Crazy in love...

or just plain crazy?

somehow - today feels like the latter.

--:::---
A sweetly melodic voice, amidst the collective noise of the everyday, infiltrates my childhood memories. It haunts me. I was never one for fairytale romances or traditionalist affairs - and yet, before I waltzed into adulthood, I too was privy to the thoughts of lil’ girls as explained by big ones.

‘Sugar and spice and everything nice’ – that’s how it all began. Those were the magic words that flung open a Pandora’s box of estrogenized dreams.

Helllooo pink ribbons and frilly frocks.

It was something my grandma used to constantly say while chunky little me hid behind headboards, on balcony’s and voraciously devoured inappropriate reading material. I think I was 4 when i cracked open my first harlequin (my Lit professor of a grandmother was quite the fan of verbal naughtiness) and while I didn't quite grasp the literal translations...i got the gist.

There was something that these girls made of sugar and spice and everything nice looked forward to as they aged - gracefully or otherwise. An inexplicable feeling that involved another person – another person preferably of the opposite sex. Bedtime stories of white knights and happily ever afters ended as I trod into the world of adult romance. And she used to reassure me that one day - he would arrive – my version of a knight on a brazen horse- and I would be crazy in love.

Quite frankly, I thought her to be quite crazy.

Crazy in love? Or crazy because of love?
Gosh, what did that mean to a five year old?
What did that even mean to a 52 year old? A woman who had created her romantic fantasies in her cerebrum while living a poor imitation of them in her reality. I couldn't project at 5. I didn't realize that once upon a time ( a long long long time ago ) she too was much like me. Young, hungry and unaffected by this thing called love.

Ahh...to be but on that plump lap bouncing with joy to the cadence of sunsets in sri lanka. I would give an arm, a leg and possibly half a torso to relive those moments. Perfection. Ironic isn't it? I barely knew what perfection meant and I was living it. These days, these days are a far cry from those yesteryears - where life was simple, easy and pure as newborn pudgesicles.

--
why the reminiscing? today for the first time, i sat down all by my lonesome to embark on those first steps towards planning a multi-cultural, bi-religious, dual-ethnic wedding. A wedding that would have painted joy in autumn colours on my grandma's face.

I look like her you know. R looks like mom. And lil R looks like my dads mom. But only I - of all our cousins made of the same dirt - only I resemble her. Just me. One in a sea of 6, in an ocean of countless faces - i look in the mirror and i see her. Yet, I can't even remember what she'd want for my wedding. And this pains me to no end. Searching for something more profound, I'm trying to turn back the hands of my memories but sadly to no avail.

It feels incomplete. Today, I felt incomplete. I missed her. I missed her hand stroking my hair, urging me to knot the end of her dupatta, reminding me to make a wish as the sun set, reveling in my newest imaginary adventure and assuring me that one day - prince charming will arrive - even for rambunctious me.

Funny, guess the memo didn’t make it all the way to adulthood. Perhaps we should’ve made the same wish with an identical knot at every sun set. Because sure - Prince charming came. And left. Then his brother rolled by. Followed by cousins, distant relatives, friends, acquaintances and heck, even neighbors. And yet - all those experiments and not one of them were ‘for me’. I seem to have sampled everyone’s prince charming and still hadn’t stumbled on the one earmarked with a ‘j’.

Except for this one guy that I initially didn’t even fathom in that capacity.

I wish she had met Mikey. I wish she had gotten a chance to read him by first glance. To have looked him up and down and assessed his self worth and his intentions by a simple smile. I wish she could tell me what I should be looking out for, educating me as I embark on this process, and making sure that I don't discount any traditions - cultural or familial.

My folks are waaay too easy going. I know, I’m a nutcase for complaining. But honestly, they don't care about rusty ole traditions that creek in annoyance and disturb the peace. They're trying not to be intrusive. Trying to let me garnish this wedding with my own personality...and honestly, i hate it.

I wish they would storm in and tell me what needs to be done (fear. sloth. or both?)She would've. The one who introduced me to words, who taught me how to extend my own boundaries, to have opinions and voice them as such - she wouldn't have watched out for my contemporary visions or feelings. Straight or sugar coated : that was her motto – if it was the latter, you were shit out of luck because even her sugar came with a tinge of screw face inducing sour.

And today i needed that. I needed someone who had a vision in their minds eye - i needed her jasmine scented skin comfortably resting on mine.

--
this post probably makes no sense at all to the average person - my apologies. it was waiting to be purged - unedited, unrevised, uncrafted. While it shames the writer in me – this nervously twitching rhetoric calms my irrational fear of the unknown. A whole lot of question marks exist between these lines and breathe between the spaces of these words.

Periods don’t just end sentences they act as springboards for new ones. Sleep is a necessity and perhaps with it – tranquility will arrive. Neatly packaged and organized. I pray for it to take the place of illogically placed thoughts born of childhood logic - a puzzle that I’m certain to struggle with until it’s released into book form.

Such is the art of being…me.

--:::---

See, i told you. Not crazy in love my dearies - just plain ole "certifiably" crazy.