The Fall From Grace
Click to viewSo Rachel Smith fell during the evening gown segment. She crashed on her butt. It must be painful. But so what? She picked herself up with head up high, as if to say that there is nothing to be ashamed of, that shit does happen and one has to make the best of the situation.
I thought she did well in projecting the right kind of attitude to tell the world that mistakes, flaws, faults and imperfections are part and parcel of life. So we pick ourselves up from any fall from grace and re-affirm our status as legitimate players of life. We need no Mexicans booing, and neither do we need a slap of red across our cheeks for there are more important things to deal with than to ponder with bizarre wonder why we all fall down sometime.
And so I fell once, metaphorically of course, and was put down unapologetically by someone I held so dear (or so I thought). After the first ending, we got back together only to be swarmed with his expectations - that I had to concede defeat. Then came the second ending the very next day, and with that second ending came endless conversations I initiated to just understand the reason why. He got irritated. I turned psychotic (this is unfortunate but true - was no longer the logical and practical Virgo). And then a flurry of emotions before the final setting came to a halt with his kind gesture and words, "Can you handle it or not?" Of course in response to my decision to "be still on good terms". But alas, after two weeks into that decision, I realised how much I suffered because of his caustic remarks, his omnipotence, and by default, his evil incarnation of a 6-inch "park or empty building" sexual fantasy - all these set in motion through such gargantuan proportions that I fell even deeper into the abyss of despair.
And yet, I rose to the occasion still and declared myself silly. I held my head up high when in the midst of this perpetrator of injustice and his henchmen. I cursed at him quietly and wished him dead. Ah, how tragic life was then as I slumbered without sleeping and I thought without thinking. And two months later I realised how much I over-reacted. I still wished him dead. So much resentment and so much hatred, but not because of what he did at the moment but what he irrevocably committed himself to when that moment ended.
Two months of agony and voila, I'm up and about again only to reflect on this one person I'd meet in hell and laugh at myself silly (i) for turning psycho on him, (ii) for being ridiculed in ways I myself cannot imagine and (iii) for even initiating this ludicrous engagement with someone whose baggages are in excess, extending beyond my triple eyebags.