Radical hairstyles are the preserve of the few. I learnt this soon after sporting dreadlocks early one semester. Prior acquaintances could not even identify me at first, and then they mostly claimed that the so-called antiestablishment hairstyle was unsuitable for conformist types - such as me. (Me, a conformist? Yet, prior, there had happened to be wild shaggy clumps of nappy hair all over my scalp.) Quiet guy that I am, that revolutionary social-misfit hairstyle may have been the loudest public statement I had ever made yet. I loved it.
As for my personal life, Pearl was that acquaintance I last saw when she was a little girl and I was a little boy. A rather quiet Friend on Facebook… I sent her a probing message. She replied. Enough inbox exchanges later, it was time to exchange numbers. Conversation was mostly on phone in late hours of the night. Yes, hours. Enter sentimentality. Days passed when Pearl occupied all my thoughts. One day, I met Pearl - a hard-sought privilege - briefly, over lunch and ice cream. We then embarked on an exclusive relationship. Call it rushed if you dare.
Ours had its highs and lows. Our narrative will skip the juicy bits of the plot, however. This particular blog post (read: not “tabloid column”) is one of those ones that are overly abstract. (For readers who are not inclined towards intangible concepts, the issues covered herein will tend to fly overhead.) That said, I learnt many things.
Emotional distortion of perceptions prohibits effective problem-solving. Something about being in a relationship makes cool-headed rationalism within that particular relationship very hard. Emotion-colored thinking – if at all the brain is engaged – usually escapes rational conclusions. Self-justifying platitudes tend to polarize lovers into combative stances. Unfortunately, lovers can’t usually seem to avoid reverting to self-justifying platitudes during joint flying rages.
Pearl, like many other friends of mine, voiced concerns to the effect that I think too much. (GalPal, someone else I half-liked, earlier claimed that I could think things to death.) A more formally-inclined person would talk of Analysis Paralysis. But thus do I retort: “Analysis Paralysis is just a buzzword.” In my world, that term lies disused under the same scrap heap of impressive yet suspect phrases as “in line with Vision 2030 objectives.” Point is, anyone who tries to get me to think less is surely misleading me. Thinking never hurt as many people as failure to think did. Is there anyone at all for whom a little thought wrought not one spot of benefit? There are worse things than having a hyperdeliberative partner. Like, duh.
So, that love trip bombed.
I know I need to grow up a bit in certain ways before I attempt another relationship (…as if this entire blog has not so far been a testament to my unparalleled unfitness in matters cupid). Meanwhile I have no business trying to be in love. In my idealistic head, a relationship should not feel like a painstakingly contrived musical in which characters `must fit inside certain prefabricated roles while hitting the right notes after cutting their dreadlocks. All of which I did to the best of my ability. Yes, I transitioned from dreadlocks to “Jordan”. What a shine my head became. I hated it.
What happened to individuality?