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What is the point in categorizing affiliations? Why do we so eagerly differentiate between friendships and love affairs; between partnerships and associations?
Categorizing only serves to create expectations, which in turn are the root of all disappointment. Of course, life as we know it can never be fully deprived of expectations, or disappointments for that matter; our little illusionary bubbles of predictability and the thorns that pop them.
Nevertheless, when it comes down to human interactions, this insistence serves only to limit the possibility of growth and deprive its agents of free will to such an extent that it really does feel like all we do is act our parts in a pre-scripted play.
Is it humanly possible, then, to simply let go?
The only way to allow the nature of affiliations to take its course is by not having a preconceived idea as to the preferred course our own lives should take; by allowing the present to dictate the future rather than the other way around.
That sounds simple enough.
But is it?
Three years went by, and though you kept writing to one another; sharing in each other’s lives, you always seemed to end up being continents apart. She would phone you long distance once in a while, and that’s how you know that she still has feelings for you. You’d always invite her to join you on your various escapades, and that’s how you also know that those kinds of feelings just ain’t enough.
Finally, you decided that the time was right for broadening your formal education, journeyed back from the Far East and enlisted in an easy going college back home. With a whole ‘temperate’ summer in theory and bloody hot one in practice standing between you and the start of the upcoming semester, you decided to flee to Europe, where summers are a celebration rather than a burden.
And fortune happened to favor the pragmatic that season, as she just happened to be traveling to Bulgaria for the yearly European Rainbow Festival, which just happens to be on route from Turkey to your Northern Greek destination. And when fortune throws you such a bone, you’ll be a son of a bitch if you ain’t gonna grab it.
Traveling by train and bus, you make it to the foot of the Rhodope Mountains, armed with longings yet disarmed of expectations. Three years are a long time, with enough lovers in its passing to completely change the nature of your affiliation.
Following a jolly bunch of hippies, you ascend the steep mountain. Carried away by the spirit of mutuality and the festivity of the season, you even occasionally land the weaker links a hand by carrying their heavy loads for them.
By the time you reach the top of the mountain, the sun has already begun to set over the plateau, covered in spring bud green and sprinkled with flowers of every imaginable color and tents of every possible shade. In the center of this enchanting rainbow stands a tall teepee, and beside it, a food circle is already forming.
Famished after the long hike, you join the circle, and remain famished for about half an hour more of customary chanting and mantring, which adds to the gratitude you feel upon finally receiving a plate of hearty vegetarian cuisine.
When everyone is fed, the music starts, with a multitude of drums keeping the rhythm flowing and an aboriginal contribution to the world of music vibrating in low, booming surges, which quickly penetrate even the most skeptic of hearts. In the glow of a huge campfire, people of all cultures and races take to dancing, while you stroll among the barefooted, bare-breasted spirits, exchanging heartfelt smiles and dodging swinging dreadlocks, in search of your Polish flower.
Of all the worldviews known to you, the so-called hippie one is also the one you can relate to the most, yet deep down in your heart you know that you shall forever remain on its outskirts. Being a certified hippie is like joining a cult; involving too much symbolism and too many tailor-made customs for you to ever wish to dive into its main stream.
Cold and tired, you finally give up the quest for your heart’s darling and drift into the cozy teepee, where the weary ones are gathered around the bonfire.
“You might not be a hippie,” you think to yourself, “but you damn well live the ideals, and then some. For you carry on living the ideals even once the festival ends and it’s time to return to ‘real’ life.”
Feeling ever so blissful for simply being in this kind of open and trusting environment, your body finally slides closer to mother earth, as you let your spine rest against the soft back of the person sitting right behind you.
“Hope you don’t mind,” you whisper sweetly.
“Not at all, kwiatek,” replies a beautiful, familiar voice.
Over the next several days, you shall know so much pleasure, in the company of a girl who was once utterly in love with you; in the arms of a woman who overcame her youthful infatuation. You shall learn of the enchanted love she had in her heart for you all these years and of the disenchanted one she still holds on to.
Over the next several years, you shall strengthen the bond between your hearts and souls, to the extent that her news of a partner and a pregnancy shall pinch your heart with something resembling regret; regret for a path rejected and the future it might have held.
Over time, you shall also learn to fully appreciate the roll the two you have played in each other’s lives and the dichotomously different courses these lives have taken.
“That,” you still reckon, “was simply the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
What is the point in categorizing affiliations? Why do we so eagerly differentiate between friendships and love affairs; between partnerships and associations?
Categorizing only serves to create expectations, which in turn are the root of all disappointment. Of course, life as we know it can never be fully deprived of expectations, or disappointments for that matter; our little illusionary bubbles of predictability and the thorns that pop them.
Nevertheless, when it comes down to human interactions, this insistence serves only to limit the possibility of growth and deprive its agents of free will to such an extent that it really does feel like all we do is act our parts in a pre-scripted play.
Is it humanly possible, then, to simply let go?
The only way to allow the nature of affiliations to take its course is by not having a preconceived idea as to the preferred course our own lives should take; by allowing the present to dictate the future rather than the other way around.
That sounds simple enough.
But is it?
Three years went by, and though you kept writing to one another; sharing in each other’s lives, you always seemed to end up being continents apart. She would phone you long distance once in a while, and that’s how you know that she still has feelings for you. You’d always invite her to join you on your various escapades, and that’s how you also know that those kinds of feelings just ain’t enough.
Finally, you decided that the time was right for broadening your formal education, journeyed back from the Far East and enlisted in an easy going college back home. With a whole ‘temperate’ summer in theory and bloody hot one in practice standing between you and the start of the upcoming semester, you decided to flee to Europe, where summers are a celebration rather than a burden.
And fortune happened to favor the pragmatic that season, as she just happened to be traveling to Bulgaria for the yearly European Rainbow Festival, which just happens to be on route from Turkey to your Northern Greek destination. And when fortune throws you such a bone, you’ll be a son of a bitch if you ain’t gonna grab it.
Traveling by train and bus, you make it to the foot of the Rhodope Mountains, armed with longings yet disarmed of expectations. Three years are a long time, with enough lovers in its passing to completely change the nature of your affiliation.
Following a jolly bunch of hippies, you ascend the steep mountain. Carried away by the spirit of mutuality and the festivity of the season, you even occasionally land the weaker links a hand by carrying their heavy loads for them.
By the time you reach the top of the mountain, the sun has already begun to set over the plateau, covered in spring bud green and sprinkled with flowers of every imaginable color and tents of every possible shade. In the center of this enchanting rainbow stands a tall teepee, and beside it, a food circle is already forming.
Famished after the long hike, you join the circle, and remain famished for about half an hour more of customary chanting and mantring, which adds to the gratitude you feel upon finally receiving a plate of hearty vegetarian cuisine.
When everyone is fed, the music starts, with a multitude of drums keeping the rhythm flowing and an aboriginal contribution to the world of music vibrating in low, booming surges, which quickly penetrate even the most skeptic of hearts. In the glow of a huge campfire, people of all cultures and races take to dancing, while you stroll among the barefooted, bare-breasted spirits, exchanging heartfelt smiles and dodging swinging dreadlocks, in search of your Polish flower.
Of all the worldviews known to you, the so-called hippie one is also the one you can relate to the most, yet deep down in your heart you know that you shall forever remain on its outskirts. Being a certified hippie is like joining a cult; involving too much symbolism and too many tailor-made customs for you to ever wish to dive into its main stream.
Cold and tired, you finally give up the quest for your heart’s darling and drift into the cozy teepee, where the weary ones are gathered around the bonfire.
“You might not be a hippie,” you think to yourself, “but you damn well live the ideals, and then some. For you carry on living the ideals even once the festival ends and it’s time to return to ‘real’ life.”
Feeling ever so blissful for simply being in this kind of open and trusting environment, your body finally slides closer to mother earth, as you let your spine rest against the soft back of the person sitting right behind you.
“Hope you don’t mind,” you whisper sweetly.
“Not at all, kwiatek,” replies a beautiful, familiar voice.
Over the next several days, you shall know so much pleasure, in the company of a girl who was once utterly in love with you; in the arms of a woman who overcame her youthful infatuation. You shall learn of the enchanted love she had in her heart for you all these years and of the disenchanted one she still holds on to.
Over the next several years, you shall strengthen the bond between your hearts and souls, to the extent that her news of a partner and a pregnancy shall pinch your heart with something resembling regret; regret for a path rejected and the future it might have held.
Over time, you shall also learn to fully appreciate the roll the two you have played in each other’s lives and the dichotomously different courses these lives have taken.
“That,” you still reckon, “was simply the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”