Loving him was Rose Madder

If there was a color for me to draw an analogy to in loving him, I’d choose rose madder .What does Rose Madder represent? Love and hate at the same time, if you’d ask me.They say we aren’t good for each other, but we ain’t good for anyone either.

He was a very nice guy, if you’d ask me, again.I’m using the “very nice” term in my view of what’s being nice-which means he’s humorously sarcastic. Loving him had been like on an adventure,a roller coaster ride and he was always in a jolly mood, not caring about what happened in the world, even if life really sucks. He would bring me on random trips when he feels like it, he would watch the sunrise with me after blasting me off with swear words for having been on the road continuously for a few hours on our journey and eventually get so sick and tired of it. There were once when he decided to stop swearing, since I had picked up the habit with him and he didn’t like it. He would impose a restriction on us, telling me that whoever swears gets a fine-ten bucks it would be, and ended up paying a hundred bucks in a few days, finally removing the bet and raising up his hands, surrendering, saying, “Fack, you can say whatever you want now.” But I didn’t after that and he was pleased with it.

He would pat my head when I was sad, telling me everything’s gonna be all alright when he knew that nothing’s gonna change. He would give me his jacket when I was cold, or tuck my hand in the pocket of his jacket, and holding mine in his. When he was passionate about something, he would talk about it and go on and on and on till I couldn’t take it anymore and asked him to shut up.

“Hey” he would say as a conversation starter, a name for me, no dears, no honeys no love. I loved it when the sound of my name goes softly on his lips but I loved it more when he say hey, because it meant something special was going to happen.

He was cool, and we were wild and young and free back then, always enjoying each other’s company, not giving a damn about how people viewed us with tinted glasses, through all those squabbling and fighting.All these little imperfections filled my life with him, full of him, with sheer bliss and happiness dotting the sidelines till he proposed the idea of the random (as usual) hide-and-seek game. He gave me a week. That week changed my life.

And now he’s gone. Forever.

Missing him was also madder rose. An addiction, an illness, a prayer that he would come back.

It’s too late now.

-Samantha

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“Hi, it’s Andrew here, I’m not available, please leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Andrew…Andrew…please tell me that this is a dream,I’m living in it now, everything’s gonna be alright when I wake up.” Samantha cried, as her knees gave way due to the sudden downpour, raindrops splattered as she spoke, harsh reality flooded her when she heard of the news. She wanted Andrew back, she wanted to play the game no longer, despite her efforts to find him, and it had been a futile attempt.

The rules of the game had been relatively simple. Andrew said he would literally disappear from the surface of the Earth, he was nowhere to be found, online, offline. Samantha plainly thought that it was just another game they played, and she was excited at the idea of it.

The last day of the week. And Samantha could not find Andrew.

She made her way back to the apartment after visiting the hospital,a call from the doctor told her the news that would change everything,and break the equilibrium she has been trying hard to maintain in her heart. She lay on the cool marble floor, covering her mouth with one hand and clutching her heart as she cried, muffled sounds came out from her mouth.

He knew it, he knew that this was going to happen, and yet he chose to bear everything by himself.

The doorbell rang. Not caring about how she looked, as she felt miserable and wretched, as if she had been yanked out of her world and into another, where things had gone awry, hell had broken loose and nothing is ever going to be the same again. Samantha opened the door.

Andrew. Or?

There was no mistaking it. Samantha recognized the brown puppy eyes she had stared into so often, and lost herself in, but the man did not look like Andrew. The handsome face that laughed heartily whenever a joke was cracked became a pale and tired-looking face. The brown eyes looked dull and wrinkled. The sandy brown hair she had loved playing with was messy, and he had not shaved. He looked as if he had aged for ten years.

“Are you Andrew?” Samantha asked slowly.

“Yes.” the man replied with a sad smile, as his eyes twinkled.

Without hesitation, Samantha gave Andrew the longest hug ever. It’s really him, Samantha thought. The smell of him, which she had always called the Andrew smell, the way she loved him putting his arms around her.

“You’re back.” tears flowed down her cheek.

“Yes.”He said softly.

Samantha had forgotten how nice it was to be with Andrew, how the warm fuzzy feeling always came over her in his embrace, now, everything had been reverted back to its original position. But what had happened to Andrew?

AFTER THREE MONTHS

“Hey Andrew, how are you today? Merry Christmas.” Samantha looked at the tomb. She is a changed woman now, she is no longer the wilful spoiled brat,the bubbly Samantha,the chatterbox. She is mature, but spoke less now.How surprising fate is, her life had changed drastically after Andrew proposed the idea of the game.

“Your love remains with me, I know.” Samantha looked at the sky and smiled.

In heaven, Andrew smiled too. He had returned to his handsome looks, like they say everything becomes beautiful when you’re in heaven. A place where no tears are shed, nobody is left behind, nothing that would break your heart. He had left the world fighting cancer, He was contented with life though he didn’t want to leave Samantha alone. But he knew she could manage. Life goes on. All was well.

When he’s gone, love remains.

Loving him was Rose Madder, and Samantha never regretted it.

Is being pretty everything?

“If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it.

A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.”
― Roald DahlThe Twits

Also, I am definitely inspired by the song by Korean singer Fat Cat which bears the title and subject of my post here-Is being pretty everything?

Yes and No.

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Some may be thinking,”Oh, something must have happened to her and thus this post” while others would think,”she’s just making a point, what’s the big deal?” Well, for the former     reason, I’d like to applaud on a case of typical human superficiality, which marks the reason for my Yes line of argument. People are attracted to pretty things, who doesn’t? Look at Barbie, which Barbie would you choose? Barbie with makeup or without?

No offense, Barbie. You look equally pretty BUT I WOULD PREFER YOU WITH MAKEUP.

1Moving to my next line of argument, not many would say No, I’m sure, but I do have a friend who have incessantly repeated this that he does not care about pretty appearances, what matters is the heart. I would agree too. Perception wise, it differs between men and women. In an article I read ages ago, studies were conducted on a person’s appearances, and what differs in their first and final choice. Men would want their woman to have a voluptuous figure, preferably S, an angel-like or sexy face. Women, otherwise, a guy who looks trendy, clean and smart would suffice. However, there is a stark contrast between first choices and what they chose eventually. Men wanted Beyoncé but chose carrot-top in the end. Women’s choices are slightly nearer to what they have chosen initially.

What would this mean then?

In Allan Pease and Barbara Pease’s “Why men want sex and women want love”, when a man tells you that you look gorgeous tonight, it means that “I want to have sex with you”, however, this is not conclusive. It does prove that, men and women think differently. My,my, that made me think, Liz sure looked past Hellboy‘s horns, and she is one perfect example of not caring about appearances since her isolation was broken by Hellboy, who came into the room with a lollipop as a way to break the ice. The large red demon eventually became her closest friend and older brother figure for most of her life.

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Now,that’s called looking at the heart.

A visit to the salon: a voluntary assumption of risk?

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Image credits to watermark on picture.

 

I may be exaggerating a bit on the ‘voluntary assumption risk’ part.

But hey, it’s because having a change of hairstyle takes some courage for average looking girls like me. It is through all these years that I realized the importance of how different hairstyles can change the way you look, your disposition for instance. Someone with a short bob may not necessarily look good with long curly hair and vice versa as you may not be able to always pull off that ‘look’ your hairstyle has. And to top it off, you’re the one who is going to live with your hairstyle-good or bad or through all those bad hair days-for a few months, me, for instance.

Communication is a very essential factor, it seems. Some who have their hair done at the salon or hairdresser are less than candid it seems, or have no idea what type of hairstyle they want, and leave it to the stylist to decide. While this may be a good idea as you are in good hands, what if you are not aware of what type of hairstyle he/she is going to fix you with? What if you wanted to look chic and sassy but you look like totally not chic and sassy? It would be a wholly different type of style. Of course I’m not questioning the professionalism of stylists, but what I would do is to open my mouth and ask, lots and lots of question because I’m mentally insecure every time I visit the salon. LOL.

If you ask me what does going to the salon means, I would say it is a voluntary assumption of risk, and also exciting at the same time. You never know what you’re going to get, how your perm session is going to turn out, looking forward to the outcome and feeling a wee bit scared as to an epic fail hairstyle. So this is me with my thoughts. What about yours?