Domestic Rice

Emotional turmoil seems to be the only reason for maintaining a steady hand at this chilly attempt at writerdom, but hey, let's face it...Virginia Woolf wouldn't have made it in the English literature 101 books if she wasn't insane (and lesbian).

Morocco was a flash in the pan...after having discovered that my cousin is actually the pimped, fairly intelligent version of Tara Reid, I came home only realizing that 'heading back to my Moroccan roots' no longer remains an option. However, it does seem like the most sane choice when faced with unfamiliar feelings that need sorting out...So we'll cross out "Haägen Dasz" from the list, and put 30 copied dvd's for 12 dirhams in its place, if that ain't a bargain, I don't know what is.

Of course, we all know that Turkish delight CAN take a turn for the worse...like a Klingon once told me: savour the fruits of youth, the taste turns bitter after a while. A meeting in Ghent revealed to be one meeting too many after my taste.
Seeing the doc again made me hide into the shell I usually hide in when faced with dual feelings...a side wanted to be with him as if nothing had occured...and another side just wanted to leave and make him feel bad for doing nothing wrong.
The end result was of course...a mix of the two former stated options...it seemed strange that his point of view differed so much from what I could extrapolate from the person I knew him to be. The fact that"I missed you" and "I truly care for you" can transform into "I am beginning a new chapter in my life, and you don't fit in it", made me doubt about my insights into the human character...because somewhere along the way I forgot to factor in that I was indeed dealing with a student who has yet to begin his life.
The usual kettles of cowcrap were thrown around...making me want to leave as soon as possible because I had heard it all before...even coming from me..."I want to be friends" is a polite way of saying you simply want to get rid of a person with as little emotional damage as possible.
Of course the problem resides in the fact that I could never fully place my emotional range when faced with the doctor...but I shall of course endeavour to do so right now. I could best describe him as someone I felt comfortable with...and who never (strange as it may seem) bored the living daylight out of me. I guess those two were enough to make me want to persue a sense of "us" after our mutual holiday. It is strange to notice how I am talking about it all as if I was having a relationship, while I refuse to think in those terms, and I simply strive for two seperate lives...and a small oasis in between, where anything could grow and where there is no time for fights revolving around domestic facts in the line of "darling you didn't cook the rice adequately". Somewhere in between those thoughts and perhaps vague hopes I simply forgot that people do not always take the things they actually believe at the time with them when they leave for a while, especially when the feedback you provided after they blurred out they missed you, wasn't convincing enough. So what happened? One opinion could be that he simply discovered more about himself...my motivation lies in the fact that his reason for becoming an anesthesist was his lack of social skills...while sitting at that table he actually indicated that he was a véry social person. A second opinion could be that another character popped into his life, and we all know there are better, stronger, faster versions of ourselves out there. Two vulgar opinions...and this is precisely the reason why shreds of frustration pop into my head from time to time...an unexpected lack of "more" is the greatest disillusionment.
Stating these poorly founded facts I cannot help but wonder how things would be if the doc himself would be here, sitting on my couch, watching groase cartoons and calling me a little monkey while telling me about his trite days. Is this a sign of affection, love or yearning? I cannot tell...but I know it is so much stronger than a sentence as blatant as "I miss you".
I remain icy when I observe the whole thing from my usual lighthouse...because time seems to be highly valued these days...and somehow it all feels like I am wasting it on idle hopes and images I see in people, which simply turn out to be absent. The road ahead is to be taken or to be left, and if the decision has been taken by another person to leave this so-called path , then I shall simply continue on the road I have already chosen and call it mine without any feeling of remorse or loathing. The question is: can that person get back on that road? My anger and passion have always prevented such manoeuvres, and apparently there is even a Turkish saying that goes "never eat what you spat out".
But hope remains...the person who introduced this expression into the minds of young Turks everywhere obviously never dissected a cow...