They faced each other
Smiles so true and pure
Eyes full of compassion
Trust growing within.
They faced each other
Smiles reaching ears
Eyes crinkled in truth
Love seeping through.
They faced each other
Smiles just a shadow
Eyes boring into the other
Hatred reeking through.
They faced each other
Smiles set and fixed
Eyes wide in hope
Dupe in a handshake.
They faced each other
Smiles set as friends
Eyes reflecting past
Bittersweet in breakup.
“You may kiss.”
She kissed Fluffy.
I don’t much care for romance — well honestly, I hate romance.
I can’t bear to read through sensous words of love in which the boy and girl look into each other for exactly eight seconds before falling for each other. Remember this the 21st century and our protoganists are computer programmers and classical thinkers; statistics matter.
Why don’t heroes gatecrash parties anymore? And fall for the daughter of their sworn enemy? What’s wrong with falling in love with your first love’s cousin — when your first love didn’t reciprocate in the first place?
This is why I don’t read romance. Because it’s too primitive disguised as modern.
But since everyone from my mother to my brother and my cousins (which was all, actually) couldn’t shut up about Love Story, I decided to read it.
Don’t get me wrong; when I say Love Story, I mean the love story, by Erich Segal.
Unsurprisingly, I loved it. And something in it will stay with me forever.
What can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died?
That she was beautiful and brilliant
That she loved Mozart and Bach.
The Beatles. And me.
That made me read through the book, and that made me open my mind to romance. In novels, I mean.
English is a funny language. It’s not my first, and it certainly won’t be my last, but English, my dearest, you are one hell of a mess.
Well, English, how many languages have you borrowed from? Can you even count the number of foreign words you now call yours? But hey, we know that you didn’t steal any of it — I would never throw that on you. I love you, trust me.
But I don’t like some of the words you own. Like, for instance, the word “mentee.” I always considered it like one of those informal terms that corporate people dished out — a lot, mind you — just to sound high-profile. But this morning, I read an article about the signs of a good editor (like anyone knows that!), and I came across this word.
Mentee.
Yuck. Try saying that word aloud and slow. “Mentee.” The aftermath of the long ‘tee’ and the resonating sound of the ‘men’ (oops!) is detestable.
Of course where there’s a “mentee” there’s also a “mentor.” This, however, I can live with. I even daresay that I like the round “or” sound. It gives me the image of something wholesome and complete.
But the best thing about you — English — is that you are so changeable.
Is it just me? Or isn’t “ambidextrous” lovable?
Ambidextrous is beautiful. And why wouldn’t it be, it’s a talent after all! It’s attractive too. But the word, “ambidextrous” is beautiful in itself. “Dexter” — that’s right, and “dextrous” — that’s neat. I’m “bi” — two in character or ability. “Ambidextrous” — so much depth in one word. Oh dear, English, how could you contain so much technicality and also host a word like “mentee”?
Again, mentee! How can I relate that to mental or mentality? Has it got anything to do with men or tee-shirts? Isn’t that a little male chauvinistic?
Perhaps I’m thinking too much. Perhaps I should just indulge in my ganache filled brownie.
Oh, how good that sounds!
Ganache! Every syllable rings of rich chocolate and butter and all things indulgent. And not to forget, French!
Oh English, I can’t describe the way you make me feel. The way you swirl in my mouth, and the way you make me sound — sometimes dextrous, sometimes ganache-like. But most times, you just make me sound meh!
Guess it’s the caffeine
That acts like morphine –
You’re calm as a pup
Once you’ve had your cup.
The Chaos Within 