"Are you blind?"
She was my friend since middle-school. And she was complimenting my hand-me-down clothes and bald head. I thought that she was mocking because she was the "fresh from the catwalk" pretty one. The one with actualized feminine powers: Married to a faithful man, two children, a steady job, and an amazing sense of fashion.
Once I believed that she was serious, something sad tugged on our conversation.
She said, "You are hot with possibilities."
Possibilities to start something else. To go to places. To marry. To conceive. The sexiness of perceived freedom is invincible.
After a pause, she added almost carefully, "So you should enjoy it while it lasts."
Because once you're settled, she said, things are only going to turn from bad to worse. You get used to the same man, the same routines, the same rhythms. It is the untold price of security.
Suppose a woman is most beautiful when she is fresh. Around her late teens? When her body is just ripe and her mind still delusional enough to believe in romance. Suppose that part of the Universal joke is that even the most pristine youth and sweetest joy, does not last, and that pristine beauty will turn out rotten eventually.
Doesn't it also mean that boredom and tiredness do not last?
Possibilities are fictional, they are in abundance depending on how much imagination is exercised. Like a recurring character in our daily soaps, usually played by Mr. What If. Except that maybe the older we are, the more we hope for less disasters than pleasant surprises. Hope we don't get too sick, we don't run out of money, and is there time for coffee before imsak?
I see that she is one of the most beautiful people in my world because she answers my own what-if questions. Then again, suppose that looking at our lives as a "series actualized possibilities done perfectly right" is all that it takes to hold beauty, might not we give it another look?