A Different Kind of Love

I normally don’t write these kinds of posts. Those who know me know that I am the happily ever after kind of girl. The girl who believes that love makes the world go around. The kind who believes in making love, not war.

In our lifetime, we will experience different kinds of love. Fraternal, between siblings, the paternal/maternal love of parents towards their child, Eros, between lovers and the one I will be emphasizing in this post is philia, the love between friends. True friends.

Isn’t it weird to think that there are so many versions of one person that exist in other people’s minds? Some people see me as a shy girl, who doesn’t say much. She would much rather sit in one corner and read a novel the whole day, undisturbed.

Some know me as an annoying girl who doesn’t shut up. One who always finds something dirty in every innocent conversation. One who can yap continuously for hours and sing annoyingly to the radio. I’ve been told my voice rivals a frog. The one who annoys you, simply because she can. She will then shower you with love the next minute, everything else forgotten. You will actually feel guilty holding a grudge.

Some see me as this kind and caring chic, who puts other people’s problems before her own. The one who will listen and hug you when you need to, but she will never tell you her issues, no matter how grave they are, because she feels you have a lot on your plate.

Some see me as a cold mean and calculating bitch. Who keeps grudges and makes sure to let you have in when you hurt her and mostly her friends. One who plays hard and loves harder. Most though, think I am crazy. That is the one description all my friends would have on me if you dare ask. Then they will laugh. Probably because they’ve remembered a scenario where my craziness showed full circle. I don’t have a lot of them, friends I mean…but the few I have always had my back. That much I know.

What people don’t know, is that I’m one sensitive lass. You wrong me in public, and I cry in secret. Crying for me has always been a vulnerability I don’t show. My teachers would get annoyed because of it. They would give me five strokes of the cane, but since I wouldn’t cry like the rest of my classmates, they would add five more; to make me shed that tear. It was the ultimate form of control.

When I was 11, I shaved my hair. It was long, black and lustrous, and then suddenly, I didn’t have it anymore. The kids at school couldn’t understand why I did it, and since it wasn’t their business anyway, I didn’t bother to explain why. That was the start of my being bullied. I wasn’t pretty enough, I didn’t have hair any more. The way kids’ reason, if you don’t fit, with their imaginary notion of perfection, you can’t be friends. The extrovert became an introvert, and a tomboy, and a loner. Books were my refuge.

Here is the thing about introverts. You wrong them, they let it slide… for a while. That is until you push them in a corner. Then they retaliate. And Harriet* saw it coming. One minute I was on the see-saw, and the next she was bleeding.

I remember crying in the toilet stall after they managed to pull me off her. How could I have done something like that? I wasn’t a violent person. I realized later that the situation was slow building. Anger pilling up in my mind until I had enough. The kids knew to leave me alone from then on. Loneliness became my friend. LONELY-LOLYNE, even our names were interchangeable.

I’ve never understood relationships, whether it is friendships or the more intimate ones. I mean, you meet a total stranger, you connect, either end up married or become friends for life. Apparently, it is a human dynamic. We tend to want the company because no man is an island.

A friend brought us wine to a company I work in. Two big bottles. One red and another white. I don’t remember the exact names, but there was a Sauvignon. Wine is the only alcohol I can keep down. I honestly don’t get how people can drink vodka or gin and still function.

It is a hot Friday at 5:00pm Lady M and I are so busy.  We don’t think we will be going home soon. What do we do? We decide to open a bottle of wine and partake as we work. Well, at the time we thought it was a good idea. Not! For an hour we sipped wine. Before we knew it, we were well on our way half of the second one. That was the most I have drunk in one seating, without water in between. Alcohol makes me stupid things, alcohol makes me say stupid things, but I also know that a drunk mind speaks a sober heart…or is it the other way around? Point is, I started talking, continuously and Lady M was only too kind to oblige because we were as high as a kite and we just didn’t care.

Alcohol makes me do one other thing, spill my guts out and cry. Remember the vulnerability I talked about earlier? I hate spilling my guts out and more so, I hate crying. It takes a lot to get me to cry, but that day, I did. Lady M and I, in our alcohol-induced honesty, started talking about stuff you would otherwise not share with a colleague. I got to understand that you might be spending 8 hours with people at the office and not know them at all. At the office, you put on a brave face, lest you become a victim of the office rumour mill.

I’ve always handled people who cry one way- I hug them and let them cry. You allow them to let it all out. I have found it very effective actually. Crying is like a cleansing. With the tears, you let go of the fear, the frustration and all the emotions that hold you back. Surprisingly, that is the exact thing Lady M did for me. In the loos on the first floor of our building, she listened to me vent, never interrupted one bit and just let me cry. I’m sure she had her issues too, but for me, she forgot about them and just held me, as I found comfort in my tears. For me, that was love, a different kind of love.

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