Romance is being with someone whose comfort does not fluctuate, whether or not we are speaking to each other.
What's your definition?
Hning is currently too busy attending her mother's exhibition in Jakarta.
So since you're not there to tell her about my misdemeanor here or to show support, I'm say it to you on her behalf - and probably against her better judgment.
Happy Valentine's Day.
1. Older women are, you know, older. And these are Polynesians we're talking about, not Diane Keaton or Julie Andrews. Most of them are (still) animists, and hold pig blood sacred, and ate people sometimes. Need I say more?
2. Older women are so much harder to please than hormone-driven younger ones. It's not just their skin that's weathered to leather, but so have their hearts and minds. You cannot woo – much less sexually arouse – an older woman with the regular junk, but with a lot of sweat. Both in and outside the bedroom.
3. Older women, by chance, could have had other students in their time, and if you've read Marquez or Coelho, you might have noticed how intimidating a woman's experience is for Junior to stand up to. Pun intended.
So, yeah, it's nice to know that women can talk about heartbreak and death without turning it into a muck of mush for a change. Dignity should always be preserved even in worst case scenarios. Like in the death of a husband, a father or a cat. Not that death can't be funny, we might add.“Is Jesus coming today?”
Ummm…probably not. Why?
“When Jesus comes, Daddy will come with him. I want Jesus to come so Daddy can come back.”
And funny is when men talk about women with an endearing effort to understand the women. Starting with the Wirst Foman.Ella, what happened to Snickers? (Snickers is/was Robyn’s old cat who was recently put down)
“He died. He’s in heaven.”
“No, he’s in kitty heaven. With Kitty Jesus.”
So maybe a guy's relationship with his mother can give indication to what kind of relationship he might have with his wife. A guy who is in conversational terms with his mother is probably a monogamist, too. Where else might a guy learn to love and respect women if not in the hands of his own mother? After all, Knowledge without wisdom and understanding is sheer arrogance and corruption, and the love between a mother and her children is the best place where this might start.Sometimes I try to put myself in Eve’s shoes: there she was, in the middle of paradise with no clothes on (ok, forget for a second that the Biblical nudity may represent innocence of mind, total openness, no taboos, no malice); unshaved legs and armpits; no manicure kit; no shoes (good grief!); and stuck to a guy (who, according to the evolutionists) was ugly as hell – what a turn off.
So ordinary objects and behaviors frame his stories. A mop. A walk at night. A hug. Put any of the previous ordinariness in extraordinary context. Voila.It was nothing. It was just a little thing, that was all.
But the way that he looked at her when he saw it. A look of fear and sadness. The sort of look only an old person can get, a person too old to think this can’t be happening to me, but still young enough to want to defy it, to be angry because though they understood it would come, they weren’t ready.
I could drag on about this blog. Who knows, maybe the writer really is a nice guy. But I've had enough of groveling to men, as much as I loved them. I was raised in a country that did that on a constitutional basis. So it's okay to stop talking about him here.They let you shower once a week. They lock you in a room with six other guys and leave you there. Not everything that happens in those showers is right. Sometimes it’s agreed to, sometimes it ain’t. Either way, it ain’t none of your business. Everybody’s got to survive on their own. That’s just how it is.