a synopsis of being ambivalence
A friend recently confided that she is struggling with a potential love interest who wants to have her around, but doesn’t want her to stay too long. He would love to be with her, but he couldn’t put himself through the possible hurt which he had apparently been through. Scarred. He wants to express his care for her, but took cautious care to exercise control in restraining it. Which brings to a full circle of rhetorical questions for the true meaning behind the entire ambivalent situation.
It is said that it is hard to meet someone at a later stage of your life of where Milan Kundera’s desribed as the time that ”one’s motifs in lives have been completed”. When one has passes the colorful stages of youths painted with dramas of hurt, betrayal, anger, infidelity and the various corruption of the heart, the canvass of his life has pretty much been decorated with motifs, patterns and colors. When an admiring stranger passed by the piece of art which strikes its mood and its liking, the extent of the admiration can sadly only be accomodated by a silent nod of appreciation. He might be taken by your interest but in all honesty, there is no more space for one to be inclusive as a muse of the painting. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t.
The painting’s pretty much has been completed. The painter is no longer looking to paint the town red or looking to add additional form of configuration to his already existing life artefact. His reluctance stemmed from the lost of faith in life or in love seemed undeniably a sad thing to do, but unfortunately something that is very do-able. I thought I understood what he been through. I thought for a moment that I wanted to say that I emphatized with what he had been through, but it does not necessarily translate that it to be an act of understanding the impact of what the poor friend is being put through.
When the greyish shades of adulthood prevailed, there was hardly any answers on wether is it a fair thing to do. Niceties in love ain’t love at all, and all’s fair in the realm of loving ain’t real too. It’s disheartening to know that our hearts had to be exposed to the voracious world of wounded hearts out there. Being ambivalence as cruel as it is reflects the soul of the wounded ones who have withdrawn into their own peripheral existence, determined that it would take much more for anyone to reach them with their socially detached form.
As lame as it is, it’s an aspect of life which is happening a lot these days.
