hag hug

Felt rotten last night. And still suffer the after-effects. Met a young girl which seemed to have it all. A student from Istanbul who went to an international school there, turns out it was an Austrian missionary school. No religious purpose involved, just happened to be the best school available, her parents thought. Hence, her German ways impeccable. She said, the teachers spoke high German in class, when I mentioned the absence of any traceable accent. As soon as her teachers spoke among themselves, the kids could not understand a word of what was said. About to finish her international trading studies now, she spent a couple of terms in San Diego, CA. Rounding up her travel experiences, she now does her last term in Berlin before going back home. To a brilliant future, I hope. She was charming, lovely, radiant beautiful, bright and to top it all off, she plays excellent bridge. Her mother seemingly is one of the leading females in Turkish bridge. A nation renowned for their phantastic card play anyways. As her parents never wanted her to play, she is eager to get a chance at it any time she is away from home. Thus, she stumbled into the students course my sweetheart runs for interested young beginners last Monday. As she clearly is an expert already, he invited her to compete with him last evening. Of course they won the tournament. I wish I could come up with the enthusiasm I used to have when meeting nice and interesting new people. But frankly and to my shame I have to admit that I felt lousy. This girl made me feel old, boring, untalented and ugly. Obviously, my sweetheart was feeling quite the opposite. He was enthused. And who can blame him? I would be, too, if I were in his boots. Didn’t help me, though. Not in the least. His praise for her on our way home – none of it untrue or disproportionate – felt like putting out fire with gasoline. I don’t want to be such a narrow-minded old hag. Hate it, but couldn’t help it. Of course my sweetheart noticed the state I was in and had a good laugh at me. But for consolation he offered a real nice hug. Just as well. Otherwise I might have lost it all together. What has become of me?

They might be giants, Older

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2 thoughts on “hag hug

  1. there it is, some things in our design, we don’t like seeing ourselves subjected to follow; we can not fight those percieved flaws without some effort- some stupid things not staved off automatically. I don’t like that you felt rotten, have to appreciate it as a good thing though. Re-evaluating something nature or your genes or your upbringing and experience thought vital or important enough to be the source for dissonance and further reflection, I even go so far as to say, it’s better than running on auto-pilot, with disregard for nuanced, percieved threats or shifts in relationships and comfort-zones with other human beings or concepts of yourself.

    and I wont drag the cliché of aimee mann’s “wise up” into the picture. ^^

    Liked your entry, it reminds me of why I ‘m still not giving up on reading other ppls thoughts and blogs. Also liked your sweathearts reaction, laughing at “silly you” + hug appears to be one of the more favourable reactions. would you have wanted it any other way?

    the laughing heart 😉

    Like

  2. Oh, thank you! Here is the next hug I’m getting. Albeit virtually, it is almost better than the real one. As it brought back a sense of proportion. Plus the intriguing voice of Tom, whom I love.
    You just made my day 🙂
    And in one thing you’re right: it felt like an alarm, really. I felt threatened by the pure existance of the girl. Clearly, my sweetheart was fascinated by her. Panic befell me, as I have been in her situation a couple of times in my life. I used to be the younger one, fascinating men out of their relationships. I know exactly how things like that go down. And if I didn’t know that she is leaving Berlin in a couple of weeks, I might not be able to even talk about it. Because, if she were here for longer and only so much as glanced at him, he would fall for her. No question about it. Hell, even I would, were I a man. Some things you can’t escape. I can’t even begin to fathom what that would do to me. It’s like that line out of an old traditional sung in Scotland: “What can not be cured, love, that must be endured, love” I know there is light in life, but it would take me a long while to sum up the energy and go look for it again.

    Like

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