The Caustic Ties that Bind Us

As a 24 year-old man, I have been in a total of two love relationships.

One of them was sweet at the beginning and catastrophic at the end. Me and my partner corroded the ties that bound us, much like droplets of acid slowly falling on a metaphoric vein that binds two hearts. In the end, the love that used to travel in the veins leaked out; two damaged human hearts, now severed from each other, were left to heal by themselves.

The other relationship, which I am currently on, is one of my utmost achievements in life, even it isn't meant to last forever. 

Why? What are the differences that make one relationship work while others do not? Well, there are the trivial, boring explanations that everyone knows and can enumerate: people have different personalities, different habits, different backgrounds, different sensibilities and dispositions. You will find the one, many people say. It is, of course, possible to find someone that fits quite well your own lock in this respect; to find a key in a myriad of keys that fits what you think is an exquisite, unique lock; or to find a lock in a myriad of keys, for those who like to think in less egotistical terms. It is not untrue that some people have a stronger glue to their interactions than others.

But locks and keys rust; glue wears out. They oxidize; they degrade. Routine and repetition and distance and time pour acid onto the ties that bind the hearts, onto the metal that is the very scaffold of the relationship. It's not only people's own defects and tastes and personalities that determine the success of insuccess of the relationship; time and experience itself generally tend to corrode human bonds.

The reason as to why I think my current relationship is worth so much is not because my girlfriend is the perfect fit in the lock and key sense I talked about. We have some ideas in common, for sure, but in other respects we are not alike at all and we disagree in several issues. We argue and get mad from time to time. We've had some deep downs which I was not sure we could overcome - we did though. In most respects, we are like every other couple.

The main reason why I value my relationship so much is that each one of us does not depend on the other in any fundamental way. We did not create love between ourselves. We had love and we chose to share it with one another and it grew into a new, ever stronger sentiment. We had confidence and we chose to share it with one another - it grew stronger in each of us. Before our hearts were bound to each other, they were bound to other things as well; to other people, to other desires, other motivations and drives and dreams; but most of all, they were bound to our own personalities through self-awareness and consciousness.

Our own individuality is what made the relationship so good. It is precisely the realization that she can do things without me, that she does not require my approvation or effort, that makes me want to make the effort. She does not require nor wants me to make her a sandwich everyday for her to take to work - but I want to do it. She would be happy to do it herself though. If she needed me more than anything in the world, if I needed her more than anything in the world - it would fall apart. Yet, it is almost paradoxical that this same independence of ours is the fabric that connects us so strongly.

Each time corrosion threatens, each time acid drops, we work against it; we have enough self-love and confidence to do so; we share those with one another. We do not require something from the other that we don't already have; we don't project our own insecurities onto each other; we did not wait for one of us to accept faults in the other. We were never static people; each of us knew that we had faults and that some faults affect both the health of the individual and the lover's. We proceeded to eliminate them, for our betterment. It healed us individuality and, by consequence, it improved the relationship. We also did not and do not care more about our ego than the relationship itself - I'm sorry slides out of the mouth fairly easily, without the strong chains of egoism pushing it down the throat.

This disposition of ours, in my opinion, is exactly what is necessary to counterbalance the eroding waves of time and repetition and boredom. It is not a formula for everlasting love - love does not last forever, because time and death still exist. But, bit by bit, it strives to replace the wasted metal. It maximizes the finite experience. It renews the caustic ties that bind most human relations.

What Broke Me as a Child

I was born into a world to be raised by children - adults, they call themselves.

That would've been totally fine by me, to be raised by children - after all, it's not like I ever believed that they had some deep insights into the world that couldn't occur to some bright children. But the fact is that they always insisted that they had some deep insights into the world we shared, and it seemed too obvious to me that they didn't.

In this respect, I realized since I was little that adults were no different from children in general and that they couldn't be trusted just on the premisse that they were adults. Sometimes, as a kid, I would hurt at the schoolyard, playing with my friends. I concluded that the same was true for adults - life had replaced their schoolyard, and the heavy, harsh experiences brought about by it were now their friends. Their wounds, instead of physical, were now psychological. They had lost something - perhaps courage to challenge, open-mindedness, independent thinking, empathy and capacity to have fun; they had gained other features which I didn't like, such as hatred of what is different and fear of losing something which I didn't immediately knew what it was, but later realized was self-esteem and pride. So there it was - the reason as to why everytime adults were challenged on anything, they reacted as if you were taking away a toy from them. They had never really stopped being children in that sense: their self-love and pride and joy were at risk everytime a child tried to understand, to inquire, to reason; when curiosity knocked on the door, the whole foundation of the building would shake. This was all they had - the hard-cooked remains of a happy, carefree youth.

I think that's one of the things that broke apart my spirit when I was a kid. That's what, I think, was the death of an otherwise psychologically healthy kid - the early realization that I couldn't trust anyone to take care of me. "No - I need someone", I thought. I desperately searched for a true adult - someone wise and fun; someone to grab me and save me from the other insensitive, scary children; someone who understood and was not afraid to understand more.

My grandfather threw me a short, fragile rope (it was all he could give) - I grabbed it, I tried to cling to it and go up the well of desperation I was in. But I couldn't go all the way up - not until later in my life, when I was strong enough to climb all by myself.

Now, as a grown child (and not an adult), I look at the well with a certain nostalgia - the dark room where my mind lived in is no more.

Conceited Me

People are shit.

I agree.

The similarity between you and me is that I, too, don't strive to be perfect.

The difference between you and me is that I don't complain about the human species and sit idle, waiting for the next show of human stupidity so that I can throw the lazy-champion punchline. The difference between you and me is that I chose to make myself in such a way as to avoid spreading the malady even further.

Bird's Eye View XII

Some people have the strange notion that somewhere, somehow, there should exist someone who accepts all their flaws; but if they recognize them as flaws, I fail to understand why they themselves didn't start working on them to set the example as that kind of person in the first place. They are either unaware of their own condition, or they are selfish, egocentric people. I am not going to plunge into which is the more detrimental for human relationships.

Bird's Eye View XI

The most pleasing story is, more often than not, the one we choose to tell ourselves in order to cope with the most disturbing story we are actually part of.