I can still feel you.
I can still feel your breath against my neck and the way your brush your hair back from your forehead when your thinking deeply about something. I can see the tips of your cheek bones raised in anticipation when I'm about to kiss you. The slow moan you make when our lips meet is still something I can't get out of my eardrums. Your feet are still about the same size as mine and that's alarming because you're twice my height and a man. I remind myself daily of how you said my big feet were just more of me to love. My senses were turned on to a state of heightened awareness every time you walked into the room. The feeling of being on red alert 24/7 never bothered me. Being away from you bothers me... Missing you is bothering me...
Yet, what bothers me the most is that you couldn't sense me. As we said our adieus and I kissed you goodbye, I fell upon the sword of my own epiphany that no matter how close I inched towards you, you could never feel the same passion towards me. Yes, my dearest love, you could mechanically activate all five senses, but it was the sixth one I needed the most from you. Looking back upon our unrequited romance, I realize that maybe I expected way too much. I was fighting against the walls you built due to your own life circumstances, and the society that provides the bricks.
My short years have taught me this about men. Men grow up in an alternative sensory universe than women. They live in an emotional state of darkness not because of nature but because of nurture. "Boys don't cry" and "men don't get scared" is the norm in the good old US of A. They are taught not to feel sad, afraid, nervous, or even lonely because a real man doesn't have a wide range of emotions. That's what women are for, to feel the things in your spirit that are considered a big no no for a real man to comprehend. Growing up, you can imagine the frustration a small boy feels when he is drowning in a feeling and can't communicate what it is. I imagine that a young boy burns on the inside when he realizes the futility of having his own set of unexpressed desire to feel something other than rage or cool neutrality. He burns with anger when he loses his favorite toy, feels depressed after losing a football match, and last but not least, feels despondent when he loses his first love. If he can't feel emotional, then what he is supposed to feel? Where is he to turn? If he can't feel sadness, then what is there left to fill the void created by the invalidation of all things tearful? I think you and I both know what men are allowed to feel. It is the one thing that society glorifies among all other things a man can possess. The boy who can't express his emotions can at least take comfort that his sexuality is acceptable, if compulsory by the powers at be. It's as if once a boy becomes a man, and feels the yearning of his loins and the depth of his voice, he begins to lose his ability to sense all other parts of his world.
If you have ever observed a man go throughout his day, there isn't one minute of it where he is not in touch with himself. A man can't even relieve himself of bodily fluid without being presented with his pride and joy. The way he sits, the way he stands, and even the pants he selects at the store are all centered around sensing an unrealistic belief of emotional fulfillment through packagism. If his package isn't worthy of USPS Parcel Post, he can at least be comforted with a really big car. I laugh to think of a world where women were socialized in the same manner. Can you imagine waltzing down the street and seeing a woman adjusting her breasts constantly and bragging to men how large and in charge they are? I'm tempted to do so just out of sheer animosity toward society, but cringe at the thought of someone accidentally taking me seriously.
With all of this talk about the physical, I wonder if that is the reason sex is an important milestone to reach in a man's life. Women have birthdays, first kisses, and senior proms to look forward to, while a man feels whole once he has his first sexual encounter. Is the only acceptable way for a man to emotionally connect to another human being through physical penetration? Have men become so wrapped up on getting it wrapped up, that they have unravelled their ability to touch another soul through emotional sensitivity and connection? Has modern masculinity sacrificed tenderness, affection, love and an occasional spooning session for the sake of one, insignificant sensory organ? I only wish for a man who can see that there is another sensory organ that can fulfill all of their desires for respect and love that doesn't require an STD test. An organ that, if properly activated, can give fill his soul with something more satisfying than sex.
The sixth sense is the emotional realm that men seldom understand and even when they talk about it, they hardly know how to take it seriously. Watching men talk about their emotions is like watching two teenagers attempt to conduct open heart surgery. Both scenarios are absurd because usually they have no idea what they are doing. Both scenarios would be amazing if true knowledge of how things worked was behind their respective actions. The number six never even comes up in conversation for a man without a nine following close behind. The pure gap of emotional maturity and stability men and women achieve at different ages and levels is staggering. If men and women exist on two different emotional levels, then will they ever meet? When will we meet in a place where they both connect on such a strong emotional level, that even a man, handicapped from a life without emotional validation, can meet the woman he loves? Even if he gets to the point of channeling his sixth sense, will he know what love is when he sees it?
I fell in love with a man epitomized the trouble with modern masculinity. He was never taught to use his sixth sense. His other senses were awaken by my presence. I noticed his hair stood on end each time I would lightly brush his hand. His pupils dilated when I came closer for a kiss and he could even smell the scent of my Coco Mademoiselle before I entered into a room. Gummy taste of my signature color MAC Viva Glam IV lip gloss? Check. The docile tones of a sigh right before I divided into homework? Another Check.
Hear, touch, see, feel, taste.. all in working order. It was just one last organ that seemed to being suffering from failure and in dire need of a transplant.
His heart. He was never taught to identify how he was feeling, or even to know that what he was feeling is completely natural. So you can imagine a man, who has never felt loved in the way I felt for him would be bewildered to wake up one morning and find something stirring inside of his heart. Just the thought of us coming together in a higher state of romantic nirvana seemed to unnerve him. I can tell you that he probably thought "what the fuck?", "what is it that I am feeling." Unlike his other senses, this feeling doesn't go away and it never feels the same. He was never taught to identify how it felt when someone truly loved him- the total package, not just one part of it.
Love. It's a complicated feeling. We all know how it feels to burn our hands on the stove or get an eyelash caught in the middle of the eye. It is a painful feeling that will feel just about the same every time we experience it. Love isn't like getting burned, it never feels the same and the day that it does, you have got a problem on your hands. It isn't supposed to feel the same with different people. If it did, then everyone would fall in love with just a push of a button. We could simply file a forwarding address with Cupid's office and have the love sent to another residence.
Even as these words come out onto this page, I can't help but wish this were possible. I wish I could forward the feelings I have for Mr. Passion to another address. Sorry, no go. I love him. For now, I am left with a sensual fantasy of the two of us being able to finally being able to see eye-to-eye, hold hands, share tasty ice cream, and make each other laugh.
Who knows, maybe if I fantasize enough, he may just come with me to the big Legal Prom next month. (I'm embarrassed to say how excited I am about the whole thing, but dances were always tragedies for me when I was younger. That's another blog entry for another day). Regardless of what happens in the future, know that I will be wearing a killer dress. A dress so killer, it might scare a man senseless. :)
