The power of words and the power of prayer has always been a questionable phenomenon. I recall a recent discussion on Facebook (initiated by an insightful, beautiful Afghan friend of mine, Yasmin) regarding the definition of prayer and its effectiveness. I wrote a poem/rap verse recently; last week, to be precise. It was the result of an extended invitation to submit a collaboration verse with a Kuwaiti friend of mine; MC Element is his alias. He proposed the collaboration back in late December 2012. We discussed some concepts, but nothing was solidified until 7 Jan. I didn’t finish the verse until 17 Jan, but I had large body of this scripted before then. I called it “Miss Understood”, and this was the result of my writings:
Miss Independent was looking for affection
Found protection in a man who was possessive
But now she feels smothered and she’s looking for another
Daddy was right; she acts just like her mother
Low Rise Jeans, High Heels, Good Intentions
From a Bad Girl, Starving for Attention
Full of Neglect, but hey, whatchu expect?
Love is a hell of a drug
You can find it in all of the right places, and get it in the wrong ways
Love Moves, Always Goes, and Never Stays
And here I am….and there she is
Good Girl Gone for Good, what did I miss?
Was it her Pain for Pleasure, her Pleasure for the Pain?
Like an Antonym she will Never be the Same
Her mother once told me “you remind me of her dad”
Trying to give her a love; that she never had
I didn’t realize, until last night, that this poem became a reality in my life! I could not have orchestrated all of this on my own. There are too many uncontrollable variables for me to say that I was the maestro in this symphony. I was an observer, or rather a receiver of the request – one that I made with beautiful words and stern faith. I recited these words numerous times as if they were true; and I see what happened as a result of them. Consider that I’ve never seen this woman before in my life, until the night of the Presidential Inauguration Ball in Kuwait. I walked into the room, after doing a costume change, and my senses were aroused by her presence. She was fashioned with African-inspired fabrics – an outstanding blue with yellowish-gold embroidery to compliment her chocolate-toned skin. My inner voice said “damn she’s fine! I know her, right? Well, go say ‘hello’, John”. I gave her a friendly hug and a clumsy kiss on the cheek, and walked away. My realization slapped me out of my false sense of familiarity as the person who I thought she was, had appeared in the corner. I felt a bit embarrassed, but I prevailed through the night, delivering my musical performances for the audience, and mingling with the performers and the guests. At one point of the night, I was observing her while I conversed with a friend of mine named K.D. We spoke about her, and he recommended that I approach her. I doubted the notion because I felt it was impractical to initiate a relationship that wouldn’t extend beyond a week; I was leaving Kuwait soon. K.D. insisted that it was the “perfect time”<<<he kept saying that! (Shrugs) So, this woman makes a graceful entrance into our conversation, and after small chit chat, she announced that she had to leave the event. K.D. looked at me uttering “see, John? I told you… perfect timing!” She walked away as he kept insisting that I go chase her; “Just ask for her number, John. All you wanna do is just talk. That’s all!” The idea sunk into my conscience like a Destroyed Battleship – time was running out; and as usual, I’m overthinking. I summoned the courage to chase her down, ignorant as to what I was going to say. I ran to the stairs, and observed an empty lobby. “Oh, well…she escaped me”, I muttered. Then she emerged from the elevator on my left. I ran towards her, chanting “excuse me, excuse me; wait, hold up”. I stood in front of her, paused and spoke “Look, um, I…I find you very, very attractive and I was just wondering if I could get your number to get to know more about you”. My mind anticipated a ‘no’ as a means to numb myself of the anxiety of a ‘yes’. It was as if I were preparing myself for the blow of rejection. Instantly, after my request, she said “ok…6-0-6-1….” And as I captured those digits, a smile grew within me. As she walked away, I asked for her name – she said “Comfort…with a ‘K’”. My eyes widened, “that’s your real name?” She replied “yes!” <<< So all of this is the prelude to the story of me Entering the Komfort Zone.
We linked up two days later via text messaging; trying to figure out a place to meet up. We went out for dinner after walking the Avenues Mall for a while in a deep exchange of words. I fancied her thick African accent, as I took occasional glances at her body language – admiring her curves, and studying her walk. I was captivated by her brew of self-confidence and humility. It was déjà vu for me, as we walked the mall. It all felt familiar to me. She was so expressive, and articulate; displaying a humble intelligence that complimented her awareness of politics, religion, philosophy, and various world cultures. We had so much in common. The more she spoke, the more of my self was seen in her. I saw her love for independence and exploration. I saw a hunger for knowledge as she spoke “I know nothing, but I’m always seeking to learn”. She had this innocent, good girl persona – reeking of sophistication and charm. The eye contact became more frequent as we spoke. And my face revealed a delightful smile at the discovery of her aspirations for journalism and her gift for teaching – another set of commonalities that we share. Dinner is finished, so now we make way to exit the mall. As we waited on the taxi for the trip home, we indulged in some video games at the arcade. We touched playfully a few times as a child-like essence saturated our atmosphere – witty humor, light chuckling, big smiles, with a blend of personal truths. We talked about so much in so little time. It felt organic; and the feelings were consistent. There was not a dull or lame moment. And even on the ride home, we touched more frequently – hand holding and subtle caresses. And in the midst of that, I discovered that she was in a long-distant, committed relationship with a 22-year old from her homeland. She says he’s a great guy, but he’s a too serious and too over-protective of her. So, she expressed her frustrations with the relationship, which summoned a deep interest within me. Her frustration revealed what she sought in a relationship – affection. She wanted to feel free, trusted, and appreciated as a woman, not as an object. She lacked a yearning for him because she sees the depth of his insecurities as he treats her like apossession, and makes her feel misunderstood. I understand why he’d be over-protective, because I vivid observed a worthy companion in her. If the right guy came along, he would lose her; so as a means of trying to keep her, he always checks up on her and demands an honest status of her well-being. “Are you happy? Are you ok? I feel like something is wrong. What can I do for you?” The bombardment of questions pushes her away, she says. It made me realize that he found love in the right place, but he had a wrong way of getting it. Yet, it was because of him, that I was able to gain her admiration. I was unthawed of the guilt in my intimacy with her as I became more submerged in the eye exchanges and hand-holding. By the end of the night, I knew more about her than she knew of me. Signaling her departure was the pressure of her lips gently placed in the region close to my lips. “Text me when you make it home safely”, she said. As I reached my home, gratitude for the date was laced in a text message from her. She follows up with “Call when you get home….that’s if you want to”. I smiled…..I wouldn’t go to bed until after our hour-long convo.
She wore low rise jeans and high heels on our next interaction. Her shape was deeply disclosed to me; very eye-opening, really. I loved her natural look – no make-up! She was low-maintenance, yet still captivating. We went out for sweets. <<< That’s not my usual pick, but we ran out of ideas. Despite our extensive residency in Kuwait, we discovered just how much we both really didn’t venture. We were hermits by nature – sharing a deep love for solitude and inner peace. Mutual feelings merged as we discussed the phenomenon of being misunderstood, which led to an emancipation of our personal reservations. The dialogue maintained a steady tempo, as we scrolled through each other’s history of immature relationships; although I was fortunate to have had some very healthy ones. I was intrigued to know that she attracted guys that had feelings for her, yet her feelings never reciprocated.
Waiting on the taxi, we decided to hit another arcade. There was a stronger ambiance of playful competition, sh!t talk, and human warmth. We rubbed against each other, while occasionally finger locking. I felt like pulling her close, and kissing her. I even had spurts of fantasies about it, as I tried to focus on the games. She had to be home around 9:30pm – she has an early wake up for work. We went to grab some Thai cuisine, and we ventured to my apartment. I planned to give her some candles that I no longer needed, and then it was back to her place to drop her off…….. we stayed at my place. She browsed through my catalog of DVDs, expressing her love for romantic comedies – a love that I also shared. She selected “Love and other Drugs”. At the time, it perplexed me: why this movie? But I shrugged it off. We sat Indian-style on my bed responding to the scenes, and stuffing our bellies. After we were finished, she cleaned up for us and returned. I was preparing to call the taxi, but oddly, the call wouldn’t go through. We reclined against the backboard gazing at the movie scenes. She rested her head on my shoulder, which prompted my arm to embrace hers as I pulled her closer. Her cheek gravitated closer to mine. I felt something in my center – a pull. It was a familiar pull – one that I haven’t felt in a while. It was a pull that led my lips to softly press against her cheek, as she moved her head closer. My inner voice whispered, “Was that intentional?” I mean, I felt open, yet relaxed. And she pulled away, staring into my eyes, I felt more open to her than ever before. There was a connection; I felt…something. It’s a phenomenon that’s unworthy of words. It was as if the moment called for us to respond – it always has been, but not as loud as it was in that moment. It wasn’t a calling that you can hear with ears – it was a feeling – a calling in the form of an inner pulse. And this pulse just took control of my conscience. I couldn’t think, and I didn’t want to as our faces dove into each other. Our lips reached for a series of smooth hugs and tugs, followed by passionate groping of arms, waist, chests and breasts. Our interaction was steady and intense. I even heard my conscience say “she has a boyfriend, John” but I ignored. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), she didn’t ignore hers. “John, I can’t have sex with you…because I am in a relationship with Ike (that’s his name)” I smiled, “I understand. As much as I want this, I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do” << Soap opera type of stuff, right? But we continued kissing and groping and fondling; and we eventually stopped, realizing our boundaries. I called the taxi – pfft… now he picks up! Ha! And, there was so much that I wanted to do to her. (smh) At one point, of our lip-massaging, we even eye-gazed. She wanted to know what I saw in her eyes. I saw mystery. I saw depth. I saw sincerity. I saw her at her most vulnerable. She replies “you, know, I’ve been with Ike for two-years…I never looked at him in the eyes like this, John. With you…it’s different. We’ve only met twice, and this just feels too right” I knew how she felt, especially as I recalled her history of immature relationships; I knew that I gave her a love that she never experienced. And it was a bittersweet realization. It wasn’t this over-sensationalized chain of romantic gestures that you see in movies. It was just me being me in her presence. I listened to her. I responded nonjudgmentally to everything she expressed. I made her laugh. I challenged her mind and aroused her curiosity. I embraced her touch. My chill attitude and my tone of voice made her feel comfortable and secure. I told her what she needed to hear. My intentions were reiterated repetitiously, which complimented my display of honesty. All of these were simple gestures; nothing new to me, because they’re the products of my being. Yet it appeared foreign to her to see it outside of herself.
The taxi arrived, so we straightened ourselves for our departure. She told me with a hint of humor in her voice “I think I’m falling for you; isn’t that weird?” and following that statement…her phone rings. It’s Ike. She calmly speaks, “I’m not at home at the moment, but I’m on my way (pauses)….I was out with a friend, but I’m on my way. I’ll call you when I get settled, ok?” …..
…..She texted me later that night: “Can we talk? Can’t sleep”
We reflected on the events that preceded us; seeking a deeper understanding. We both knew that there was something more to our experience. We even began to express feelings and thoughts that we reserved long before our intimate kiss. You know; the stuff that’s real far-fetched. And as we spoke, I shifted to an inner monologue “what is that feeling in my center? It’s not my stomach. What is that? What is this pull that I’m feeling?” To my surprise, she expressed that she was feeling a pulling sensation as well. I chuckled as I shared the sentiment. << Why did I do that? I guess I just wanted to feel closer. It was an eerie revelation – two distant souls connecting as if we knew each other for years. And in the midst of the conversation I was lightly tapped with an epiphany. We wondered why things had to be this way. We were burdened with the curiosity in knowing how God ordered these movements, and why. The timing was such an inconvenience. Mid-dialogue, I was speaking about how “love comes, and it goes”, and then I stopped, as the next set of words settled in my conscience –“…and it never stays”. My poem was introduced to the conversation, unintentionally, which provoked an inquiry: Could it be that my poem was a prayer? Did I summon this into my life?! The poem had to be about her. And as I compared my knowledge of her to the poem, my conclusion became more sensible. I let her know this; and she accepted my claim as true. The dialogue that followed this revelation reinforced my claim when she told me how much she needed me….how much she loved me. She even cried as she expressed her feelings of pain at the idea of me leaving. This was a pain that was produced from a pleasure in finding something/someone that was exotic from everything she ever knew about love. And as I write this, I feel a hint of sorrow in being responsible for it all – knowing that she will never be the same after I leave. Her mind is now impressed with these emotionally charged thoughts of what was…and what could’ve been. She ponders when she will have it all again. Love is a drug, as I observe this circumstance. Even Komfort’s boyfriend feels the wrath of her neglect. (smh)….I asked her last night: “is it better to have had and lost, or better to not have at all?”
….”better to not have it at all”, she says….for me, I say otherwise. I mean, if love is a drug, would you rather say no before you ever got to try it? I guess that’s why sometimes we say no to love….fearing the suffering that acts as a payment for its pleasures