I am a fighter. Not a lover.

I once laughed at these words when Cindy repeated to me what Nelson said to her about himself all those years ago. He said to her: “I am a lover. Not a fighter.” At the time, my relationship with Cindy was already crap, so it was ‘okay’ to half-joke about stuff like that. Years later, I find myself thinking back on those silly words.

I am a fighter. Not a lover.

Tune: “Shigure no Koro” by Kenji Kawai
Drink: Ginseng Catnip Tea
Mood: Sleepy

[audio:ShigurenoKoro.mp3]

Many years ago, probably before Cindy and I met, I remarked to my mom that I am someone that is hard to get along with, especially if they insist to become my lover. On one hand, I know how to please and pleasure, but at the same time, I have way too much pride and principle. This often times conflict with the softer side of me. I am simply not used to being soft and gentle. I am like a wild man or even an untamed beast that requires the gentle and patient touch of a particular person to calm my heart and lead me to worship her. When I say worship, I mean to adore and love her.

Sometimes, I think about how some of my male friends do it with their wives and lovers and I cannot wrap my head around it. How can they keep their irritations to themselves when otherwise, they would rant and whine from ear reach of their wives and lovers? How can they keep their temper and patience, when they are obviously wronged or worst yet, ignored and treated indifferently? I do not believe it is love that keeps them like that. I believe it is something else. I know a lot of men that let their wives and lovers step all over them. Then when I meet up with them, they are usually so worn out and stressed.

I remember years ago, Albert and I often talked about ancient times and how we truly belonged there or far into the future where we can bring forth our visionary ideals and put them to good use for the greater good. He was born a general’s grandson (literally) and I was born a scholarly farmer’s son (literally). Together, we could have been great partners in war. Albert could have been a great commander. I could have been one of his strategic advisers. Of course, those days are long long long gone and we are the loose reminiscent of those diluted memories passed down through the generations.

Anyway, I know it’s hard being my lover. What would someone like me need in a lover? To me, this is so simple, but I feel for today’s day and age, what I require is difficult unless that woman has a semi-traditional mix in her blood. Today’s era of women require the acknowledgement of pure equality, yet demand the comfort of their man as their ‘teddy bear’. What do men get in return? They can either hope their lady give them the feminine touch or in most cases, get a woman that drives them up the wall all in the name of empowering women and keeping their men in place.

To me, I can admire a warrior woman more than a scholar-made woman. I may be able to play a mental game of chess with a woman and flirt like crazy and fuck each others brains out both mentally and physically, but that’s not admiration. That’s just attraction from seduction. I guess you can say that I can admire a warrior woman as I do the earth on which I walk on, which lets me walk on, which lets me fight my battles on. On the other hand, there are a lot of scholarly women these days. They want to show the world they are smart, beautiful and capable. I don’t need that. They’re a dime a dozen. What I need is a warrior woman who understands the path I walk on, the roads I choose and ride on and why I chose them.

In my fantasy, I would come home after a long battle. She would take away my sword and gently, respectfully put it away. Then she would help take off my armour, making sure to respect it as to respect me. Once my armour comes off and stowed away, she would come and help undress me to tend to my wounds.

That is pretty much all I need. In return, I will guarantee her my heart, my adoration and my love for her eternally.

In my fantasy, we can sit together and we would have tea together, while we both admire the scenery around us like the cherry petals raining down all around us, like the ripples on the surface of the little creek and pond full of carp, like the birds chirping and the wind chimes chiming nearby. She would tell me about her day, her thoughts lately, some of her dreams from both when she was asleep and the dreams she gets when she hums a tune. Maybe she met someone and she tells me about her conversations with that person.

It could be anything simple, even mundane and that in itself would reach me because my mind is almost otherwise somewhere else. Who brings me back down to earth? She does through the words she speaks and through the voice I am familiar to.

Lately, I have been having flashbacks of my childhood, where I was bullied a lot and segregated by others because I was ‘unique’. Unlike the majority of other kids at the time, I stood up for myself and I made sure people knew I would stand my ground. They picked on me more and tried to topple me. They tried their best to hurt me both emotionally and physically.

There was a time that I never told anyone where I rode my bike to this sand mound where many kids goes to play as their ‘fort’. I remember there was this one friend I had. His name is Muhammad. He was a mutual friend between Patrick and I. He became friends with some Polish kids which I hated and they hated me. I rode my bike there, to spy on them. Some of them snuck up on me and threw planks of wood, rocks and other construction material at me. It hurt. I remember something hard hit my head, then my backside, then my arm and beyond that, I was firstly, too much in shock and secondly too heart broken to count the constant throwing of hard things at me. I walked away – NOT run away. I walked away pushing my bike, while being thrown things at.

You see? Even at that age, I had too much dignity and pride. I didn’t cry, but it hurt. That pain lasted to this day.

That was during the late 1980’s, probably 1989 and 1990. From then on, things just got harder. As things got harder, my heart got harder. My ‘soul’ became more fortified. I went from a kid that mainly played by himself with only a couple of friends all the way through many hardship to become the way I am today. I do not seem like much from the outside, but one thing I pride myself in is that I have kept my core intact all these years. Unfortunately, at the same time, because of this fact, I have become unstable in other aspects, like my emotional process. On one hand, I have kept my principles and my identity intact naturally. On the other hand, I am unable to fortify my emotions and how they connect with the outside world.

I find that I don’t know how to deal with it.

For too long have I been a fighter. I do not know how to love by saying it, nor by reacting on it. However, like a fighter, I express it through action, through opportunity, through giving people chances and openings to show their affection towards me, so maybe once they show me, I can learn to react.

Sincerity is important to me and that is shown through action ‘at home’. If my lover cannot offer this one simple thing, then what need is there for anything else when I can get it on my own on the field of battle?

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