Disillusionment

Just noticed a touching little piece that Brainjuice wrote here. The take home message :

Based on John 2:24-25 ("Jesus did not commit Himself to them . . . , for He knew what was in man"), the passage notes that "Disillusionment means having no more misconceptions, false impressions, and false judgments in life; it means being free from these deceptions."

I disagree with her; I don't think that disillusionment was her salvation. It was Grace that allowed her to turn around after her bout of self-pity, and be the wonderful mother I always knew she would be.

Brainjuice and I go back a ways; we were in halls together back in uni. She was a student of Literature, I, of the human condition.

I don't really remember how we became friends; back then I had a very large and diverse group of friends. I think I was a very much more approachable person then, until Armageddon struck and I gradually became a more withdrawn, bitter individual, allowing my innate cynicism to creep back into my heart and perhaps stepping a little further and further away from God.

I remember a particularly short friend of mine, G (he was cute, like a button. Short with big eyes. Looked a bit like stitch, from Lilo and Stitch. He was part of the contingent of Malaysians I preferred hanging out with to the "fake" Singaporeans; who used to cheerily greet me Doctor in Cantonese when I would slouch in wearily from another exhausting day of all day lectures and practical demonstrations, and who were always good for a cheap watered hall-drink after dinner) warning me once in cantonese - that one is taken. Be careful.

I remember thinking -- taken?

I knew she was considered "hot" - it was an unspoken thing amongst the blokes; tallish, large eyes, fair, outgoing, sang like an angel, gentle but with a roguish bent (laugh I remember some of the things you used to tell me you saw, looking out your wnidow, Brainjuice.) I wasn't blind. And yes, we were friends close enough for us to visit each other once in a while.

Yes, she was marked, by one of the other Malaysians who wanted her so badly his eyes were red all the time (for some reason).

Taken? Yes, Somewhat later she was in a steady but slightly... non ideal relationship with another Malaysian born BBC guy.

But... taken?
I was bemused. If only they knew the things that were really going on in my head.
I never moved in on her, never tried to... take.

I was good for friendship; for sharing laughter and tears with. I was good as a confidant; there were many people who came confiding to me in those days, not just brainjuice. And in return I had special little gifts - when she sang with me, as I played my heart out to a past irretrievably lost, a year later. As I babbled excitedly to her about a present unfolding which was unthinkable.

I was good for friends.
You don't need to be untaken to give, and receive friendship.

*****
I remember a particularly unpleasant Singaporean law student -- always sneering subtly at me, for reasons I couldn't fathom. So Christian on the surface. So slimy.

I remember him sneering at me when we had barely met - after I had batted off the attentions of some of the girls (the first weeks of life abroad are turbulent times when girls, bereft of their normal, familiar male attentions from home seek out partners to give them solace and companionship... and perhaps more) by telling them I had a complicated history with a girl from australia.

I remember him curling his lip and saying How Very Convenient.

And perhaps for the first time in my life, I remember feeling pure hatred.

If you only knew.

I could have unleashed the tides of sadness that I had endured upon him and ranted about the girl with that... indefinable something... in her eyes. He would have seen the truth in mine as I raved. I could have smashed his unpleasantness into the ground.

Instead I remained silent, and turned away.

*****
Brainjuice wasn't the only "hot" friend I hung out with. I didn't just hang out with hot girls, mind you. I hung out with lots of different people in those days, mostly to let them talk, and hear out their sadnesses and frustrations.

But there were a couple of girls I liked talking to; one was a law student from Hong Kong. I don't remember what we used to speak about in her room; I'll unashamedly say I liked hanging out with her simply because she was very, very pretty. Laugh.

The other was R, a girl from Malaysia, who was pretty in that Hong Kong Actress kind of way - tall, extremely slim figure, large eyes, lanky. We used to hang out in our rooms, or head out to Pret for a coffee... and talk about everything. Philosophy. Science. Art. The Universe. There was something between us that let conversation flow, when it needed to, and be comfortably silent when there was nothing to say.

I lost touch with her after halls. I wonder what happened to her?

*****
I got to know N online, she hung out with the crowd from an exclusive mIRC channel. In later years she visited occasionally on her jaunts down to London from Southampton.
She was tallish, long-limbed, endowed, tanned, toned - from the sailing she used to do - and slept over in a very, very short kimono.
I remember an odd Sunday evening at the fountain at Whiteleys... looking in as if from a window at myself, running my fingers over her face as she cried, hushing her, and telling her she was still beautiful, it was okay... I think we hugged after that; I'm not sure. Wait, yes we did.
It sounds like the kind of story guys love to tell; fucked her senseless and left her crying in the dirt.
But no; it wasn't like that at all. That was the first and last time I ever touched her, and it was in compassion and... a different kind of love, to give comfort to a poor, poor girl who had smashed through a car windshield with her face, and miraculously only suffered minor, tiny, pinpoint lacerations from microscopic shards of shattered glass - in retrospect, she must had her own Guardian Angel standing over her.
She was a pretty girl who knew the value of her looks, in her career in life, and thought she had lost it all...
She healed without a scar.

Several hours later, I made that memorable headlong flight across the length of the world.

*****
Then there were my buddies Anna, a girl of french / English descent who was very disturbed once when I, lying on the floor of her room played with her nail polish buffer and exclaimed how remarkable it was that a strip of plastic could get my nails so shiny, and Dimitra, the cool, sex-exuding chain-smoking pool expert.

And of course there was Areya, who was my most constant source of comfort, as we walked in silence throughout the darkest parts of London, and looked out onto the world.

*****

Yes, most of my friends then were women. As they still are.

I'm not naive : neither too self-effacing nor too brash; I know who I am, my limits and my capabilities, and I know full well I could have led a very different life had I chosen to. I knew the moments of insecurity and loneliness which I could have taken advantage of. I knew the moments when they came - a hand on her face, a hand on her shoulder, her hand on yours, a glance too prolonged, a yearning to take that someone crying brokenly on your couch up in your arms, wipe away her tears and tell her everything will be okay... I let them go.

They were my friends.

Most of my friends were, and are women - not because I want to "take".

It's because women need to unleash their troubles on you, yes - but they also listen.

Men sneer.

*****

I don't know why I've proved so good at losing touch with old friends.

Right now I'm a little lost; perhaps a tad disillusioned.