Ever wondered why most compositions that are very heartfelt were written by people under excruciating pain, rather than contentment in life?
I actually pondered this question over the first time I hit the literary world, some nine years ago. At a young age, I’ve read books of Alexander Dumas, William Shakespeare and the Brontë Sisters; I’ve loved the music of Tom Jobim, Jonathan Butler, and Lee Ritenour. Yet the best of their compositions and songs were the most elegiac above others. One may get so carried away when reading a heartbreaker novel or listening to a mawkish love song, but who among us would know that they were written and played under adverse conditions?
As a writer myself, I could attest to that fact that my mind works under hard situations – the type of losing your mind at the brink of insanity. But hey, I would never want to experience those times again. I mean, granted, you’d have the most maudlin of the writings you could ever think of. But in exchange, you get a week – or even a month – of emotional distress that you would rather wish yourself dead instead of waking up in the morning and find yourself facing the same distress again.
Relationships help in making a person either a good or bad writer. The point is this: You don’t actually have to feel the pain in order to write something full of sense. You only have to make sure that the emotions are overflowing enough to stream over your subconscious, and before you know it you’re already making a good piece of literature.
However, one must take note – and sadly I forgot to – that relationships are like priceless earthenware that are bound to crack when trust is gone. It can be understood simply as this.
Suppose you bought chinaware worth your lifetime’s savings. You actually didn’t buy the vessel to market it; you simply want to buy it for the simple reason of falling in love with its antiquity. Would you test its fragility by playfully hitting it with a sledgehammer? Of course not.
Relationships, like earthen vessels, ought to be treasured and viewed as a fragile thing that can never be the same if a small part of it cracked out of carelessness.
Sigh.
I tested the limits of my earthen chinaware. I have said a million times before how my old personality would surface every now and then, but like I said I won’t take it as an excuse for my errors.
And now that I’m at the crossroads once again, I’m trying my best, not to buy a new one, but at least put it in a very safe place, out of anyone’s reach. Cracks in my earthenware are enough to remind me that I might be trying my best to be the best man for her, but my best will never be good enough. Somehow, what I have to do is pick up all the pieces, win her heart again, and wait for the time to come when she would again realize I am the same man she fell in love with more than two years ago.
Glitches in my personality will always play significant parts in how our relationship will turn out, and all I’m asking – if ever she’s reading – is her help. I can help people be the best they can, but ironically I can’t make my life any better without the help of a much loved one. At this point, I would like her to help me be the best lover for her. It may take some time, but I’m willing to wait.
…after all, if all else fails for us, I have nowhere to turn to. And I would never find another place other than in her arms; it makes me feel I’m home. Somehow, I know she doesn’t deserve an asshole lover like I am. But instead of making her find someone that suits up to her standards, I’d be more willing to change completely just to deserve her love.
If you find this post a heartfelt one, then you would know why.
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