9th December 2016
One of my closest friends in college is the most frivolous girl I know. Let’s call her Funnybones. We’ve known each other for a meager six months, but we’ve become fast friends. While I am cautious and suppress my thoughts, she must tell everyone every little detail of her life. I would like to think of myself as her Fairy Godmother, guiding her in the right path and giving out sage advice.
On my drab rides to and from college, she enthralls me with the tales of her misadventures in all matterd, but particularly in the most important matter of the “Crush of the Week”. This is what I love about Funnybones: she doesn’t take anything seriously. I’m the kind to nurse a hidden love for years. Such a person needs spontaneous dance parties, writing song lyrics on the walls and funny stories about cheesy boys that only Funnybones can provide. For all her flirtatious escapades, Funnybones has a sensitive side. She writes the most beautiful poetry. She has a kind heart.
Finally arriving at the point of this blog post, I have always maintained that she has been hung up on one guy that she genuinely liked a year ago. She has bored me silly- er, I mean, entertained me- with stories about him, how she hurt him, and then he hurt her, his massive ego, and their final encounter. The underlying emotion to all of this was hurt and heartbreak.
So imagine my surprise when she informs me of her plans to snoop around his college, waiting for him, as she pretends to meet up with another friend. I advised her strongly against this. Nothing good could come of it. He would ignore her and break her heart, or talk to her, play mind games, string her along and eventually break her heart.
Knowing Funnybones, I knew that once she had made up her mind, nothing could change it. She said she missed their conversations. She had been having dreams about him. Yes, I know she is a Drama Queen. I won’t bore you with the details, but here is her version of the minutes of their meeting: he was hesitant, circled around the group, came up to her, made awkward conversation, hugged her, went across the street and stared at her as she was dressed fabulously for the monumental occasion.
Disregarding everything she said before the rendezvous, she is now obsessing over him and that makes it necessary for me to send her “YOU ARE A STRONG, INDEPENDENT WOMAN” memes. I am not one to judge. I have done worse, but that is a story for another day. This is just one instance, but it repeats like clockwork in the lives of every girl I know.
Are we masochists? Do we secretly love the pain? Do we thrive in the hot mess of heartache?
Oh, poor, unthinking human heart! Error will not go away, logic and reason fail to penetrate. We cling with both arms to false hope, refusing to believe the weightiest proofs against it, embracing it with all out strength. But in the end, it escapes, ripping our veins and draining our hearts blood. Until, regaining consciousness, we rush to fall into snares of delusion all over again.