Like I said in my previous post, something happened to me when I started using a computer in India in early 2004. I lost something, some grade of spontaneity that I previously had.
I think that it was all product of the bad influence of the hopeless, homosexual imbeciles of the software, hardware and Internet (and technology in general) industries.
I’m going to create a time-line of my romantic suffering. But before I’m going to give a little background on how I was in the love aspect when this long sad story started.
In 2003 I bedded the girl of my dreams, we lived together for around three days. She treated me bad, and I abandoned her.
The bad treatment was simply putting the world before me, something I can’t deal with, and it wasn’t the first time I experienced it. But to experience that with a dream girl like her was traumatizing.
I knew that girl (she was Welsh) in the street, in Katmandu, in 2002, and then I found her in the street again, six months later, after we both have went away and returned to Katmandu.
Another young woman that I met in Katmandu abused me, this one was a Canadian. But we both were in the west already when we interacted and she cheapened my love for her.
After the headache of the teenage slut I talked in the previous post, adding the bad experiences with the Welsh and the Canadian I was left in a state of lack of faith in females in general, and young women in particular.
I have let pass more than a dozen of young women I’d have liked to talk to. I’d have liked to talk to them, because they embody everything that I expect from a woman, at least in the looks department.
I do think this lack of interest in approaching the girls of my dreams was due—the greatest part of it—to the ugliness that surrounded us when we met.
Other reasons surely played their part, but I’ll examine each one separately.
It all started with a girl I knew in a dream before knowing her in the waking world. It was in Kolkata, and I already wrote about it in the previous post.
Three Lustrums of Loneliness
2002
I began to feel alienated… I told that story already in the previous post.2004
In late 2004, when back in the west, I went to buy a hard disk for my PC and I saw a girl similar to the one I saw in Kolkata the previous year. But I couldn't walk to her and talk to her like I could In India and Nepal.2005 to 2009
Somewhere in the four years from 2005 to 2009, I saw in a bus a girl that resembled the one I saw in Kolkata in 2003, again. Of course I talked to her, and she told me her name and that she had never been to India. I wonder still today if the name she told me was her real name, because it was one of the most generic names you could have, think a name on par with a name like, say, Mary Smith.Also, somewhere in this span of years I saw a beautiful brunette punkette or skater babe standing in a bus stand. But the place was full of people and I preferred to let it pass. I remembered she had checkered All Stars…
In this span of years was when I felt alienated the most by women in my city… the worst moment was when I saw the girl of my dreams when she was enthralled in a dead end job.
I saw that Burger King had a few vegan goodies, so I decided to try them. I entered the Burger King and what did I see? A brunette who looked like one of my favorite Hollywood stars as a menial fast food worker. I needed to rationalize it, and what I saw for me was just that, a young woman prostituting herself by means misusing her right of choice.
2010
I knew a beauty in the home of her mother, who was a tutor I went when I needed tutoring to finish high-school. Like the brunette Burger King employee, She looked like my favorite actress, but she was full of freckles. I guess that If I would have been let 100% alone with her, I would have told her what I thought and felt for her. But I didn't have the opportunity, not at least with someone else (not her mother, though) witnessing the approach.2012
There was a model in some ads of my city, around 2012, that had a face resembling the face of my first muse. When we were in our late teenage years she was a model already, so I wonder if that was her.Another girl that shocked me was a skater babe with dreadlocks I saw in the skate park of my neighborhood. She stood in the skate park in a position at the edge of the bowls in which it was very difficult to start a conversation with her, so I didn’t talk to her.
2013
I used to go every night to drink a Barista cup of coffee while I enjoyed one or two Silk Cuts outside the Empire Cinema in Kolkata central. I did that every night before spending the last two hours (before going to sleep at midnight) working in a horror conversion I was developing on spec.There came a night when after putting the coffee cup over the fence I usually placed it, and after I lighted a Silk Cut, when I looked up, to the tropical summer crowds standing by the food stands outside the Empire Cinema, I saw her.
It was the dream doll that I knew some day I’ll found in Kolkata, due to being Kolkata the city that rebooted me in my feelings towards women. I watched her generously and I was suddenly moved to find out that she was a Muslim, at least she did give that image, because she and the girls that were with her had Muslim clothes.
I was going to go to talk to her, and I realized that an old woman was with them. But the strange thing of the situation was that the old woman that was with them was dressed in Hindu national attire.
I did let her pass, and I regretted it days later… because she never returned. In subsequent days I was thinking that if she came again I wouldn’t care about their mother/aunt/whatever, and talk to her.
She was an actual girl, it's not a figure of speech, I said she look in her late teens or early twenties... I don't dare call that one a young woman, because, to me she didn't qualify as one, but India being what it is, I was confident enough to talk to her if I saw her again, because it wouldn't have been out of place to talk to a young girl like her.
In 2013 I think I also saw the brunette punkette of the checkered all-stars of the past, but now she was wearing dressing outfits, damn!
In Kolkata, one day I winded up by a slum-like area of the downtown, the crowds were mechanical schools of commuters, suddenly I spotted her, another one who looked like my favorite Hollywood star.
2014
This was the most devastating year of my life in what pertains to deeply felt girl pressure.
Now that I dig deep into this vice of not talking to my darling muses, I realize that not only I’m forgetting ramifications of my state of alienation, but also I didn’t outline my journey of female lionization.
I lionize women since the first moment I felt the pain of the loss of their association, in late ‘94, when I was seventeen years.
The girl that caused those feelings was my first muse, since that moment, and still is. Her, and a gang of dozens of her sisters, as I see it.
Like I said, I was rebooted in my way with women by a reminiscence of that girl in 2002 in India, and by the bad experiences I told before seeing that picture of a model in 2002, for which I felt love for at once.
That model looked similar to the girl of late ‘94, and the love I felt was because she was remembering that lost love of my late teens.
One day in 2014, walking to a park to imbibe a considerable quantity of beer I was carrying in my backpack, I passed by a girl that remembered that primordial muse of ‘94.
It was paralyzing to realize that I was seeing who I thought was her, but BY THE STREETS OF HER OWN NEIGHBORHOOD! (or at least by the streets of the district I knew she used to live.
But she was wearing big black shades, and I couldn’t be 100% sure without seeing her (beautiful) eyes… I should at least have yelled her name at her, if she turned around I'd run to her and talk to her, and if she were who I thought, I could have talked to her and told her, right there, that she was the love of my life.
It's important to talk about this muse, because being the first, is someone that, for me, kind of spawned my love for a whole slew of subsequent beauties that I want to know, who essentially are, phenotypically, all similar at the level of their facial features.
About the actress I talked, that I liked her. I saw her for this first time in the preview shots of a movie in the Empire Cinema of Kolkata's downtown in 2002.
But only around 2006 I knew her name and watched that movie, and I liked her because she not just had the same last name of my first muse, but she also looked similar.
Point is, that I wrote to this actress for years. I sent her my letters (which weren’t too long) through Facebook. She never replied, and I’m not sure those messages reached her, I mean, she
It was an unhealthy relationship. I shouldn’t have sent her the messages I sent her, they were around a dozen in the span of x years (I don’t know for how long I tried to elicit a response from her without any result).
The day in mid 2014 when I decided I had enough of her coldness. I was drinking, I had a flask of whiskey and it was a day of early winter that wasn’t for sitting in a park bench and writing, like I sat that day.
When I finished jotting down my farewell in my pocket notepad, I decided to walk, finish the flask and forget everything about her. I walked and walked for like one hour.
Two districts later, almost arriving to the bus terminal where I was to take the one I needed. I turn in a corner and right there, one meter from me, walking in the same direction there was she again, a super-cute rendition of my muse with all the female facial features I worship.
This one looked more like the model that reminded me of my western muse in 2002 India, she wore dressing clothes, but she did look extremely dainty. She had a protruding brow, typical of a heart-breaker.
The kind of girl that, if I saw her by the streets of Katmandu, or (in the extremely rare case of) Kolkata, I’d stop her and talk to her. Like I did in my years of donjuanism, ere my return to the PC.
I said that 2014 was the year I felt the most pressure, because I saw many beautiful girls, the kind I’d like to make my significant others.
Others were a blonde, that looked like the British actress Natalie Dormer… more or less all of these girls look like that phenotype… I let her pass, but not before touching her hand with mine in the bus, to have a modicum of connection to her.
Soon after that devastating blonde I did let pass another of the same looks but this one had curly chestnut hair and that beautiful protruding brow that I love. This one shocked me not just because of her stocky, yet not fat in the least, form, but also because I saw her going down the bus around one kilometer from my house.
I could have gone out of the bus with her (like I did with the blonde that looked like Natalie Dormer, that I touched in the hand), and talk to her in the street. But noon’s rush hour didn’t make me feel like I could have talked to her how I’d have liked.
2015
I think that I saw the blonde I touched the hand in the bus again, but it wasn’t the same shape. If it was the same, she was kind of fatter, but all the better for wear. It was in a situation and in a place I rather forget, and also during the chaos of the rush hour.I think that the curly chestnut of late 2014 returned. I saw her again in the bus. We were in a bus that was going to let us in our area of the city, but she went down like four districts before.
I didn’t know what to think of this… maybe that a mere six months later she had moved to that area of the city.
2016
I went to a punk club in Easter 2016 because it was a punkettes bands festival, and as I was enjoying myself, reclining against the bar, watching the girls’ bands, guess who appeared by my side with a friend? Yes! She, the girl that I was longing for, for a lifetime.I thought, this time is the time I finally get to talk to her, she is a punkette and that face, that hair, that skin and specially those eyes… then I realized that supposing that I got interest from her, what did I have to offer her?
She looked like the kind of girl you take to your fitting place, even if it’s not yours, the place you call yours, and bed her, or at least take her somewhere up to third base.
But to live in a slum is having nowhere to take a girl, for the simple reason that the super-cute vixens that I love don’t fit in a slum of laborers, poor people, elders and racial degenerates like in the slum I live.
To realize that, and to have the modesty of not talking to the girls of one’s dreams, is something that gets to the heart of whoever arranges for those kind of girls to appear in my path, because…
Soon after seeing the punkette at the club, I was traveling by bus, and a girl came and sat in front of me. She looked like the twenty years old version of a girlfriend I had when I was 15-17 years old.
She was super dainty and even more beautiful than my teens' girlfriend. That girlfriend, was a dream of childhood and puberty come true, she was a beautiful person and looked exactly like the girl of my dreams.
Now the slightly cuter, twenty years old version of that old girlfriend just made me happy of seeing her, knowing that it was the kind of beauty that I loved, that loved me and that I considered like a past phase, it made me sing in my heart as I saw her, but…
Guess what transpired, barely two minutes after what I told in the last paragraph happened? Yes, she again, the girl of doe eyes appeared again, this was a very young, red haired version, of the Natalie Dormer type of beauty, and she walked to me and stood beside me until her bus journey ended.
This time, I wasn’t going to do anything. I was just going to speak to her with me eyes. If I was madly in love with this kind of girl, the moment our eyes met and started to converse with each other I knew I’d end up a thousand times madder about her.
We watched each other in the eyes for all of her journey (that wasn’t very long) and I even got a smile from her. At least I know around which streets to be to try my luck in finding her again, in this city of more than two millions persons.
2017
To see an aboriginal, stocky girl of brown skin and clear eyes with the same form of face wasn’t a cause for alarm, since I decided that brown or tan women are a thing of the past for me, and I don’t want to have anything else to do with them.They can be like that one I saw, but that kind of girl, I’m not gonna talk to, I rather let her for the brown-skinned versions of myself.
When I thought that I had somewhat pacified the girl shocks of the last years, two months ago, I was entering a shop, and a girl was going out. She looked like that primeval of my muses, the original one, but as if she had grown and changed her hairdo since the last time I think I saw her.
I knew by this moment, since my ruminations in how I wanted to yell at her her name, to see if she reacted, jumped to the top of my consciousness as soon as she walked away.
I tried to get a good look on her, but I didn’t talk to her an let her walk away… I wasn’t sure she was who I thought she was, but she certainly looked like…
I deeply do regret not, at least, yelling at her her name, a emotional response of this kind from my part, even if it’s histrionic for the street or another similar unbecoming place, is what I will strive for from now.
The final annoyance, what should have been a celebration of a decade and a half trance (without counting from the years of the start) came out of the blue and not expecting it, I simply ran away from the situation.
The situation was awkward, it was in a crowded hospital and I missed the opportunity to sit in a free sit, beside her and talk to her…
The hard pain of having let an opportunity like that pass was what decided me to write this, to see how much damage in this sense I have been perpetrating on myself.
Conclusion
This can’t continue… I must make up my mind, that I don’t have all the time in the world to begin loving them and suffering for knowing them.At this moment I think that the pain I feel for them is enough; the suffering of not knowing them. Enough is enough is enough.
I will make my life a celebration of my loyalty to certain kinds of beauty, and not let any other opportunity like these pass. I will do my best to approach every female that I see, that I think was made for me to love her.
I don’t know what got into me since that day in 2002, in Kolkata. But is time I took some care of myself, they are pressuring me into responding to their beauty and I will oblige.
No comments:
Post a Comment