The Write Thing

Before I continue with this post, I want to publicly thank for an award, my first, recently given to me. As stipulated in the conditions issued to the winners, I am now in the process of selecting ten blogs that I consider deserving of the same award I received. It is this phase of the aftermath to my honorable gift that has so far stopped me from acknowledging the award as I should have. In view of this, and despite my partial compliance with my share of the deal, I would like to express my gratefulness to my fellow blogger, Miss Fiamma, for including me as one of her choices, and publicly state that I will be paying my dues on this choice in full very soon, on the pages of this blog.

Having relieved myself of a self-conscious feeling of irresponsibility vis-à-vis a gift that I can only marvel at and be thankful for, I now proceed to post my entry of today.

This morning I spoke to my ex-girlfriend, for the first time since we parted ways two years ago, about the person I am deeply in love with. I said it finally, after a couple of months of pondering. As I spoke, part of me poured out in the retelling of my new feelings, while another side exercised a form of restraint, as in an Edith Wharton novel, perhaps in an effort to say just enough.

It is good to tell the truth, when the truth is palpable. It is better to tell the truth with the best possible words, those that do not hurt but communicate. And it is even better to live by the truth we know for a fact, because it may be there for a purpose.

Another cycle has in a way ended now. I have always said that lesbian ex-girlfriends never really become your friend but something else, undefined, oftentimes confused with some form of friendship. There is a certain affection, because something brought you together in the first place, and there is also the sea of differences that set you apart. And then, after a while, if you have remained close in some way, there is that brief instant, before you speak, when the truth still lingers behind the curtain, waiting to go out into the scene and feel itself in motion, as an actor does. You do not know what your audience’s reaction will be, but you certainly hope they will at least understand what you want to communicate. If the reaction is good, it means that they do.

Today my audience understood, and I am glad I told my truth.

After extensive pondering on the issue, I have come to the conclusion that dogs are better off than man. Hence, I would seriously suggest that the whole association of a “dog’s life” to a life of suffering and pain should be revised, if not altogether discontinued. Although research should be further pursued in this matter, I believe I am in a comfortable position to say that dogs in most cases have a much better life than man in today’s world.

But why am I saying this? Well, since the world changes in subtle ways, I must confess it took me a while to realize that the order of things was indeed being altered. Quite a few years ago, I would have definitely thought that dogs were sometimes very poor creatures misunderstood by their masters and in some cases exposed to the worst of mankind. Some of them still are, but the same could be said of man. Is a dog, for example, worse off than a homeless child?

However, I do not only think in extremes. In fact, I can simply think of how we travel in today’s world to realize that dogs can travel more easily than human beings. First of all, in today’s post-2001 world, traveling everywhere requires an inordinate amount of paperwork for the average homo erectus. Think of the required health insurance, passport, visa, statements declaring that you have no intention to overextend your stay and that there are sufficient funds on your bank account to finance your orgies in foreign lands. Now, what is requested of a dog if he wants to cross the Schengen’s frontier or simply be granted permanent residence in the US? Vaccines, and perhaps a couple of bureaucratic forms. Probably there will be no record of his digital paw prints, and he will not have to answer uncomfortable questions from immigration officials. Mind you…that dog will have easier access into foreign land than you ever will…and he will be able to stay forever.

Now, let’s go to the most interesting part of the analysis…the lesbian component. I think that lesbians in general are more likely to have a long-term relationship with their dogs than with a potential partner. Several factors here should be considered. First, dogs have a short life by human standards, which simplifies things…and, of course, it is always easier and more glamorous to remember a dead loved one than a living one. Second, dogs tend to be more accommodating to anything their owner would want, which saves you the hassle of typical marital arguments — of course, because dogs don’t speak.

In conclusion, provided that you can put up with the occasional barking, some questioning of your dominance, and the routine of a couple of daily walks, you should definitely fall in love with a dog. Mind you, I have fallen in love with a human being residing thousands of miles away, and getting anywhere near each other is laborious, so I really know what I am talking about. My dear friend, get yourself a dog now…it is not too late

The year is unfolding in surprising ways. Where I expected continuance, I am now seeing sad but necessary closure, by marriage, distance, or both. Where I expected briefness, I am now seeing the inevitable development of a relationship. I bet the gods are amused at the dice they cast. I thought I knew, I thought I was wise. Until recently, I even claimed to have an instinct, an ancestral memory that rarely failed. To my disappointment and, in a way, to my relief, it does fail, and the truth now dawns on me. I have to come to terms with the fact that there is a day-by-day quality to whatever we do, despite the long-term frameworks in which we technically see things. I am caught in the certainty of uncertainty, and I’d better like it, or else I’ll have to contend with my own ghost when fate decides for me.

However, no matter how much life insists on contradicting my instinct, I cannot help seeing it in action again. Perhaps that is why, one afternoon in a day of recognition and lovemaking, ages ago in a dreamy Mexican town, I turned around in bed, held her hand in mine around my waist, and without looking at her I said: “I have this sense of…arrival with you”. If I am home or not, or if the gods are just fooling around with me again, I will claim not to know. I will breathe in deeply, count my blessings and hope that my instinct is right.