Aye Ego - "Guess who's back, not me, just reality in your face."
You always hear the repetitive phrases "seize the moment" and "live life to the fullest," but have you ever once considered an alternate reality? What if we have never lived loving or died dying; rather, we have always lived as if we were dying and died pretending to be living? Oh, you ignorant and miserable freaks! Let me enlighten you...
Waves of Tomorrow: a campfire story in the making
Laurent is an adamant fellow, you know, the one who always gets his way, and so too does he always succeed in convincing others. What most people do not know is the fact that he is a real soft pillow when it comes to emotions; strong outside and a fragile inner, the interior, the soul within. You could say he is like a wave, just like the waves of the ocean. On the top, nobody can stop them, but once tamed, the wave breezes by as the gentlest soul one may ever meet, embracing every being lucky enough to touch it.
Davy, on the other hand, is a prick who listens to Billy Joel's "Vienna" on repeat seven days a week. What more can you say?
Vienna is Laurent's everything, but also the only thing he can never have. You see, when truly in love, one can either react by acting or by detaching from the affection. Against all odds and his adamant nature, Laurent cannot in any way reveal his feelings to Vienna.
Paris, the temptation that keeps feeding. Shaped by mesmerizing beauty and uncomplicated.
The following is a collection that includes letters by three of the four aforementioned, compounded into a story. It is uncertain who has gathered or written this collection.
In these kinds of campsite stories, the question is whether or not it is too late for Laurent to act. Additionally, another problem arises: is Laurent better off with the one he has always wanted or forever chained to a life of temptation, regret, longing, and desire? Vienna or Paris? What will the waves of tomorrow tell...
I heard once "three chances is all it takes," and from within, I have always adhered to this principle. Thus, this is shaped to be a story of three opportunities: two lost ones and one in the making. Of course, I am speaking of Laurent. The handsome young man has already twice missed the chance to commit himself to the love of his life. Now, I do have to admit the truth: the night before was his third and final opportunity. Obviously, I cannot yet reveal what followed, so back to the first chance:
1.
It was a warm September day, a year which I do not remember. There, sitting face to face, Laurent and Vienna, with Paris weeping in the corner with an angle slightly banking northwest, I, sitting next to the two young adults (or teenagers), impulsively blurted out: "Get a room, you lovebirds, the intense eye contact disgusts me." I can remember forever that look on Vienna's face, searching for approval and recognition from Laurent, all in vain. He would not be moved. In an instant, he disassociated himself from Vienna by withdrawing eye contact and turning that smirky smile into an aloof and dispassionate seriousness. To dismay Vienna further, he spoke in his usual smoky and low voice: "Impossible, there has never been anything between us." But I knew better. Certainly, he was in denial. Oh, Laurent, when courage counts, it really is nowhere to be found. You see, hasn't life fooled you enough purposefully? Regrettably, it is not over at all. Where responsibility has been abdicated, opportunity lurks, I once heard. So, despite you being a brother to me, I cannot avoid trying it with Vienna; after all, an opportunist is always an opportunist. However angry or jealous you may be, brother, I will always wish the best for you.
- Davy (P.S. I will marry your bitch!)
Next came a period, one in which I had particularly mixed emotions. On one hand, I could finally be happy, although in a compromising sense, and on the other hand, I struggled to take my mind off Laurent, the thought of him being happy with somebody else. This was the changing chapter that would determine it all: what or who would be the wave in the making, was it the one I have always longed for, or was it a new powerful wave about to sweep me off my feet? Oh, biting my lips through these bitter but perhaps decisive events.
2.
Standing on this narrow bridge all alone, hearing just the distant cries of birds, the close-by campfire site, and the waves by the end of the pier next to the red-brown dockyard, a nervousness like never before struck me. What if Laurent is not coming? What if he got cold feet? What if he returned to that bitch Vi... but just as I was turning red, there on the ridge in a horse carriage the man of my dreams, Laurent, arrived punctually. It sent shivers down my spine. Would he actually propose to me, under the full moon and the sky filled with stars? (You see, I saw the ring in his drawer while snooping around his things. I know what you will say, "a good obedient girl will not sneak around and distrust her honorable man." But what if it is the duty of the obedient girl to experience her wild and jealous side, just so that she can avoid it resurfacing in the future?)
Later on, Laurent and I spent the evening strolling around the docks and making out in the forest. Despite an insecure cold-like feeling and doubt filling my mind, it was summertime. During the evening, I noticed Laurent touching and putting his hand in the left-side pocket of his jean shorts. (Although it was probably just him struggling to adjust the tingling sensation down his shaft, I could not get my mind off the thought of the ring). He did not propose that night.
Half a year later, it was time for the reunion of our precious years. I dreaded the sight of Laurent and Vienna in the same room. Vienna was really a torment to Laurent; he could not keep his eyes off this annoyingly beautiful yet unnoticeable girl. (Though she was nowhere close to the striking beauty and figure of Myself). The wait hurt me the most. I wanted it all over as soon as possible. I even turned to God, however ignorant and unspiritual I was. Why is it that longing for the good or the fear of the bad is worse than the longing or the fear itself?
On reunion day, we arrived at a ground that had been a significant part of my life, a place that had shaped both good and bad memories over the years. This location was not just a mere backdrop; it was intertwined with the very fabric of my youth, holding a treasure trove of experiences that spanned more than a decade. As I approached, I felt a surge of hope wash over me, surprisingly devoid of the nervousness that often accompanies such events. It was a curious feeling, almost as if the weight of past anxieties had been lifted, allowing me to embrace the moment with an open heart and mind. You see, just the night before, Laurent had shared some words with me, albeit slightly hesitantly, which now thoroughly lingered in my thoughts. He spoke THE WORDS. I had already on multiple occasions uttered the kindest and most genuine terms I could muster, I had poured my heart out, believing that my feelings were not only valid but also worthy of being expressed, even if my expressions emerged from a foul mouth as mine, I had come to describe it, I had dared. I was in love. However, back then, I had convinced myself that it didn’t matter and that I was determined to shield myself from any potential heartache. But now, I had come to realize, with a bittersweet clarity, that despite my own aesthetic appeal and the superficial charm I might possess, it simply could not hold a candle to the profound complexity and intelligence of someone like Vienna. She was a force of nature, a brilliant mind whose presence could illuminate even the darkest corners of any room. Standing there, ready to confront the past, I understood that my journey was not just about nostalgia but also about growth and the lessons learned along the way. This reunion was not merely a gathering; it was an opportunity to reconnect with the essence of who I was and to acknowledge the intricate tapestry of relationships that had shaped my existence. And to the extremity, this was the sacrifice of my life.
The first surprise of the evening came when Vienna arrived, gorgeous and delighted in a sparkling silver-colored dress, hand in hand with Dicky Davy (a nickname given following an incident when, apparently, two sophomore students walked in on Davy jerking off and, stunned, they could utter only two words: "monster" and "dicky"). I looked over and spotted Laurent talking with some guys over at the champagne table; luckily, he had not spotted the talk of the evening. Vienna and Davy, I mumbled, lost in my thoughts and imagination: Can a bad apple taste good together with a special and good one? Or does it have to be made into juice? I could only imagine Laurent losing his mind.
Regardless of my, not to mention divine, wishes, it was predetermined—some could go as far as to call it fate—that Laurent and Vienna would meet one another yet again, sooner or later. And there it was: Laurent and Vienna conversing as if in solitude and transcendence, in another superior sphere of Thought, outer space, or world. It seemed entirely natural. How could a girl like me ever compete with that? It was not even the fact of losing Laurent, just in one moment, that struck me the hardest. No, deep down it was that I had just lent hope a place within my soul, something I would now regret for the rest of my life. When you let the light take a place inside of you, or rather in any Being, the sad truth is that if the darkness overpowers the light, you will be forever lost and hopeless, engulfed in the dark flames of the Devil. If you had instead never opened inside yourself a place for light, there would not have been a possibility of arriving in a state of confusion, hopelessness, adrift from the Truth. You would have been aware of the bliss of ignorance, the veil of meaninglessness you lived in. Do you understand now what it is I am attempting to say? A philosophical tale, obviously this ironically is something Laurent told me one day. The truth was that I could not do anything; I was powerless, physically and psychologically in a state of being lost for words.
Hereupon this magnificent realization of the true state of nature, of reality, and of the unfortunate (mutual) love I could not have, it dawned upon me a question of unspoken magnitude. Why is it that you, whoever you are, take pleasure in teasing and upsetting us? Can you not see the cruel reality you have formed? Letting a good human being like Laurent play with my emotions, my unsettled, fragile, and bare heart. I cannot take it anymore! For the sake of humanity, can you not at least let the lovebirds, Laurent and Vienna, be together? I beg you!
While I was lost, tangled inside transcendental thought, unaware, or perhaps half-aware, I suspected that a scene was in the making. Davy had noticed the proximity and sensuality between the "lovebirds" (he was too stupid to understand that he was helpless) and reacted provocatively. A large figure, as Davy was, could not be any more noticeable. He slung past other guests and attempted to swing a blow to the left cheek of Laurent. Luckily, Laurent managed to successfully dodge the hit. Although just attacked violently, Laurent remained unweathered. He just instinctively backed off—a sign of resignation. Yet again, this adamant fellow showed his hidden phlegmatic side. Yet again, I could not help but question it. Why is it that Laurent cannot reveal himself to the one who loves him and the one he mutually loves? Somehow, I was now emotionally involved. Not like one would expect; after all, moments ago, I was in a romantic relationship with Laurent. But reality had dawned upon me. I knew it was not my time to shine. What I could do was wish the best for two souls that the universe denied the opportunity, time and time again. I started to question: How much does the universe, the transcendence, that which is beyond, control? Do we have any say in what happens next? Or what if it is true, what the existentialists say, as Laurent told me, that at the end of the day, every choice is determined by our actions, by our self—and not by anybody else, not even God?
Next, almost at the entrance and out of the building, Vienna rushes towards the departing Laurent. Although only mumbles, particulars of words can be heard, everyone can read the situation. Vienna is begging for Laurent to show his true self. Yet again, all in vain. Shouting: "I do not care," Laurent denies Vienna for the second time this evening and departs the historic festivity. A dumbfounded silence struck the festivity, echoing only the distant whispers of some unimportant conversations. You would really think that was the final nail in the coffin, but now one thing was certain, you could see it from the crying expression on Vienna's face, she was adamant and determined, even more than Laurent, even more than ever before, and additionally fully aware of what she wanted. She would not want to die while pretending to be living.
- Paris (P.S. You sucker, how dare you play with my emotions?!)
Back at the beginning, or rather, perhaps, the end of the beginning, that is, the beginning of a new beginning, it is finally time to cast a light upon the third and final opportunity which the unknown, dare I say, God, has blessed Laurent with. As a parting note, "to hell with you, I mean you":
3.
A sense of melancholy filled my warm soul on this spring day, as I reflected on life, swinging back and forth in my memory-filled rocking chair on the porch of my home of twenty-seven years. I liked to regularly ask myself some provoking and critical questions to reflect upon the worthiness of living. I wondered: was it worth waiting? Was it worth dancing through life? And with someone I do not love? What is love, anyway? What makes someone deserving of love? Do you suppose that everyone deserves passion, love, and compassion? A sense of friendship or companionship? Do you mean that even murderers, pedophiles, and those suppressing and massacring human beings deserve love? But I always end at the beginning. I question: who am I to say what and who is deserving? Who am I to say anything on any of these matters? Who am I?
Recently, I took it upon myself to delve deeply into some quite witty and complicated phenomena and philosophical theories that have intrigued thinkers for centuries. This journey of exploration led me to confront the fascinating and enigmatic Question of Telepathy. Telepathy, as I have come to understand it, refers to the intriguing notion of the vicarious transmission of information from one human being to another without any form of physical interaction or reliance on human sensory input. It embodies the idea that two beings might possess the extraordinary ability to read one another's minds, to share thoughts and feelings in a direct and unmediated manner, transcending the usual barriers of communication. This concept of telepathy evokes two profound reflections. Firstly, it brings to mind the eloquent words of Aristophanes, a playwright from ancient Greece, who articulated a compelling theory about the nature of love and human connection. He posited that “Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature. Each of us, then, is a "matching half" of a human whole…and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him.” The thought provokes a haunting question: What if our other half still exists somewhere out there, stranded and lost in the vast expanse of this universe? Could it be that fate has decreed that we may never encounter that other half, leaving us in a state of longing and incompleteness? This notion serves as yet another cruel reminder of the mysteries of existence, perhaps imposed by the Almighty, who orchestrates the grand design of our lives. Secondly, this exploration of telepathy and connection reminds me of a lovely woman, or perhaps a girl, whom I encountered during my formative youth years. She embodied the essence of spring—vibrant, full of life, and brimming with youthful energy. At the same time, she possessed the intellect of the infinity garden, rich and provoked with life that could blossom endlessly. However, despite the undeniable attraction and connection we shared, there was always an invisible force that seemed to draw us apart. Even as the years passed and we occasionally crossed paths at reunions or sought each other out intentionally, it felt as though some unseen barrier was denying us the chance to truly connect. This persistent sense of separation left an indelible mark on my heart, leading me to wonder whether our lives were destined to remain intertwined in thought yet disconnected in reality, echoing the very essence of telepathy itself—where thoughts may flow freely, yet the physical presence remains elusive and out of reach.
I have always wondered why I cannot be honest with myself. I can speak honestly, I can listen honestly, I can honestly help a friend or ask for help from a friend. But why can I not seem to be able to be honest with myself? Just why?
I wonder too often, what is faith? I do not mean the concept of God or the faith that is tied to religion. I mean, simply, faith. What is it to believe in something? To believe that two people will meet each other purposefully. To believe that some things are meant to be. They are part of the dance of life, and perhaps even more, the possibility that what is meant to be goes further, beyond the dance of life. To have faith in fate, dare I speak.
After our fateful reunion evening, one which I remember even to this day, this woman I spoke of earlier, I lost contact with her for quite a long time. One could say I lost precious time. No, I say, just like this poem I wrote, reflection upon life is worth everything:
In the midst of an encounter quite mild,
the question left was whether or not life is wild.
The dance of life, way too often mistaken
for an ultimatum of whether or not one dares to take in,
the burden of awakening the betaken responsibility, unshaken.
How can this fallacy ever be forsaken?
In the midst of a haze,
right down the gaze of a fine gentleman,
opposed to the indifferencies of Mankind.
The dance of life, always been about "where to find",
a love long lost and left behind.
How can love ever align?
Long live the forgotten,
was it not time for a change?
Long live the love,
undeserved perhaps,
but worth the weight in gold,
just maybe,
and it is called: "Il Ballo della Vita".
Another way to see and reflect on the failures in my life is through an analogy; I would call it the paradox of love, or just the "lovebird" paradox. It goes as follows: "I am happy when you are happy, and when you are not happy, I am not happy; I am in love when you are in love, and when you are not in love, I am not in love. The wonder is that only you yourself can make yourself happy; to be in love. And the same goes for myself. I can only be happy because of myself; only I can be in love. How are we then happy?" This relates perfectly to the question of intersubjectivity. Oh, what a philosophical masterpiece. Are we dependent on others, and if so, how? Unfortunately, I do not have time for a proper inquiry into the matter of intersubjectivity. Oh, did you see? I contradicted myself. But honestly, even I do not possess the intelligence to understand the impossible assumptions and negations of the dance of life. Enough! If you so demand, at least I have abided by something here, I have been honest with myself, and I have told the truth. But now again I am contradicting my earlier statement. A fool, I am!
Lastly, before I die of this writing task, there has always been one question I have wanted to address. That is the question of whether or not love is difficult, something that could perhaps explain my previous issues with the combination of love and commitment. I do not suppose that I would have been a free spirit incapable of the two aforementioned, but perhaps it could be one reason. Neither have I ever said that the concept of love and commitment cannot intertwine. Is love not about giving your all and seeing what happens next? Or am I being too pragmatic? Perhaps Aristophanes was closest to realizing the truth on the matter of love. One could also argue that love simply does not exist. But what about the growth of humans and humanity as a whole? Could we have survived without that crazy little thing called love?
Do you still remember that I told you that I have the habit of observing life from my porch? What I left out was that an old man used to pass by and ask provoking questions. The wise man would ask what my motto for life was. I went from "taking life day by day," to "seize the moment," and from the nihilistic "nothing really matters" to the optimistic "we are the future," but in the end, all I came by was that this was not in any sense definitive. No words, no slogans, no spoken language could define life, or how I lived. And I was back at my roots, at the foundation of existence. You could say I was back at the beginning of the beginning, at the stage of my ultimate principle "live loving, or die dying; do not live as if you were dying, and die as if you were living." But I like to think of this new faith, the reincarnation of my roots and ultimate principle, as my step into the unknown, beyond order, to that of existing and living; that of life. You see, is not love beautiful? Or is it?
- Laurent (P.S. only the good die young!)
There is always one question I get asked. For the simple sake of not having to repeat my answer, I will present it here. They ask: What happened with the lovebirds, Laurent and Vienna? Did they have a happy ending? And I have always answered: So, what? Does it really matter?
- The collection of the "unknown" life story letters signed as "the Waves of Tomorrow".
Just as you will never know what I truly mean by these disguised multi-layered stories, I guess you will never know whose story "Waves of Tomorrow" is. Perhaps it is, after all, the superficially perfect but deep-down miserable Laurent's story, or maybe the insignificant Paris or Davy, or the one who put it all together: Vienna. I would like to call it "intersubjectivity," but that is too deep, philosophical, and psychological nonsense for a sensible, irresponsible, reckless, and subtle man like me! This is the fun, innit? Right? You may never know! A worthwhile punishment, coming from a guy who hates the world, not literally. Or maybe?
- Aye Ego "...until we meet again, sleep well."
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