The odd one out‏

I have come to the conclusion that emotional and logistical stability go hand in hand.
Such a revelation hit me this morning while freezing my butt off on a train platform for what felt like an eternity (about 1hr). The average commuter was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase or a shoulder bag. Maybe a gym bag. Then there was me. A huge handbag - content to be described later. My customary second bag - this time for my laptop, as I had some work to do at the weekend. An empty trolley, which, yesterday, full of food, was travelling with me in the opposite direction. Jeans, boots, two sweaters, hat, scarf, gloves and shawl.
My handbag? On top of the normal stuffing (wallet, umbrella, torch, hand sanitizers, make up, a pharmacy worth of medicines, tissues, glasses case, contact lenses, book, iPod, two BlackBerry's, several sets of keys), I was also carrying my passport and travel wallet, a bottle of water, miniature toiletries, sunglasses and some fruit. The refugee look was completed when I realised I hadn't had breakfast and extracted a Ziploc bag with leftover canapés to snack on, in order to avoid biting the arm of a fellow frozen traveller off.

As I floated out of my body and looked down on this gipsy with no chance of conforming, I embraced the messiness of my life and smiled. What else am I to do?

Two - 2

George decided that her unconventional beauty was the reason why he kept revisiting the few seconds he saw her. And yet, there was more. A certain familiarity. The memory of her features was already stored somewhere in his brain. Or maybe her dress. The way she stood in the carriage. Incongruous and yet defiant.

But, mainly, George wanted to know who she was. He wanted to see her again.
He was so intrigued, that the woman who was actually sitting next to him, his woman, had to repeat every sentence twice. Until when, fed up with his monosyllabic replies, she stopped mid-conversation, picked up a magazine and ignored him back.

An expert opinion

Married Friend #3 felt like sharing some of her wisdom with me today: 'Darling, you know when they tell you that what is important in a long-term relationship is friendship, companionship, having a laugh together? That at end the of the day, after many years together, these are the important qualities that count? Don't believe them, darling. On day 1, as on day 3650, nothing matters more than fancying each other's undergarments off. Just think about it, who will really miss the shared little habits, the comfort that comes with having seen each other ill, drunk and without make up, if they aren't cemented by intimacy and wild sex? I am not sure what good marriages look like, but I do know bad ones. And I have never seen a marriage going sour for too much action under the sheets. Maybe too much bad action. Yes, darling, that is true, actually. You really need to make sure you have a great romping partner. Otherwise, can you imagine spending your life tied to wrong bedpost?'

We have been warned.

Fistful of love

When a victim wants to me victimized, who is it to blame?
When one jumps out of fear of being pushed, who is to blame?
When a line is crossed because no line was drawn, who is to blame?
When pain is endured for too long without a complaint, who is to blame?
When silence is the only sound to be heard, who is to blame?
When eyes look away for too long, who is to blame?

More questions, no answers.
But all I can say to you, my friend, is: don't look back. Your corner was empty. And all you could do was to walk out of it. You can't look back. The person you are is not the same who cut the ties. And although you could hold your head high now, you couldn't then. Because you had to go through this hiatus in order to regain your strengths. Stop looking back. Stop. Just stop.

Two - 1

It was on his second day back to normality that it all started.
On the Underground, on his way to work.
A train, running in the opposite direction, offered for a few seconds the view of the interior of its carriage.
George looked up, over his newspaper. And saw her.
It was difficult not to notice her.
Standing in between commuters in suits, workers' uniforms, books, iPods and newspapers. Wearing a red evening gown. Her blond hair long on her shoulders. Her piercing eyes staring at him.
She smiled.
The trains separated, left the interjunction and entered parallel tunnels.
She was gone.

Boys

Last night I found myself thinking: where would I be in life if I hadn't spent so much time worrying about boys, relationships, men?
Better grades at school? No, always been a nerd. More time for sport? Possibly. More ambitious career plans? Definitely.

I have to admit: since developing a crush for a scruffy boy at elementary school, I have wasted a ridiculous amount of time worrying about the matters of the heart. Endless conversations, torturing friends with the $1,000k questions: does he like me? Does he like my best friend instead? Does he only want me to do his homework/iron his shirts/pay his bills? Will he call? Should I call? When can I call? Is he coming to the party? Will he buy a birthday present for me? Should I buy a birthday present for him? Does he think I am a geek? Does he want to dump me? Should I sleep with him?
It is exhausting.

In the meanwhile, I could have, in no particular order, mapped the human genome, started my own multi-million company, found a cure for cancer or the Higgs boson. Nope, instead, I obsessed about relationships.

Is it just me? Is it an evolutionary need? Does it only apply to geeky physicists? Shouldn't we be preoccupied with more worthy causes? Shouldn't I have reached the age when only pressing, life-defining subjects should grab my attention?

No idea.

Anything for her

What would you do for the one you love? Would you put your own life at risk? Break the law? Kill? Walk all over your principles, aspirations and desires?

It is somehow easier to admire the big gestures, to appreciate the remarkable sacrifices the very heroic make. But what about the tiny acts of heroism, the daily ones, we do for love? Like disappearing unnoticed for 15 minutes to buy beers, food and comic books; getting out of bed with the flu to drive to the station; always finding time during a busy day to cheer up the sad ones; stepping aside to let other one shine.

And what about being at the receiving end? Do we want to be saved by a knight in a shiny armour, or would we rather sort things out on our own?

It is quite funny that some men consider it their prerogative to puff up and defend the nest, while others would quite happily let you deal with all the dirty work. In the latter case, control is still retained, and nobody is to be thanked. The first, well, explains why firemen are so popular. Some women want to be saved.
Similarly, some women cannot stop mothering the entire neighbourhood, while others shall not be disturbed during their highly synchronised lives.

To be honest, I would like to know that in times of trouble I wouldn't be left alone by the one I love. That he would mainly hold my hand, and then, occasionally, when it gets really tough, carry me on his shoulder.

In the meanwhile, I'll try and sort myself out on my own. Almost.

Straw dogs

Finally got around to reading John Gray's 'Straw dogs'. And what a read it is, crystallising incoherent thoughts in my head. In particular, how can relentless optimism cohabit with a nihilistic view of the human condition?
Simple. The loss of hope is hope itself.
Admitting that we are just an accident, that we have no purpose as individuals, because the species does not require us to reproduce anymore, sets us free. It stops us from having to be something, to reach something, to commit to something.
Every day is a success itself. Yesterday's gone, tomorrow may never happen.
Rationality is not going to save us. Same for religion.

If we want to translate the above thinking into the day-to-day EI life, this means that emotional incompetence may just be a non-religious, non-rational surrender to the natural self-regulation of planet Earth, to the failure of humanism, to the impossibility of determining our own fate. Grown up in a strictly empirical environment, with a quasi-mystical belief in the scientific method and a total aberration of Aristotelic metaphysics (which, BTW, was only meant as the 'book after the one about physics'), admitting to the limitations of progress as an unshakeable mean to the truth can be disorientating, to say the least. However, if we look closely, quantum mechanics taught us that there is no objective science, that we modify our environment the moment we attempt to measure it. It was the founders of contemporary technology who also set the limits to our achievements. Having said this, even if I have dropped illuministic dogmas of a better future, the scientific method is still the solution to improving our life as individuals. I would rather take rationally-designed medicines developed through clinical trials than have leeches applied to my skin. I just don't think that the universe will benefit from the internet, GM organisms and the iPad. And the relief is that 'everything will be fine', as I keep repeating to myself. At the end of the day, will it really matter if we miss out on a promotion, the partner of our dreams or our best friend's birthday party? Yes, for us as individuals, no, for us as part of an ever moving flux of life.

It may sound like a cop-out, but when asked about my purpose in life, I could not find an answer. Most people say 'their children'. This is wise and biologically sound. In my case.. Well, I will have to leave you guessing.

Yesterday

We never got to say goodbye properly, did we? At least not in public. Not that we do public. Mind you, you would be horrified at the idea of this blog. Or maybe you have always known that while you buried your feelings out of sight, I covered them up with an unstoppable banter. Whatever way you look at it, it is from you that I learnt to put up, shut up, explode, box up, never look back.
Although, it was only after you went that I learnt what untouchable pain really means.
How can I explain the crater in my soul, that will never be filled again? The fat, voluminous tears that emerge from the innermost depths and just pour out of my eyes when the thought of you grabs me unexpected?
I miss you like nobody before or after. Every day, every night.

At least I know that there was nothing left unsaid between us. It took us 30 years, but finally you got me, I got you. From that point on, it was easy.

I don't know why this year this date feels particularly sorrowful. Maybe there is a deadline to unspoken grief. Maybe once you open the lid, even just an inch, the flood of hidden feelings takes a life of its own and breaks all barriers.

Maybe saying goodbye wasn't all that necessary. Because, to me, you never went away.

Singles, EIs and Nobel laureates

This week the Nobel Prize for economics was awarded to three researchers who elaborated the 'search and matching' theories. Specifically, their work explained how market frictions can hinder the smooth functioning of an economy; how supply and demand are matched, where there are transactions or search costs involved.

Eh? I hear you say (Or maybe those are the little voices in my head.. But that's another story)
Well, interestingly enough, one of the applications of the 'principle of voluntary pairing under competitive conditions' is romantic matching. If you are single and struggling to find the love of your life, blame it on those couples who rushed into each other's arms without hanging around long enough. By getting hitched too early, not only we risk to get it wrong, but we also deplete the pool of available singles for perfect pairings. Unless of course we are prepared to accept that some matches are going to dissolve at some point, as we realise that original the search wasn't complete.

This is good news for everybody out there who is in doubt, who is still seeking for The One (or The Two, The Three, The Four), who thought they always got it wrong. They didn't. They just need to patiently keep looking around in order to close the perfect transaction.

You see, there is hope.