The immortality of my many melodramatic hearts

Melodramatic emotions are glorious! When the melodramatic mind spews out art, it often demands the world’s attention. You take the pain away and creativity seriously lacks lustre. Some of the most beautiful music/stories/movies are the products of some really broken, depressed, hurting souls. The masochist within my mind craves mental pain, just so I can truly appreciate the life I get to live. Like someone on the outside looking in, I wonder how people who do not crave pain, the ones who run from pain, feel fulfilled, feel anything? Surely, “chill” cannot be the default state of the human condition, rather it is “anxiety”. A life where everything runs smooth is a boring life to me. Pain brings struggle and an eventual fight against the inner/outer demons that must be conquered, just to feel the rush of life. As someone who has enjoyed facing uncomfortable, unpredictable and difficult situations all my life, I secretly enjoy heartbreaks. My biggest fear in life is to lose the ability to string melodramatic words together to express my emotions. Heartbreaks are sickly comforting.

Listening to Eminem (obv the most dramatic poet of our times!) got me thinking about the many “careless” men I have met and the range of complex feelings they have made me feel.

I could never bring myself to understand the pop-culture manual my friends prescribe and go on a revenge spree. Revenge is not in my nature. The breaking someone’s wind screen with a Louisville slugger and slashing tyres type of situations are only OK in a song. The tens/hundreds of instances when I could have gone on a loser’s quest to seek revenge(s) upon the “careless” dudes, I spent them raging within my own mind, blood rising, often in depression, often on an empty stomach, just unable to comprehend why people do not see other people as humans? In my never-ending journey to make sense of human behaviour, I often also experienced irrational ecstasy because every heartbreak brought me closer to something bigger, greater- my life purpose. Every broken heart opened my life in unexpected ways, bringing me the most brilliant rewards in other areas of my life, introducing me to incredible knowledgeable humans. May be it has been a series of fortunate coincidences or may be some multi-dimensional simulation overlord is rooting for me, but if I was given a choice, I would choose a life with heartbreaks. In some ways, it reminds me of the erratic madness in the movie “Close encounters of the third kind”, there is something so familiar, beautiful and maddening about discomfort that like Roy, I want to start chucking all sorts of things, trash, plants to create a monumental something.

Heartbreak is something many girl friends of mine do not like to admit has happened to them, my guy friends on the other hand will openly admit to it. I wonder if it is an ego thing with women? Like having a broken heart = you being unattractive? I’m not sure why anyone should feel ashamed of somebody else’s actions. If you think you are dope af, you are dope af regardless of whether someone thinks that or not. There is some form of embarrassment attached to heartbreaks. Somehow it is OK to cry when you are hurting physically but not when it is emotional/mental? You are expected to “just deal with it and move on” within an estimated time-frame devised by others around you. You are expected to HATE and do a bunch of nonsensical stereotypical crap. As much as the savage me would enjoy ripping hearts out with my own teeth, my stubborn mind has always refused to pay attention to the voices around me. Doing nothing is sometimes the most powerful thing one can do.

From a different, poetic point of view, like the kind I develop when I think about the immortality of cockroaches and how long these ugly ass fabulous mofos have been around, heartbreaks seem immortal to me. The engineering of heartbreaks is as awesome as that of cockroaches. The way cockroaches are essential to the eco-system, heartbreaks are essential for the human system. Broken hearts have been around since our minds began experiencing cognition. There are a hundred thousand write ups on the Internet alone on how to deal with a broken hearts along with a gazillion books/poems/songs/movies/art works from ancient times till now. Heartbreaks are immortal. Heartbreaks are essential. Heartbreaks are ugly ass cockroaches. As long as we live, we are going to experience heartbreaks in our relationships (romantic or other). Making peace with the heartbreak is sometimes a better strategy than refusing to acknowledge it or covering it with other addictions. Pain operates in obscurity, like a shadow it seeps into different parts of your life, affecting our ability to make rational decisions.

As a (creepy) people behaviour observer, I know for certain that the advices we receive from others on how to deal with our broken hearts, aren’t exactly something the advice givers would even follow themselves. Today, I had a brilliant reflection on my many broken hearts. I thought of the hearts of the 10, may be 15 odd other women that the “careless” boys broke along the way and the other 10, maybe 15-30 odd other hearts they are going to break in the future. As empowering as that thought is because women are often pitted against each other, it also makes me sad for humanity and most importantly, it makes me sad for the “careless” humans who struggle with kindness because they are probably suffering from a heartbreak that is far more melodramatic than mine.

This is a beautiful meditation to send love to difficult/challenging or even teddy bear humans in your life.

Eminem, just because Eminem is boss-nuff said…

Finally, Close Encounters of the Third Kind- tones!

Source for the beautiful actual-heart cake: Foodiggity


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