I woke her with a single stroke of my finger on her perfectly smooth face; it was like running my hands through the gentle calmness of a pool of water. As if she knew I meant no harm, she responded by curling further into my arms, refusing to let go of that bond that held us both together.
“I would never let go” was the Morse code I deduced from the thumping of her heart that resonated through her back, to my chest. Uhhh! How wonderfully well my morning had begun.
I slowly leaned over and I kissed her sweet lips, her eyes flickered and that’s when I saw it. Beaming with love, passion and trust was that gaze that emanated deep beyond those soft twinkling brown eyes. “Good morning” they read, “I love you more than anything else”. I responded with a sheepish smile and I am sure she could sense my thoughts “I wish I could lie hear all morning with you and never have to go to work”.
She squeezed my hand and then leaned closer to kiss me. I kissed her back, and then buried my head into her hair. I took in a deep breath and though the aroma had no traces of cocoa butter or vanilla, her usual choice of Victoria secret’s body splash, the smell I took in was the scent of love. Pure, unadulterated love.
She put her arms around my neck and her smile told me she knew I was the man for her. I placed my forehead right on her’s in a classic tête-à-tête and kissed her nose, our personal signature move which implies “you mean the world to me”.
I began to pull away, but her fingers interlocked behind my neck signalled stay a bit longer. I smiled and as though she knew I was saying I will try and make it a half day today, she let go.
I took a shower, then made my way to work and began blogging about the wonderful conversation I had with love this morning. The only difference is, between Love and I, no one uttered a single word.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
A RELATIONSHIP IS A GAME OF CHESS NOT SOCCER
I just finished reading a note a friend of mine wrote on facebook and as much as I would have been in agreement with his view if the note was written a couple years back, I am now of a different opinion.
Alvaro Santiago; the pseudonym of this friend of mine, likened all men to managers of a soccer team and as you may already know, the joy of every manager in soccer, is to get the right players with the right attitude to fill those eleven spots on the field. (His words exactly) In his opinion, at any point in time there is always more than one woman in a man’s life and though a manager always has his star player (i.e. his loving girlfriend, wife or that particular girl he wishes to be with) he always gives room for the substitutes, the bench warmers and the reserve team in general (those females popularly referred to as the “on the sides”).
I have lived quite a fruitful youthful life and though am just 24 (the ripe age to be a star soccer player); I believe am passed the stage of juggling several women at a time (trust me; I have had my share of fun).
Contrary to what several ladies have grown to believe that men simply do not have a heart to love or the emotions to stay committed, I beg to differ. It is often the case of immaturity or the fear of a broken heart/ rejection that cause many men to behave like the managers of a soccer team (keeping substitutes).
In my point of view, maintaining a relationship or simply being a “man” is nothing like soccer. Being a man is much more like a game of chess. It takes tact, discipline, self control, strategizing and not necessarily a high IQ but some level of intelligence to play.
In chess, there are two rows to which each player must align his pieces. In my opinion, each row represents the two tiers in a man’s life. There is the first row that is occupied by the pawns and the next which is occupied by more important pieces such as the King and the Queen. Like wise, all men have a period by which they can be the toddlers they often are but then there is that time that we all must grow up.
The pawns are eight in number and by my analysis; each represents three years in the life of a male. In effect, the first tier in every man’s life must last at most 24 years.
Like the pawns, (just as their names suggests) you can spend the first 24 years of your life doing whatever managerial duties u see fit in a soccer team (being the player all men believe they are) or like a seasoned chess player you can spend it strategizing to put the opponent in “check” (i.e. make your relationship a success story). The choice really is yours, am no judge of character.
With Chess, there are many documented strategies on how to win but just like in the case of relationships, none of the literature is a solid principle for success. You need to carve your own path. Like I said earlier, that path requires discipline, self control and being able to sacrifice those pawns skillfully in order to protect yourself (the king) and that special lady (the queen).
Why then will you want to say I love you to one lady and turn around to sleep with the next. Why will you want to have reserves but tell her she is the only one for you and is it not insane that the truth to why we do keep those bench warmers is because we are scared we are going to have our hearts broken if we found out that, we rather were the reserve goalies guarding a post that is being banged with goals from every Tom, Dick and Harry?
My dear brothers, the beauty of a relationship or better yet love or even more chess, is knowing you have put your all in what you believe in. You strive to make it work and you definitely ditch all the reserves for that star player. (A very poor formation, but that one top worked well for Man United when Van Nistelroy was playing) What even makes it more complex is, you will never know the final result, she could be lying, and you could be playing along. But trust me, you wouldn’t want to find out how it feels like when your Fabregas walks away, just because you were poaching Peter Ruffai (we all know how crappy that goal keeper was, letting in all manner of goals).
So my dear brothers, managers, players, chick magnets or whatever names you call yourselves these days, it is not about how many women you juggle at a stretch or how much swag you believe you have by parading a bench of reserves. It is simply about learning to love and fully appreciating what that word means. Do not be a coward or hide behind the cloak of immaturity, make your move, and let it be a CHECK MATE when you find that special one.
Alvaro Santiago; the pseudonym of this friend of mine, likened all men to managers of a soccer team and as you may already know, the joy of every manager in soccer, is to get the right players with the right attitude to fill those eleven spots on the field. (His words exactly) In his opinion, at any point in time there is always more than one woman in a man’s life and though a manager always has his star player (i.e. his loving girlfriend, wife or that particular girl he wishes to be with) he always gives room for the substitutes, the bench warmers and the reserve team in general (those females popularly referred to as the “on the sides”).
I have lived quite a fruitful youthful life and though am just 24 (the ripe age to be a star soccer player); I believe am passed the stage of juggling several women at a time (trust me; I have had my share of fun).
Contrary to what several ladies have grown to believe that men simply do not have a heart to love or the emotions to stay committed, I beg to differ. It is often the case of immaturity or the fear of a broken heart/ rejection that cause many men to behave like the managers of a soccer team (keeping substitutes).
In my point of view, maintaining a relationship or simply being a “man” is nothing like soccer. Being a man is much more like a game of chess. It takes tact, discipline, self control, strategizing and not necessarily a high IQ but some level of intelligence to play.
In chess, there are two rows to which each player must align his pieces. In my opinion, each row represents the two tiers in a man’s life. There is the first row that is occupied by the pawns and the next which is occupied by more important pieces such as the King and the Queen. Like wise, all men have a period by which they can be the toddlers they often are but then there is that time that we all must grow up.
The pawns are eight in number and by my analysis; each represents three years in the life of a male. In effect, the first tier in every man’s life must last at most 24 years.
Like the pawns, (just as their names suggests) you can spend the first 24 years of your life doing whatever managerial duties u see fit in a soccer team (being the player all men believe they are) or like a seasoned chess player you can spend it strategizing to put the opponent in “check” (i.e. make your relationship a success story). The choice really is yours, am no judge of character.
With Chess, there are many documented strategies on how to win but just like in the case of relationships, none of the literature is a solid principle for success. You need to carve your own path. Like I said earlier, that path requires discipline, self control and being able to sacrifice those pawns skillfully in order to protect yourself (the king) and that special lady (the queen).
Why then will you want to say I love you to one lady and turn around to sleep with the next. Why will you want to have reserves but tell her she is the only one for you and is it not insane that the truth to why we do keep those bench warmers is because we are scared we are going to have our hearts broken if we found out that, we rather were the reserve goalies guarding a post that is being banged with goals from every Tom, Dick and Harry?
My dear brothers, the beauty of a relationship or better yet love or even more chess, is knowing you have put your all in what you believe in. You strive to make it work and you definitely ditch all the reserves for that star player. (A very poor formation, but that one top worked well for Man United when Van Nistelroy was playing) What even makes it more complex is, you will never know the final result, she could be lying, and you could be playing along. But trust me, you wouldn’t want to find out how it feels like when your Fabregas walks away, just because you were poaching Peter Ruffai (we all know how crappy that goal keeper was, letting in all manner of goals).
So my dear brothers, managers, players, chick magnets or whatever names you call yourselves these days, it is not about how many women you juggle at a stretch or how much swag you believe you have by parading a bench of reserves. It is simply about learning to love and fully appreciating what that word means. Do not be a coward or hide behind the cloak of immaturity, make your move, and let it be a CHECK MATE when you find that special one.
THE CHAMELEON IN ME
I grew up believing I was the best actor in the world and at a tender age of 7, I could tell poor acting from a classic Oscar moment. Indeed, I was a great pretender thus I was branded “sly” in my early years of elementary school because I could get away with almost anything.
It was pretty cool at first because I could be amongst the popular kids in the morning (fitting in perfectly) and by noon, I was the nerd most teachers knew me to be. Let’s just say, I could do whatever at whichever time I wanted, I just needed the perfect script to play the perfect role and voila you had your perfect man.
But as I kept growing, this actor became confused. For starters, I could not tell which life was really mine. I could not tell if I was the quiet type who enjoyed novels, loved to stay at home and was comfortable with the one girlfriend at-a-time policy or the wild parties, the popular friends, the flashy clothes and the multiple lovers was my forte. I could play both worlds flawlessly and in each dimension you found me in, I was a natural.
This pretence affected all areas of my life. At one point, I can argue and defend the Christian religion like I was the Pope himself and at another time with the help of Uncle Jack (Jack Daniel’s Whisky) and cousin “Gin” I can prove the non existence of Christ. The funny thing is, in both scenarios I really believed in what I was saying.
Over the past 8 years, I have struggled to find the real Mr. Page. I have searched in areas such as religion, relationships, career options and generally in all departments of my life.
Two years ago I met a lady (can’t really be precise on the date because our anniversary rotates based on the zeros in our personal bank accounts) and being the smooth operator I am (note: present tense, meaning I still am) I conformed to this girl’s desires and made her mine. Initially, I believed this was a similar role I’ve played before but perhaps a different stage. But as the years went by, I realized no matter how frequent I shed my skin, this girl shed her’s as well, conforming to my current conditions.
Gradually, I have learnt and she has also learnt to live with the various shades of my colours. For once in a very long time, I do not have to worry about what my next act would be and though I might never find the real Mr. Page and I will be Ms Understood, at least I have found my niche in this ever changing ecosystem we call earth.
It was pretty cool at first because I could be amongst the popular kids in the morning (fitting in perfectly) and by noon, I was the nerd most teachers knew me to be. Let’s just say, I could do whatever at whichever time I wanted, I just needed the perfect script to play the perfect role and voila you had your perfect man.
But as I kept growing, this actor became confused. For starters, I could not tell which life was really mine. I could not tell if I was the quiet type who enjoyed novels, loved to stay at home and was comfortable with the one girlfriend at-a-time policy or the wild parties, the popular friends, the flashy clothes and the multiple lovers was my forte. I could play both worlds flawlessly and in each dimension you found me in, I was a natural.
This pretence affected all areas of my life. At one point, I can argue and defend the Christian religion like I was the Pope himself and at another time with the help of Uncle Jack (Jack Daniel’s Whisky) and cousin “Gin” I can prove the non existence of Christ. The funny thing is, in both scenarios I really believed in what I was saying.
Over the past 8 years, I have struggled to find the real Mr. Page. I have searched in areas such as religion, relationships, career options and generally in all departments of my life.
Two years ago I met a lady (can’t really be precise on the date because our anniversary rotates based on the zeros in our personal bank accounts) and being the smooth operator I am (note: present tense, meaning I still am) I conformed to this girl’s desires and made her mine. Initially, I believed this was a similar role I’ve played before but perhaps a different stage. But as the years went by, I realized no matter how frequent I shed my skin, this girl shed her’s as well, conforming to my current conditions.
Gradually, I have learnt and she has also learnt to live with the various shades of my colours. For once in a very long time, I do not have to worry about what my next act would be and though I might never find the real Mr. Page and I will be Ms Understood, at least I have found my niche in this ever changing ecosystem we call earth.
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