Decisions
CONDITIONS ( or a letter written by Albert Einstein to his first wife Mileva Marič, in July 1914, with the conditions for his return)
A. You will make sure:
1. that my clothes and laundry are kept in good order;
2. that I will receive my three meals regularly in my room;
3. that my bedroom and study are kept neat, and especially that my desk is left for my use only.B. You will renounce all personal relations with me insofar as they are not completely necessary for social reasons. Specifically, You will forego:
1. my sitting at home with you;
2. my going out or traveling with you.C. You will obey the following points in your relations with me:
1. you will not expect any intimacy from me, nor will you reproach me in any way;
2. you will stop talking to me if I request it;
3. you will leave my bedroom or study immediately without protest if I request it.D. You will undertake not to belittle me in front of our children, either through words or behavior.
(in Einstein: His life and universe by Walter Isaacson, as cited in Openculture)
I never thought of myself as being pragmatic.
Always my head in the air,
which dense with clouds weighed me down.
Always distraction between paths and waves.
When I was four I got lost at the beach.
For the adults, I was lost.
For myself, I was more than found.
In the solitude of the steps,
I finally existed in a solid-state.
When I was six I asked for a Journal.
I wanted to grow.
Mature in stories to tell.
Adult stories, plots that mattered.
A decision was then made: to fall in love.
I never thought of myself as being pragmatic,
however, at school, as I already knew how to read and write.
I fought against boredom by going through
the list of all the boys in the class.
I wanted passion: an unrequited love or platonic only.
Either the urge of not knowing
or the pleasure of being able to imagine.
I knew that more is always written about these stories.
Where did I learn it from?
No idea, but I boldly followed my plan.
At the age of six, I decided to stray.
No heroine initiates the narrative knowing
where she is or where she is going to end.
Everything revolves around the route,
There, in the schoolyard the epiphany:
Love is a decision.
I still abide by this rule,
But as an aspiring scientist,
I had to accumulate calculations and impressions taken
from the empirical experience of bodies.
Today, I assure you that to fall in love
is a 40 percent decision.
And 60 percent of genetics sprinkled with trauma.
By deciding to fall in love,
I overruled an entire self-defense protocol.
Girls are always told that to fall in love is the most important thing.
To take care of others. To have compassion.
To display unlimited understanding.
It is certainly important. Empathy, I mean.
Probably the most important thing on this Earth.
But why do we hide this truth from the majority of our boys?
Why should we girls be trained to love bodies,
which are instructed to avoid affection?
In fact, to fear affection?
To fear our bodies,
the same bodies they also desire?
And just like that, the system converts us into objects
and energy resources to be preyed upon.
And we submit to it,
wasting our energy dreaming of weddings,
or by performing catfights against our own soul sisters,
just for a microsecond of male attention.
Where is the reciprocity?
Where is our promised happy ending?
Definitely not in the Romance where
patriarchy dictates the rules.
Be it in monogamy or polyamory
or any shape or constellation.
Patriarchy still wins.
For the girls who refuse to dance,
We distribute snacks of scorn and pity.
Why does it feel like we always have something to lose?
Our priorities and a life of solitude?
Or a hand to hold and no or self-love or life goals?
We even say that we give ourselves.
Our purity. Our virginities. Our bodies.
We do not give. We share. As you also should.
I am quite familiar with the steps of this dance,
however, I fail to appreciate the nausea
caused by the multiple twirls.
Women always swirl more, did you notice that?
We are so flexible, we bend until we disappear!
But I don’t want to disappear!
I am pragmatic. I sit by your side.
Your voice is warm and uses words I don’t need to translate.
I want to be bold as the 6-year-old girl I once was,
but this time I expect reciprocated
affection, responsibility, honesty, and respect.
A love that is not all-consuming and selfish.
I don’t want to be cow shit, and
I don’t want you to be the mushroom which
grows out of sucking me.
I see you there waiting. But I need time,
I need time. I need MY time.
Did I tell you I need time?
I want to be pragmatic,
but I also want to keep on remembering my own name.