me to discuss this stuff, and those I have had the chance to observe. This is a small sample set and I am fully aware of this. (Of course, this entire post is coloured by what I’m going through right now, with my, for want of a better word, relationship. So if there is any particular man (hah) to whom you think I am referring, it's not you, it's him.)



A conversation with a male friend over lunch yesterday sparked of a raging fury of debate. While discussing relationships, or our lack thereof, a friend said it’s a pity there’s such a dearth of good men, men with whom one could go out. From there we ended up with the male friend articulating his understanding of the dynamics based on his observations and experience over the years. In highly simplified terms:
  1. Men need novelty, and, post the hormonal honeymoon stage of a relationship, begin to be bored by the woman with whom they are.
  2. Men always feel an implied teleological pressure from women, towards marriage, no matter what stage the relationship is at, or what they’ve decided or what level of commitment has been articulated. (This led to some debate about social and emotional pressure etc, which is another post.)
These two factors combine to push the relationship into a crisis, out of which there are only two exits – compromise to commitment, or part ways.

After the hour of furious discussion I proceeded to continue the subject with The Bride.

I began by stating that novelty is nonsense – just a bunch of ridiculous clichés that men like to wave about to excuse their inability to take responsibility for their behavior and their emotions, and the consequences of both for their relationships. But she convinced me that novelty is not a strange desire at all – many women want it too, several women I know are comfortable with open relationships and so on. The problem, according to her, is that men want the novelty – permutations and combinations of people and positions, possibly from too much porn – along with the stability of having an intelligent (but not as intelligent as them) comforting woman waiting at home, which is extremely unfair to the woman with whom they decide to be pseudo-stable. Of course they might only have consented to the pseudo-stability because of #2 in the male case, but I don’t know many men who are okay with open relationships where the women exercise their right to er roam.

Fair enough; everyone wants what they want, and is entitled to trying to get it. The aspect that bothers me here is that most of the people I know act as if this as something to which men are entitled, and any woman with them, in collaboration with the universe, has to ensure they get it. It being whatever it is they want. There’s an incredible amount of pressure on women to accommodate men. Most often, when a woman has a complaint about a man around another man or around other women the immediate reaction is, but he’s a guy, they think differently what to do…

The Bride then raised the point that there’s pressure on men to accommodate us as well - men don't want to sit around talking about your day every evening or whatever, yet there is pressure on them to do that in a relationship. This is true. However, it’s not because the women necessarily want to know everything about the office – frankly it’s boring after a point. But the reason I listen when he unloads is because it is a way for us to connect, because we both spend a considerable part of the day apart, and when we’re together we’re tired, we have social things to do, mundane things to do etc, and talking about my day and listening to him talk about his is a way for me to be connected to his life and vice versa. Why do this, one might ask? Because, you have to take an interest in this person’s life, simply because it is their life, and since you care about them, by extension you care about their life.

The fact is, when you care about someone and are in a relationship, then you both have to give a little. And, while both of your giving must be acknowledged, neither of you has the right to resent that giving, or deserves a medal for doing it, because by doing it you’re keeping the relationship alive, and each person benefits in some self-centred (by which I mean centred on themself) way.

Some men make the case that they DO give, and it’s never appreciated.* I don’t know how true this is – I’m pretty sure I’ve made every effort to acknowledge effort myself, and I’ve only seen one, maybe two, relationships where the woman does that. The Bride said that, to some extent, the way most modern relationships are conceived and presented, there’s a lot of cuddly stuff and emotional chat which goes on endlessly, which probably comes naturally in the beginning, but is hard for men to sustain. Yet, most women expect it to be kept up. Again, I’m not entirely sure I agree that (a) everyone buys into that conceptual definition of a relationship – quite the opposite in my observation, (b) the relationship doesn’t find its own rhythm once the honeymoon is over, which has some sort of optimal level of both, or (c) the men don’t like it. However, even if I did accept that, I’d have to raise the other big stumbling block – the fact that as time goes on most women’s sex drives decline and yet they are expected to continue to keep men happy. My point is, there’s something someone’s forcing themselves to do at either end.

It’s a relationship – you have to make an effort. It won’t work like magic – that would be the hormonal period. Perhaps the Dearth of Good Men is better articulated as the Dearth of Men Willing to Make an Effort.

Which brings us to the question: What is Effort?

Everyone accepts, perhaps reluctantly or with protest, that men and women are different in their means of communication; they don’t think the same way; they want different things and express themselves differently. There are fundamental things that are just different. However, when you care about someone and you have a divide, something that hinders communication, and you know it exists, and you have something important to convey, you make an effort to step out of your comfort zone and either understand like the other person, or communicate like the other person. You might not succeed, but the effort makes a difference. It doesn’t have to be every time, or entirely one person’s effort in the relationship, but overall, there has to be effort on both sides.

I find men are much more reluctant to make the effort than women are, but then again, women who get used to the effort cease to notice it.

The Bride then jumped in and said that I was assuming here that if there's some crucial issue, the solution is to communicate, which is the female solution. The male solution is to bury the issue or their head in the sand, and it actually works very well among men. So, instead of expecting them to communicate, what if we decided to step over to their side and bury? But then, our solution works very well between women, so how come men don’t say, yaar we have to communicate, it’s the female solution it works among women, and it’s just how they are? Because, she pointed out (which never occurred to me) actually that's what happens 90 percent of the time. Ninety percent of the time it’s taken for granted that communication is the right way, and men are forced to do it.

But what happens when we bury the big issues? I mean, there’s a REASON why it eventually comes down to communication. Also, burying is a form of communication too, it communicates that the person doesn’t want to acknowledge/address/deal with the issue.

Which brings us to the conclusion that: maybe there's some crucial male perspective that we're missing.

Gennl’men?



* Personally, I don’t know a guy who doesn’t do something unexpected and then hop up and down saying “See! See! Looky what I did! Gimme cookie!!” But people say women have a natural tendency to emphasise when they fail and not the ten times they were there, which, again, I have only seen in those two relationships I mentioned before. I’d say there’s plenty of acknowledgement when things are done, and I know for sure that I do it.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Zen and the art of midnight blogging

A very wise sage I know told me yesterday that I should write. Because I'm emotional and confused, frustrated, and hurt and very lost. What do I do, tell me! I begged him. And he said, write. Because you can't do anything about this. Because it is your talent and your grace. Because it makes me happy to read it.

And you know, barring that post below, he's right. Writing helps me, it always has. I've wondered a lot of the past year if I made the right decision making this a non-personal space. But then, reading Namaste, I realised it is possible to be personal and not at the same time, and the craft of writing is no worse off for having been executed in the articulation of something personal.

So let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, my best beloved, in a jungle far away or near, depending on where you live, there lived a clan of monkeys. Now these monkeys were like most monkeys: tails, limbs, teeth, fur, all correct and accounted for. But something made them different. They would leap and dance from branch to branch, crossing tossing jumping hooting whilring around in a flurry of partners - no one knew what would happen from one moment to the next. Most of the other clans shook their heads in bewilderment, and very rarely, once in a blue moon, a monkey gasped in awe and shyly asked if they could join the clan. Because they could see that what the monkey clan was doing was not the mad dance of a dervish, but a ballet.

When babies were born into the Ballet clan, they grew up being tossed from aunt to uncle, tree to tree, and they marvelled at how exhilarating it all was. Wheeeee I'm so glad I'm a monkey! they thought. But then, the day would come when they would have to meet other monkeys. They would leap and reach to be caught, only to crash through the branches to the forest floor. They would whirl and twirl and spin and grin, only to find all the other monkeys had drawn away in horror. Slowly, the baby monkeys learned a lesson - not everyone can dance the monkey ballet. This was the power of the clan - only they could understand that intricate dance. But this was also the curse of the clan, for they had to endure incredible hardship when they began to seek mates. Some of them learnt to forget the dance. Luckier, some found monkeys who could see the ballet and not be lost. Luckier still were those who found one who not just saw it, but appreciated it. But the rarest and luckiest of all, were those who found ones who could dance it.

to be continued...

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

ANGRY

I am so angry right now, I'm talking about it here, when I know I shouldn't. But I have GOT TO GET THIS OUT.

Acrosticus, questioning the generalizations here is not a good idea, not for a week or so anyway. And no, it isn't one in particular, which is what amazes me.

What the FUCK is it with men? No, boys, because clearly they are all in some goo-goo world where they're fifteen and it's cool to think of every woman you don't want to have sex with as your mother. Yay, I have an MBA and the universe owes me everything I've ever wanted. Grow the fuck up. Seriously.

Your think you are entitled to some playstation version of adult life where wooo you get points for going to some college or school, doesn't mean shit if you don't have the responsibility to wake up and go to work, or make an effort to talk to people you don't know, or take the time to organise the details of things instead of producing an idea and expecting someone else to do the work.

You think that because someone puts up with your shit time and again, and always forgives you, they will keep doing so.

No.

Not even pathetic, needy, desperate for approval, and will do anything to make people like me MinCat.

Eventually, it will come around and bite you in the ass. You might lose the only person you could talk to in your city. You might end up with piles of dirty clothes. You might find yourself never seeing some people you liked to see. You might find that suddenly, gasp, plans do not revolve around you, where you are willing to go, and who you are willing to see.

You might find yourself, in short, in the real world.

And I'm done enabling your SIMS world.

Seriously, grow the fuck up.
Or go back to your mommy. I'm not her.

Monday, July 06, 2009

I'm done.

I've changed my mind.

I think you should just go away, because I don't need you, and I don't want you to stay, so the next time you come around my way, forget it you selfish child, the door's closed.

I won't be your doormat anymore.

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Home

Tonight I can write the saddest lines... 

Naw. Not even if I tried REALLY hard.

Tonight I realised I'm home. No, really. This city has always pulled me back to it, in some bizarre, cruel, twisted joke (yes yes many adjectives = bad writing I know), only it turned out to be truly life-altering. I don't think I could be the person I was in March 2008 again, and I think that's not a bad thing at all.

I found a home tonight. And rediscovered another one.

The bar we often go to on Friday nights, usually crammed to bursting point with our friends and their friends and their friends, ad nauseum. As a corollary, the people who the bar stand for. I walked in, and sat down; grinned at the bartender and said no, I'm not drinking tonight, I'm driving. I ate my momos and giggled with PK, swung by to say hello to the DJ (my current musical HERO), and it hit me that whenever I walk in, I'm home. It doesn't matter how mad I was before that, how crappy my day/week/month has been, it doesn't matter who's there or who's not - I'm home. I'm lost in the warmth that lingers in your sheets on a cold winter morning. You know, that whiff of perfume from the last time someone slept over, the wrinkles on the sheet and the fantastic shapes in the quilt. It just makes me smile. Something rushes through me and pushes at me, whispering "THIS place".

And then I drove home, to the parental house. I swung by the turns and pulled up on the driveway. I got out of the car, and the breeze brushed past me. The house twinkled at me greyly, and the moon turned the clouds to jewels. The gate creaked open, and after the appropriate wiggle, the door opened. The wind though the house covered me with the jasmine that my mother planted under my window, and over my first dog's grave. I smiled. The feeling rushed through me again and murmured "THIS place".

Yes, indeed, THIS place.

Rag Doll

I turn, once again, to the delectable Mr. Levine.
You are not what you seem, you are a mystery to me, sometimes I just wanna scream.
Of course, I should follow that with:
I think you should just go away cause, there's no necessity for you to stay and, next time you come around my way, forget it baby, I'm not comin in.
Instead of which I have (no longer Mr. Levine):
Some people live with the fear of a touch, and the anger of having been a fool. I know you don't wanna hear what I say. I know you're gonna keep turning away. But I've been there and if I can survive, I can keep you alive: I'm not above going through it again. You know you only hurt yourself out of spite; I guess you'd rather be a loner tonight. That's your decision. 
Thankfully though, I don't have:
I'm not above being cool for a while; if you're cruel to me I'll understand.
Though I guess I did.

Funnily though, I always thought I'd be on the other end of that one. Must have happened when I wasn't looking!

However, there is so much I have learned from you, you wonderful, wonderful, unexpected boy, things about me that I really did need to know to keep the future together. And there is so much you can learn from me, only you don't really want to. Can't help you there. I wonder, did I do that too? Was there someone desprately calling out to me and tossing me lifebelts when I thought I was whirling in my pool of loneliness? I don't think so, but if someone was, I'm sorry. I'll keep better watch next time. Hopefully there will be no next time!

It makes me sad though, more than everything else, because there is so much you can be if only you'd let go. Then again, one thing I've always hated is people trying to make me the best they think I can be, which might have nothing in common with the best I want to be, or just plain who I want to be.

However, there's a fine line between accomodating someone and enabling them and their effect on your life. I'm teetering right now, but I got my OOF and Pnjubbi Kudi yanking very hard to stabilize. Thank you for reminding me OOF, that I'm a kitteh, not a puppy. 

Life is a very strange thing. So I shall let my darling Adam sum it up for me.
But I cannot forget, refuse to regret, so glad that I met you.
But no further.