I put tulips under the pillows and set fire to the house

I thought it would be poetic - even if nobody would ever know. As if the smell of tulips would rage with the fire and burn with the memories of all the gifts he gave me and all the things he wanted me to be - that I wasn't.

But there was no aroma of tulips with the fire. They wilted in seconds the way plots of revenge sound stupid when spoken out loud.

With every affair, I thought I could erase him - bury him under new lovers and new memories. But he wouldn't go! He became even more present, like the lovers were embodying different aspects of him. Death by fire seemed to be the only way.

And so the fantasy became a reality, became a bonafide plot.

The timing was perfect and unsuspecting. We would eat, we would drink, we would talk like there was a tomorrow. And then as they rested with their bellies full and their minds at ease, I would light his tulips, I would light them all.

[So this was a writing exercise in which you pick three sentences several minutes after one another and write for five minutes before you pick a new sentence/writing prompt. The sentences/writing prompts were as follows:
- I put tulips under all the pillows and then set fire to the house
- I cheated on my spouse and it wasn't the first time
- The time he invited his mother to come to dinner]

Self-Sacrifice

He finds it unattractive but I consider it the highest form of love. There's this quote (I don't remember where from) that I used to love sharing. It goes;

The world takes us to the silver screen, where couples kiss and says "this is love." God takes us to the foot of a cross where a man hangs for us and says "this is love."

Perhaps he means that I take it too far, that I lose myself in loving him more than loving myself. Only Asian films latch on to this I find, coupling their virtues like reservation and silence with the self-sacrifice kind of love. The Koreans particularly employ this with films such as, The Old Garden or (to be continued)

Beauty pains

It's true. Beauty can pain. Because it's exactly then that you realise that something else isn't beautiful. You aren't beautiful, your life isn't beautiful, no man's love for you has ever been beautiful enough. It's then that the contrast bites. And for some of us, we find ourselves feeling like miss Celie does in Alice Walker's, The Color Purple;

Tell me the truth, she say, do you mind if [your husband] sleep with me?
I think, I don’t care who [he] sleep with. But I don’t say that. I say, You might get big again... You like to sleep with him? I ast.
Yeah,.. she say,.. I just love it. Don’t you?
Naw, I say. I don’t like it at all. What is it like? He git up on you, heist your nightgown round your waist, plunge in. Most times I pretend I ain’t there. He never know the difference. Never ast me how I feel, nothing. Just do his business, get off, go to sleep.
She start to laugh. Do his business, she say. Do his business. Why, Miss Celie. You make it sound like he going to the toilet on you.
That what it feel like, I say.
She stop laughing...


....But when I hear them together all I can do is pull the quilt over my head and finger my little button and titties and cry.

heroines

there continues to appear this sassy girl, especially in asian (bollywood and korean) movies. and so we begin to wonder if she is indeed the ideal girl. for doesn't art reflect life? or at least heroins reflect our aspirations in life.

she is often pitted against the conservative girl and the hero usually struggles with choosing whomever is the better option.

who is the better option? amber from 'house' says she had to choose between love and respect. is this 'love' that we seek something at the cost of our better well-being? is it so rare for the two to co-exist?

i think on this because it is again a narrow description of women. we are either 'sassy' or 'conservative'. even cartoonists have a smaller remit of female characters and the obvious ones are the femme fatale, old lady and girl.

so if we were to be drawn differently, how would we draw ourselves? and what would that cost us?

To Betray

be·tray

tr.v. be·trayed, be·tray·ing, be·trays

1.

a. To give aid or information to an enemy of; commit treason against: betray one's country.

b. To deliver into the hands of an enemy in violation of a trust or allegiance: betrayed Christ to the Romans.

2. To be false or disloyal to: betrayed their cause; betray one's better nature.

3. To divulge in a breach of confidence: betray a secret.

4. To make known unintentionally: Her hollow laugh betrayed her contempt for the idea.

5. To reveal against one's desire or will.

6. To lead astray; deceive. See Synonyms at deceive.

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[Middle English bitrayen : bi-, be- + trayen, to betray (from Old French trair, from Latin tradere, to hand over; see tradition).]

[The American Heritage Dictionary 2009]

I thought that if I posted several definitions of 'to betray', I would be satisfied by their descriptions. I would feel like someone had adequately addressed my suffering. But perhaps the act is so far past me that the sting of a memory is no sting at all and therefore cannot be matched by any dictionary's definition.

What would be my own definition? Simply; To deceive, under the guise of love.

Because deception can come in so many ways and is inherently against one's will or knowledge.Why do we betray? Because we don't love enough?