Matud Nila...Usahay...

"And while we speak of many things
Fools and kings, this he said to me:
The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return"
Jose Feliciano, "Nature Boy"

The cruelty of unrequited love, of loving from a distance with no chances of growth and expansion, of loving in anonymity without the hope of transforming love into diverse landscapes and complexion, of not going through the see-saw motion of losing steam and rebuilding it, forlorn of the precious experience of hurting and getting hurt and imploring for forgiveness and second chances.

This is self-contradiction. I swore not to dispense love-advice but unrequited love is something I could write a lousy novel about, if I had the gumption or develop a theory on, if I had the mental appetite.

Comforting a dear friend's sadness, for lack of terms, over let's just say, a boat that never sailed, I challenged her to make a list of those melancholic love songs that drive some people to slash their wrists or jump from a ravine but bring fuego into our otherwise, prosaic, sheltered lives. Fuego, my word for that particular day, as I was contemplating of switching allegiance to Spain, Viva conquistadores!, for the World Cup. But that is still a quite distant future, back to the present.

What in the devil would making a playlist accomplish? Nothing. But the thing I badly wanted to say seemed inappropriate, given that everything was raw and it was wiser to drown every sad molecule in booze.

On this unutterably dull morning, when sober thoughts will likely invite warm reception, let me just say what I wanted to say then: unrequited love is the most arrestingly profound kind of love. Love of country, for instance. How can a man-concocted concept like country or nation love in return? Yet many profess to love their country.

Unrequited love is the most liberating, uncomplicated love there is. Why is reciprocity so important? We don't need validation for love, do we? Just love, period. For the heck of it. I mean, just because the person I am offering my love to rejects it or is lukewarm to it does not mean my love is not valid or real. I have phantom-husbands, without the benefit of acquaintance, for Christ's sake, and that has bode me well - no room for disenchantments.

Seriously, I don't expect this young friend to agree with me. At a certain age, love is a strong possibility. Beyond a certain point, the point where I am now, is an acceptance of its limits, of its finiteness, of its expiration. Love does have its giddy moments but what if you realize it has lasted long enough of its sensible duration?

Using the boat earlier as a metaphor, I would prefer not to set sail rather than find myself in the middle of a godless ocean, losing compass with no anchorage in sight. Dreadful. Cowardly, I know. And this world does not reward cowards.

Seriously (for the 2nd time), never lose faith in love. Ignore the cynics. They were born to be ignored anyway. And rue the day when I start quoting Miley Cyrus - "it's the climb" Jack and Jill went up the hill, you know the story. Tra-la-la...Yeah, Miley-smiley! It's not the view on top, it's the fucking climb that matters. Not with Thom Yorke, I bet.

As for the playlist, I texted this friend that I was playing Sarah in the wee hours in her honor, particularly "Fumbling towards Ecstacy" - I won't fear love/And if I feel rage/I won't deny it/I won't fear love.

But that's feminazi chic. My favorite love song as a child is hands-down, Perry Como's "I Want to Give" - I beg of you to listen to my heart/I never felt like this before/So I'm asking you not to close the door/For I can tame the wind/and smooth the waters/If you'll just let me.

If the Anointed One does not let you, that's his frigging problem. He might as well climb Mt. Everest with Miley, for all we care. Kun nadiri, pirita. Kun diri madara ha sabot, rabot.

Rest easy, mi amigo.

(doodles from www.nougart.net)