Relationship / Reproductive Isolation Barriers In My Life : The Sympatric Speciation of Me.

Speciation refers to the formation of a new species from a pre-existing species. A species, in turn, refers to a group of organisms that look similar and are able to interbreed to produce fertile offspring. I am an extinct species. The only of my kind, and it looks like I shall stay forever alone, because hey, I can’t breed with myself, can I? Sympatric speciation gives rise to speciation by reproductive isolation barriers : producing infertile offspring, behaviour specific courtship rituals, breeding at different times (temporal) and mechanical isolation or physical incompatibility. I blame these barriers (and some personal ones attributed to my incredibly emo (temporary) temperament) for my present situation.

Let’s start with breeding at different times: which is not to be taken literally. Of the people in my life, many are in phases beyond that of my own. The most basic example being the lucky ones that have hit a superior, legal age and can revel in Origin, Cube etc, to be more specific. That’s not to say I’ve not had my fair share of frolic; hardly so. Yet the quintessential plane that separates me from these specimens is the inherent freedom university and age has brought them. So, should I seek to once again fall for some young chap at university, I should be wise to think twice – as I can hardly frequent Origin every second night. They mate whenever, wherever and however they like. I, sadly, am presently limited by my green identity book and my yellow matric time table … of which the latter shall disappear in a week (HELL YES).

Next comes infertile offspring : the formation of useless relationships that bare no fruits of use to my life. Such liaisons tend not to be productive – fair weather friends, parasites that made me write nice page for their matric diary but didn’t bother to make one for me and people that I only speak to when I’m really bored… or temporary friends : the ones that you can’t quite figure out. The ones that you don’t speak to for weeks, but when you do speak it’s like you’re best friends forever – those kind of people. It’s through this troublesome barrier that I’m left questioning the very existence of relationships that will yield love and support… thereby leading to personal isolation.

Thirdly, we have species specific mating rituals. I honestly don’t understand most people. The signs, signals, hints people profess to have dropped tend to fly over my head like the plane that hit the twin towers in 2001. However, I’m completely immune to the language of ‘hint’… except those I seem to fabricate in my mind. For example, the obvious hint : “I think you’re really pretty.” I’m indifferent. The statement : “Hey heyyyy” = OMG THERE ARE SO MANY YS I THINK HE LOVES ME. This misinterpretation of signals, incongruity of communication and lapses of judgement have resulted in much forever alone-ness.

Lastly, mechanical isolation – this in the animal kingdom refers to species being physically unsuited for coitus. Me? I think my personal mechanical isolation could be how I make the wrong choices in people, sometimes; choosing people that I may be totally incompatible with, people my friends think are mingers … or generally not nice people that I try really hard to be friends with but end up disappointing myself.

To wrap up, I’d like to mention how every second thing makes me sad these days. True story.

*insert sad music here*

FLUSH IT!! FLUSH IT ALL!!

I’m usually a happy person. I also usually make an effort to be erudite, and create reasonably intelligible sentences. But sometimes life gets so full of shit that you can’t. Which is what I’m going to do now. I’m going to flush the shit down the toilet of life in this blog rant.

My point here, is, how do you exactly pull the chain / lever? When you’re filled with negative emotions, drowning in the sheer tsunami of diarrhoea that’s suddenly hit you from almost every aspect of you life HOW THE HELL DO YOU EXPRESS IT? Or do you bottle it up, keep calm, and eat bread to bind everything in your stomach? I can’t exactly walk up to the people that are annoying me and say “Your mom was full of shit, so when she gave birth to you, you got that for brains. You lucky c*nt.” No… that’s bad karma!

However, it’s highly unhealthy to bottle up ones emotions. They usually need to be expressed in one way or another. The source of such emotions is irrelevant – women have this whole ‘talking’ business all wrong. See, when you’re discussing how annoyed you are, it’s wrong to focus on the cause of your annoyance because you can’t take it back. Neither should you dub the person who annoyed you as an unholy shithead never to be spoken to again and who deserves to also be flushed down the pan of life with a samurai sword as a toilet plunger to make sure they comes back up so you can stab him down again. It’s all about dealing with stuff rationally – multiply by a surd.

This being said, as I’m writing finals currently, I’ve realised the emotional stability I have is equivalent to a bag of rats burning in paraffin. It’s in the negatives. So, I have options to deal with stuff:

1.Keep repeating ‘I don’t care’ – this, I’ve been trying all day. It’s not working.
2.Admit you care about the situation and it’s affecting your mind in strange, vengeful, angry ways. Resolve to calm yourself down and go through the motions…

BUT HOW THE HELL DO I DO THAT!?

Maybe all I need to do, is play some Call of Duty / Guitar Hero, listen to My Chemical Romance and eat cookies. But then I’ll just annoy myself because the songs will ring in my head while I’m studying; and I just ate already so eating more will upset me.

ONE SOLUTION!

*reaches for the Allergex*
I’ma pass the fuck out, k bye.

Something You Already Know About Love Songs

Sometimes, when you’re done with studying for Mathematics paper one and two, you just want to listen to some music and… feel emotion, as opposed to the logic you’ve been forcing on your brain for the past ten hours.

For example, when I was at maths tuition today, I heard this song blaring out of some random gangster (Reservoir Hills gangster, it’s an Indian thing) – it’s called Pee Loon Hoto Ki Sargam. Yes, I do enjoy the odd Hindi song – but it kinda has to be amazing for me to love it. Anyway, I heard a single verse during the extent of the gangster’s revving and speeding past the road. It struck me as quite sweet, so I used that nifty Google button and found it. Wow. It’s beautiful…and I’m currently listening to it for the 20th time while typing this. I almost cried.

And that’s when it struck me. A good love song doesn’t necessarily make you think of one particular person and invoke emotion as a result of that person – a good love song basically makes you feel love by listening to merely the words and rhythms. It catalyses emotional change unto itself, not through the vector of someone’s predetermined crush.

I think that when a song truly speaks to you, when a song invokes true emotion… that’s when some great cosmic relationship is formed between the singer and your tympanic membrane. And the beating of the membrane…is amazing.

The Pseudo-Spark

The Spark. What is it?

No, he’s not a famous author (hi Nicholas Sparks).

It’s a classic example of two deep relationship issues :

1. A lame excuse to leave someone hanging
2. An example of a hopeless romantic trying to find something that doesn’t exist.

One is the worst kind, which I don’t want to talk about. Let’s look at the second one.

In life, we’ve indeed been conditioned by the world to believe such a spark exists. It’s in every bloody romance movie… but the truth is, if you’re looking for a brilliant, passionate spark in every relationship you form – you’re going to end up alone. You’re looking for something that doesn’t exist, and in doing so create a barrier between yourself and those that could make you happy : because that’s all the true spark really is. Making someone happy.

As humans struggling through a hostile universe, all we really want is to feel happy. To feel good. Not to be consumed by sparks of insanity. So when you tell someone who makes you laugh, and makes you happy, that there’s no spark between you two –then I think you’re making a mistake.

In a relationship, all you ultimately offer to another person is a warm heart. It’s not about your body (well, maybe that’s why there’s no ‘spark’) or your attitudes and values. It’s about giving a fraction of your identity to a fraction of theirs and together amalgamating. To create what? A simple form of unified happiness.

Something's Wrong With This Graph

Life, can be compared to a very annoying function; forever repeating with increasing and decreasing values and turning points. Between turning points, there are usually expositions and dénouements, right? Just like a well-made play’s structure. Yet this isn’t always the case – because life thinks itself a nonconformist teenager, and is often inclined to throw you ‘curve’ balls.

How is it that life can juxtapose highs and lows within literal minutes? Is it nothing but a test of character, to view whether our inner peace can easily be reduced to rubble should the winds of change blow too quickly. Or maybe it’s like that old wives tale – where if you make a funny face and the wind changes…it’ll stay like that. So why is my face not funny? Don’t answer that.

Essentially, I had an amazing night. Truly. It made my heart beat like an 808 – cheesy imagery for cheesy emotions. And I didn’t even pay extra for the extra topping; the cheesy simply came naturally. Obviously, it was about a young man. And, obviously, the low was as a result of this entire issue being suddenly reduced to meaning nothing. Let’s not go into details. However, it’s very amusing to think back – as I stood next to his friend and watched him get into the car, his friend turned to me and said, “Don’t give up.”
“Why?” I asked.
“…because nobody’s ever gotten anywhere by giving up,” he simply replied.

As to whether this advice is still relevant to my love life I cannot say. However, within minutes after receiving a text from my wonderwall saying that there’s no “spark” (which I will write about soon) I received a phone call from a wealthy investment company saying I’ve been considered a finalist for a bursary they’re offering. Wow. I’m going for final interviews blah blah blah soon.

There’s something wrong with this graph.
Maybe there’s no spark, or whoever’s drawing it isn’t very ‘bright’.
So, when I woke up at 4AM after processing these key moments in my life, I’m still not sure how to react. But than again – who needs to react to anything, anyway? Screw the system. I won’t cry or be happy about stuff.

Lined Memories

As I fill in these skinny lined pages, I wonder : what’s the point of all the prettification? What’s the point of leaving behind our marks and our goodbyes when the person may never look back at our little farewell message again?

More specifically, I began to think of the temporary nature of human relationships. How fragile we are in our friendships…and our very existence, for that matter. It’s quite something, putting your diary out there and asking someone to write in it. It’s like saying : “Here, if I ever choose to look back at my final year in school, I’d like to see your token of superficiality.” You’re putting yourself out there. As I stick in a picture of the guy I took to my matric dance, the thought of whether or not to ask him to write within the pages of my textual time capsule occurred to me.

How do I phrase it? Indeed, I would love to have a memory of him – as I’m one of the few nostalgic souls who can spend hours lamenting on the past- yet I don’t want to pressure him into writing something he doesn’t mean, as we aren’t the closest of friends. Yet somehow, by virtue of the fact that I’ve spent the apparently most important night of the year with him, I’ve forged this inexplicable bond in my head that only the dizziness of female emotion would induce. Therefore, I have come up with the following question – being the smooth operator that I am :

“Hey, so …I’d like you to sign my diary – you can write something in it if you want, but just signing it is okay.”

The setting of pen to paper would help verify the reality of time passed. Was March really that long ago? Are these memories really … just memories? It’s funny how the fleeting moment becomes transposed into simply a memory : as the time you’ve spent reading this will become nothing but a memory of time spent trawling a chick’s blog.

Matric dance partners aside, what of the people in your life beyond school that mean something to you? The friends you’ve made along the way. Would they be perturbed by the fact that you’re asking them to enter a piece of themselves into your memory book? Or flattered? Or – maybe worse than the both of these – completely indifferent.

Relationships are so confusing. Putting them onto paper seems to clarify them, to me, but it’s asking the person to write that’s most unnerving.

The WonderWall Theorem

Sitting here, at 5:31PM the day before le Life Sciences paper two, listening to You’re The One That I Want off the Grease OST. Yes, there is a valid reason to this maddening infatuation, as I shall go on to explain.

Somehow, in my history for the past few years, I’ve discovered a pattern in my love life that can be summed up in two words : wrong timing. I tend to fall for someone at critical moments in my life, especially evident at this point…and I know exactly why. I call this the WonderWall Theorem.

We tend to fall for people, because that love makes us feel good about life. It’s a balm, a salve, a tender band aid to the cruelty of life and its scathing ways. It’s a way to deal with the injustices of society, you and your little happy, heart shaped fantasies. The person I fall for becomes my WonderWall. He don’t save me, though, I save myself getting lost in thoughts of him instead of the reality I have to face.

And that, my friend, is the way of the escapist.

Above all, the most fabulous thing about this is he probably doesn’t read my blog. Which is for the best, he might get scared. Win/Win situation.