A Bloke from My Past
A bloke from my past turned up unexpectedly. And how he did change! As I stood gawping, I recalled those years behind- only to mount up my flabbergastedness.Here’s the story. A naïve, foolish girl as I was, a lingering crush (NOT love!) overtook me. The object of my affection was this bloke- a bassist, with torn jeans, black shirt and long, unruly hair. A rebel- with ideas, struggles and such sweet desperation. He loved music. But more than anything he loved freedom.
Did things go well between us? Absolutely (not). The course of true love never did run smooth, Shakespeare said. But I’m not a romantic. It was never a romance to begin with. Truth is, we belonged to different leagues. Me- a plain-looking girl wearing headscarf. Him- a handsome-figured bassist thriving on the stage. Me- listening to Tchaikovsky and Vivaldi. Him- POD and Korn. Had we been in love; had we tried harder to cling to whatever worth clinging to; perhaps we could have been Romeo and Juliet (ha-ha!). But no- we went our separate ways. I could not put off my headscarf to be in his society and he could not hang his bass guitar to be in mine. The whole affair was perfectly natural.
But he COULD (and did) hang his bass guitar after all. In addition to that, his music and his wild ideas and his whole lifestyle. He has become very Islamic (let me be heard of saying “Alhamdulillah – Praise the Lord” on this) that it scares the h*ll out of me (let me be honest on this).
How he did change.
Man, how he did change!
What can I say? Remember that old song saying “shoes don’t stretch and men don’t change”? I kinda like the song and have always believed what it utters. You know- the “once a beggar always a beggar” thing. I don’t think people REALLY change- they can’t- not to the core of their beings. Anything changeable is always superficial: apparel, tone, possession, manner, routine. The self, all the while, is intact.
(except, perhaps, if you have a near-death experience to reset your “defaults” and start anew all over again)
Then what of this bloke? What changed him? Did he really change or had he always been that way deep within? (Did he almost die?)
What of thousands of other blokes who “changed”- who would gladly sacrifice their dear lives –if for God’s sake- in suicide bombings?
Was it God, the Architect of all these “wonders” (that being the case, I CAN’T have anything further to say)? I should imagine changing someone is not a five-minute job. Perhaps long exposure to something extreme would suffice. Or the will power- the works of incessant therapy. Or Lord Voldemort with his ultimate wand. Or alien kidnapping. I don’t know.
My head is in a turbulent daze- I don’t think I’m fit to write.
We’ve been entertaining the idea of meeting up again- but both hesitant. Him- probably because it’s not a proper thing to do according to Syaria. Me- because I need to know this first and foremost: is change contagious?
Note:
Tiessa- stop laughing. This is a serious business.
Labels: Change
posted by eloque @ 5:07 AM
What Say You?: 2
