Sometimes, I’d wonder if every action I do influences the action that would happen, though unseen.

Same goes for those actions that I don’t do.

The more I think about it, the more annoying the thought seems to get. As if it is inevitable that the action that would happen, would happen anyway how.

No matter what I do.

And then I’d wonder: Which is it then?

Certainly, the answer is not up to my fancy.

I wonder if this is the inevitability of fate.

~

Now if I were to accept the idea of fate, I would be accepting the idea of determinism. What I do is not done out of freewill but out of the effects of karma or out of foreknowledge.

If that was the case for my life, then I’m afraid I have led a very depressing life.

Because the people in my life, namely, the men, had been generally…bizarre. To say the least.

They weren’t always healthy for me.

Even when they don’t have STD.

Let’s admit this: Love, once felt and experienced, becomes a fucking drug. It’s a good drug because when consumed, you appear energized; revived.

You change for the better.

It’s a bad drug when you don’t know that your addiction is eating you away instead. When you don’t know that what you are consuming is some watered down B-grade version of Love.

When it’s not the real thing.

~

Perhaps, by now, you readers would see that the recent posts are interrelated.

~

Once upon a time, I thought the world makes sense. If a person feels for another, under normal circumstances, that same person would naturally sustain their feelings, especially when those feelings are being returned in an obvious way. What’s more with more to spare.

That’s, if the former feels strongly enough for the latter.

Looking at my life story, I suppose I was naive to think that there was a “We”.

Still am, actually.

Though, actually, there probably was just “You” or “I” for most of the time.

“We” probably existed for fleeting moments.

~

Fleeting moments suck. They hurt.

Mainly because they induce what-if(s).

~

A friend begged to differ. He said that I wasn’t naive. I was just hopeful. Love does that to people. It makes you take that leap of faith.

He doubted that a person like me can be naive about love, noting my history and personality. I seemed to think things through. Carefully.

In fact, sometimes, a bit too carefully that I can let the moments fly by.

Almost mockingly.

~

I would agree with him to an extent. Love, after all, has been a subject of study for millenia. And up to date, like the ideas of Time, God, Space, Life, Existence, the Mind…

…nobody has figured it out yet. I don’t think we ever will.

But we can feel it.

So, yeah, there goes our gut instincts.

~

Here is where I disagree with my friend: I was naive because I chose to be.

I chose to be unsophisticated; uncritical; artless; natural.

In love.

I think there are enough judgments, cynicism, and hypocrisy elsewhere already.

I don’t think love deserves any of that. It should remain pure and simple.

Simplicity is the key.

And because of that, I suppose, naivety has become an indulgence for me.

Even if it is at the expense of my purity.

For the sake of honesty; the truth.

~

Of course, my recent history shows that history repeats itself. Shouldn’t I be more worried of my safety then? My sanity, my well-being?

What if I didn’t hold back so much in the beginning? If only I was more patient. What if I committed earlier? If only I just told them that I loved them. What if I didn’t flirt with them in the first place? What if I didn’t show them my blog? If only we didn’t meet. If only we didn’t kiss. What if I wasn’t so curious? What if I wasn’t so honest? If only I don’t attract fucked up people. If only I don’t relate to them. What if we didn’t know each other existed?

Fuck what-if(s) and if-only(s). They’re never-ending.

And I am the sum of my experience.

My mistakes.

I suppose I just have to act wiser then. Have better calculated risks.

~

My recent history tells people how things for me hasn’t seemed to change for the better, no matter what I do, even when my mistakes are comparatively minor to many other relationship issues.

When I think about that, I would recall this quote by that sexy wuss Christopher Wilton in Match Point:

The man who said “I’d rather be lucky than good” saw deeply into life.  People are afraid to face how great a part of life is dependent on luck. It’s scary to think so much is out of one’s control.

There are moments in a match when the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second, it can either go forward or fall back.

With a litte luck, it goes forward, and you win.

Or maybe it doesn’t, and you lose.

~

It’s scary. And I don’t know if I accept fate. Yet.

But for love, I’ll still believe; I’ll still trust; I’ll still be honest.

Because if I won’t be honest, I don’t know who else will. I don’t see how one can expect the other to do what one won’t do.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

In the end, I just feel that love is something pure which is worth fighting for.

~

In relation to that, sometimes, it pisses me off that some guys just won’t take the leap for the sake of my protection. Like I’m their Holy Grail or something.

Makes me feel like a vulnerable child. Meh.