My dad told me a story once that there was a man who spent his whole life looking for the philosopher’s stone. A stone that could turn anything into gold. He became old and frail. A monk, who felt pity for him, told him to look for the stone on a certain path near the monastery. The priest said, “Carry a stone with you and touch every stone on this path to the stone in your hand. Whichever stone turns it to gold, is yours to take. I don’t have much to give you, but have some food and drink the refreshing water from my well before you leave. ” he said, as he motioned to the well behind him.
The old man was so happy that he finally had found his treasure, he dismissed the monk’s suggestion and started on his journey. He labored all day and night. Nothing happened. Another day came and another day went. Another day came and another day went. Days turned into nights and nights into day and finally, the path circled back to the monastery. The Old man threw the stone at the monk’s feet and said “You lied to me. There’s no stone like the philosopher’s stone”
Much to his surprise, the monk picked up the stone and showed him the back side. It had turned to gold. Only, it hadn’t touched philosopher’s stone long enough to turn to gold completely. The monk then said, “You found the stone and threw it back.” He then proceeded to throw the stone in the well behind him. The old man rushed to save his stone but only witnessed the golden stone fall deep into the abyss that had millions of other stones, half gold, half stone. The monk came up from behind the weeping man and said “You’re a jackass and a first grade idiot…”
Okay, he didn’t say that. But he meant it. Much like the old man, WE ALSO ARE IDIOTS.
As someone who has been madly in love twice in their life, I think I have some authority over the subject. We’re looking for fairy tales. We’re looking for SPARKS. We’re looking for some shit that advertising agencies developed to sell lip-gloss, fairness creams and even bloody sanitary pads, that’s what that fucking spark is.
What the fuck are we looking for ? Are we looking for guys who are hot and sexy with bodies like Hugh Jackman and Chris Hemsworth ? Are we looking for smoking hot women with bodies like Scarlett Johansson and Salma Hayek ? Are we ? Are we looking for Michael Schumaker or Lenny Kravitz or ? Are you worthy of them ? Ok, fine, we’re looking for them. And maybe we find them. Maybe we find, Chris Hemsworth repairing a tyre in a garage or we find Scarlett Johansson enjoying a wada pav at churchgate station and you start dating them. For fuck’s sake, just take an example.
But then what ? Chris Hemsworth starts talking about the flora and fauna indigenous to Australia. Do you fucking walk away saying there’s no spark ? He’s Chris Hemsworth. He can bloody tell you about the bacterial lining in his small intestine and you’ll still sit and listen. And maybe Scarlett Johansson starts telling you about her first period, but you still listen to her. Or would you walk away like a first class moron saying “I cant take this anymore, there’s no spark left”
This happened to me. I found someone who was perfect. In a world of 4’s and 5’s they were a 10. Solid ten. Smart, cute, funny and man ! So ! easy ! on ! the ! eyes ! And I began falling in love. This crazy, insane, all consuming love. The madness gripped me tighter and tighter. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I couldn’t stop talking about him. And every day, I wanted to see him. The madness only grew as I saw how generous, courteous and charming this man was. From holding car doors to pulling out chairs, from holding my hand while I walked to hugging me when he dropped me home. I cried some nights because I missed him so much.
Months went by, and without even knowing, a year passed. Another year passed. In the third year, life became tough. Tougher than we imagined. Near Fatal accidents, family pressures and some crap that didn’t need to affect us but did anyway. The glances faded, the stolen smiles, the hand holding, the hugs died out. We barely met. We finally decided to call it quits. And we did…
We kept away from each other for a year which needless to say was a really painful period for both of us. But required. Nonetheless. I would meet his friend and he would meet my friend and we would talk about each other to the whole world but never talked to each other. I remember telling my best friend, “There’s no spark left. He’s not the same good looking guy he used to be. He’s sloppy, he’s careless, he says hurtful things. He’s changed too much for me to be with him.”
There was no hatred, just a lot of pain. But hey, I don’t have to tell you guys what the pain was like. I mean, everyone has had that in their life. Everyone has been to Heartbreak Boulevard and Longing Island. The grief was enough to let me plunge into depression. I had gained 20 kilos, lost one third of my hair. No decent clothes fit me now. I looked like a complete slob. I didn’t even bother to wash my face.
After sufficient coaxing, an old friend invited me and asked me to come to his house for some random function. I wore the first shitty Tshirt I found and just went. I made pretty sure that my ex wasn’t coming to the party.
They say fate is what happens to you when you are on a path trying to avoid what you think will happen. Destiny has a cruel sense of humor.
Of course he was there !
Of course he looked glorious.
Of course he noticed me.
And of course, he came to speak to me.
I could barely say anything more than “Hmmmm “and smile half-heartedly. I went home with a pit in my stomach. I couldn’t eat or sleep or even think of anything else.
To my surprise, I saw a message from him. It said “You weren’t looking good today.”
The pit in my stomach grew deeper by the minute. He’s such a vengeful person. I could have pointed out to his pathetic sense of style. I could have pointed out his asymmetrical nose. I could have pointed out his top button was a different colour from his other buttons. But I didn’t ! Did I ?
And I did. I wrote back, “You were looking horrible yourself. You looked like a shitty 3rd grade movie hero with your stupid shirt that has a different coloured button by the way. You should look into that. Maybe buy a stupid button of the same colour. You’ll stop looking so stupid then. I know I have gained weight and shit and I was wearing a baggy grey tshirt but I really don’t care. Especially not for your opinion ” I clearly had some baggage from this relationship.
After I hit SEND, I felt the rage in me subside. Ahhhh revenge. It seems so satisfying. At least externally.
Much later in the night, my phone beeped “Hey, I’m sorry. I got busy with something. I can’t use fancy words. I am not as good with English as you are. I’m sorry I think I said it the wrong way. I didn’t mean to hurt you. When I was alone, I always pictured your smile. And always thought that you left because you were unhappy with me. I think of you when I need to be happy. We were madly in love and our relationship was the best period in my life. Granted, I acted like a fool. I should have been more understanding. But I think the time for that had passed. Whether you wear a Tshirt or a torn bedsheet, or you weigh two hundred kilos, it won’t matter to me. You looked gorgeous today and you always will. If you ever need a friend, I’ll be here. That shirt is a new young brand. I thought I’d try something smart, like you had suggested.”
And I rushed to save my stone but only witnessed the golden stone fall deep into the abyss that had millions of other stones, half gold, half stone.
After every argument, after every fight, if you can find it within you, to go back and apologize, regardless the fault. If you can hold each other without any malice in your heart. If you can forgive and forget what happened and concentrate on the future. If you tend to fall asleep when the other person talks about work or friends or any other fucking crap, it’s alright. If you feel like you don’t want to stay with this dull boring person anymore, its alright. But if you tear up at the thought of them leaving, YOU FUCKING HAVE THAT SPARK. Its nothing more than that. No rose petals, No fucking violins, No idiotic naked flying babies shooting arrows. This is not fucking HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER.
Hold on to your philosopher’s stone, as tightly as you can…because when the spell is complete, you’d rather be holding onto a golden stone than staring at it from hundreds of feet away. Get off your fat ass and go kiss them now !
P.S : You can totally tag ‘the one that got away’ here. If that attempt succeeds, write to me at firstname.lastname@example.org