The Absurdities of Humanness

Even after all these tumultuous years on the planet, what never fails to amaze me is how we humans hopscotch our way through life, one tumble at a time, all the while believing our loved ones to be invincible. Indestructible.

 

We pick fights over the most mundane of things. Who left the towel on the bed. Who stole the last jar of Nutella. Whose turn it was to clean the hair out of the drain. Who loves the other one more.

 

We swallow our pride with three huge gulps and hug them goodbye. In the few moments when we’re all squished up together, lungs heaving in unison and fingers digging into each others’ souls, we try to fit in several infinities. We breathe in each and every single one of their gorgeous flaws and bundle them up into the safest corners of our radioactive minds. We suck their scent in and tuck it away in our windpipes.

 

We sit on our sofas when they’re away, and make an unending mental list of all the possible things that could go wrong. Accidents. Hijackings. Kidnappings. Tsunamis. Rabid mongoose attacks. Meteorites.

 

We think and we think and we think some more until we’re a raw tangled mess of quivering nerves and frayed breaths and bruised eyelashes, still trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Putting the kettle on. Casually hyperventilating over our own torturous imaginations and crossing our fingers until they beg for mercy.

 

And just as we’re about to screw all pretenses, goddamnit, and fantastically lose our shit; just when we’ve reached a trembling hand towards the unthinkable possibility that we might just never get to feel their whispers on our skin ever again—there’s a knock at the door.

 

We trip over our tangled limbs and throw the door open and then we throw ourselves into their arms and try to burrow our way into their very being, try to soak in every heavenly drop of their bittersweet essence, until we feel safe again. Until we’re home.

 

Until nineteen minutes later, there’s a wet towel on our favourite bedspread again.

 

We quarrel, we argue, we scratch, bite and claw each others’ hearts out. And then gently patch the throbbing bits up with some spit and kisses, and hand them back to each other with sheepish grins.

 

Not once do we realize that the ones we love are mere mortals. Fragile flesh figures, stuffed with a few ticking organs and overpowering souls.

 

Not once do we even come close to accepting the fact that the crimson blood that gushes through their veins will come to a shuddering halt one day, and the light in their eyes will stop brightening our own.

 

Not once do we understand that the proud labels we’ve stuck on our people will fade and fall off one day, and that they won’t float in our orbits forever.

 

To laugh at our ridiculous attempts at life. To teach us invaluable lessons through their ridiculous attempts at life. To explain the mating rituals of ladybirds to us in painstaking detail (diagrams included). To binge on badly-made Maggi all night long until our stomachs are full and our hearts even fuller.

 

We stubbornly refuse to comprehend that one day, they’ll be dashing through bright green fields with us, guffawing until our bodies turn into earthquakes of glee, and then, all at once, they’ll smile at us. That smile which melts into our soul like liquid sunshine and infuses our entire beings with a sense of sheer joy. A sense of utmost content in our beautifully broken humanness.

 

And then, as the sun collapses into the sky, splattering its glorious essence all over the eager horizon, your person, too, shall collapse. Splattering their incandescence all over your craving body, until they have been absorbed by every pore of you, every tiny nook and cranny you possess.

 

Until they’re IN you, right up to that cathartic moment when you yourself splatter all over someone else.

 

But no. None of us have got the time for this realistic nonsense, have we?

 

And so we strangle our rationality and keep right on believing that bad things only happen to people on the T.V. and newspapers and that our sheer strength of blind conviction will forever defend our own from all harm.

 

We keep breaking people and resuscitating them and then shattering them all over again, reveling in the breathtaking destruction and craving for more every damn day.

 

We love them as if the fire in their eyes is infinite.

 

And maybe that is what makes us so infallibly human.

 

In our powerfully absurd ability to love people like they’re immortal, we somehow end up immortalizing them.

 


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