Boys, Girls, and Chances

Not in all, but undeniably in most relationships, there's this chunk of time called period of infidelity - a word, which literally sounds beautiful, but whose meaning's never been in any way pleasing. It's been there like a curse cast to bring love to damnation. Amen to this scary intangible thing, yes. It could rob anyone of his or her faith, trust, love, and innocence.

Yet, something must have been left to make people reconsider, forgive, and forget like nothing happened. And there are three possibilities as to what happens next.

First, there must be a reason to save the relationship. Second, there would be a way to save the relationship. Third, there could be a chance to save the relationship.

A chance, there could be. Or two. Or three. The fourth would be what enormous effort...and risk. Suicide, they call it.

I'm no pure feminist but let me lay the limelight on my gender, and on the more common situation. If for example, a boy cheats on a girl, what could chances mean?

• If the girl considers a third chance after having been cheated for the second time, she is crazy for the boy. For cases like this, I force myself to believe in this "crazy little thing called love" or this "crazy, stupid love". But no, it's not about the last word. A third chance is just crazy...and stupid.
• If she considers a second chance after being cheated once, she loves the boy. Maybe she believes in second chances, and in "love is sweeter the second time around", and in "one more chance". It's crazy. Okay, not that stupid.
• If she doesn't consider a chance, she loves herself. It ain't crazy; ain't stupid. Just an unforgiving sanity.

Simply something like that. So how many chances would you spare?

Step 1: Wordplay

Because there are things not even your smarts could understand. Not without a pen and a paper, or a screen and a keyboard. Not without the wordplay.

There are times when you want to elaborate, but you couldn't without the wordplay. And there are times when you want to feel for everyone and everything, but only if you've done the wordplay.

Not with your friends, nor your best friend. Not even with someone special. Because you just want to do the repartee and the punning with yourself; because there's this language only you yourself understand.

Then, you find a pen and a paper...or your diary. Or log into a blog account. Scribble. Doodle. Tickle the keys.

It's not that you don't want to talk with other people, and share. It's not that you're too private a person. Well, it could be.

I don't know.

As for me, I write because there are things I don't understand. I write because I want to understand. And the first step to it (as I believe so) is "simply" talking to myself. Simply, the wordplay.

"You happy? Yeah, scary. Scary? You know, happy beginnings. They're cliches. So what? D'you really have to care about how you started? People say... Ain't about what they say. Right. So, you love him? Next question. Whaaat? Not now, please. Besides, do you really need to ask that? Yes. No, you don't. Oh, yes, you love him now. Be careful what you believe in, baby. I might believe so too."

Forbidden Note

I'm happy, and I know why.

And yes, I know it's cliche for a start, but this is too real, too guiltless to be denied. I'm yet another love-crazed human being, again engaged into believing all the wonders of this something amazing. Maybe it's scary but it's worth the tell. And it's worth all the smiles I can wear.

Fate is not mine to decide on. Not ours. But as someone who praises the stories of time, I'll let time tell...and just live at the moment. Live at the moment, unmindful of what's next, and like nothing has to end.

Because nothing has to end, if you believe so, too. But I'm not asking for forever, because it might not be enough in the first place.

But if you stay, then I'll thank God every day.