Questa è Enida

It has been way over fifteen years now of knowing what I don’t want. I know it like I know the back of my hand. Veins, scars and all. I know it by touch and I know it by heart, by all means. I can and I have been telling myself what not to want. I have been living my life almost only by the don’t’s rules.

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But of late, I have been asking myself the opposite questions.

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What do I want? If I really know what I don’t want, do I know what I do want? And I discovered that the answers are not as simple as the opposite of what I don’t want. If I don’t want a man with long messy hair, it doesn’t mean that I want a bald guy. It is more complicated than that. Black is not always the opposite of white. It could be brown.

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So, yeah. I want one whose nails are neatly trimmed and cleaned. I know how it feels to be touched by a dirty hand. Or hands. I know that I can die if I am to be kissed by one who just had garlic bread with blue cheese. Or in a more Asian setting, by one who just had jengkol dipped in sambal tempoyak. Pardon me! I have nothing against jengkol, and I love sambal tempoyak to death. But kissing is a whole different dish, no matter what you just ate.

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And so, yeah. I want one whose eyes are on mine when I speak. Not on his iPhone, or Blackberry or even on my berries (love them berry earrings!) Eyes can go wonder and I can see that. But mind can do wonders, and I can see that too. I read a lot through body language. Especially now, after over fifteen years of reading, I can almost read the next page without even turning it.

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I want to be spoken to in a language not many have mastered. The language of which the grammar is tenderness, and the vocabulary is respect. The accent is, of course, love. But it is not always about love. Even those I don’t love, I speak to with respect. I would not imagine, then, that one who claims to love me would speak to me like an uninvited guest in his house. So speak to me tenderly.

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I want the one who loves me to want me like there is no one else he would ever want. While I can never be perfect or be everything that he wants, he must know, neither can he. The empty place between him and I in time and space is where God shall sit. Love is only lust if it is governed only by our ‘excuse’ for being human. If I love him and want nobody else (no buddy no buddy but Choo), then so shall he.

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I want to be with someone who knows himself well. For only those who do will be comfortable being alone with themselves. Only those who can reach into the abyssal depth of their soul are able to forgive themselves when they err. And don’t we all err? Unfortunately not all of us can forgive ourselves. Many of us kick our poor little selves. Some even kill. And the rest just make more or repeat the same mistakes. So I want to be with Tom as long as he knows he is Tom when he is with me and when he is alone. And not to confuse himself with Dick, or Harry at any given time.

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I want the one who loves me, most of all, to love me enough to make me his priority. While I know the difference between practicality and absurdity, and I know when to want what I want, I also know how it feels to feel important. And needed. And loved.

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The thing is… I don’t really want to want anyone right now.

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Uh… really?

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