”Women must give birth, men have to be tattooed,” says one Samoan tattoo song, expressing an age-old idea of equality between the sexes. Both must endure pain. In traditional Samoan society all young males had to be tattooed when they reached their late teens. Otherwise they were not considered real men. Nowadays, the custom is no longer general, but it is still associated with manhood and male prestige, and hugely popular.
Oh, how hard it is, to convice ourselves that we are worth more than what we usually bargain for in relationships.
To look at our reflection and think, ”I can choose to be with whoever I want, because I am worth exactly what I want.” To believe those words, is the hardest thing a girl has to do these days, even though it’s the truest declaration we can ever make. I am worth a lot, and I do not have to settle for less out of solitude, misunderstandings, different expectations, or worse, misjudgment of my own desires.
I do not want someone who is part-time interested. Nor do I want someone who is part-time interesting. I want to be passionate about someone. To crave him when he’s not around, heck, to crave him even when he is around. I want to look into his eyes, and see what I feel.
They say a soulmate is not a perfect match; it’s a mirror of our soul. And that doesn’t mean they are exactly like us; it means they show us our true self, with all its flaws, in all its glory. And not only do they absolutely love what they see, but they make us love what we are. That, is a soulmate. And that is what I want. I want to feel pain in my stomach, knots in my throat, shivers down my spine, sweat in the palm of my hands. I want my neck to tickle with excitment, my lips to tremble with desire, my eyes to shine with exaltation. Nothing less.
I crack my neck, and you rub it. You yawn, and I hand out a cup of coffee, with cinnamon and a bit of soy milk, just like you love it. I wash my hair, and you want to make it dirty all over again. You dance, and I take pictures of your smile, at the perfect moment; that second where you become a child again, where you feel the love in your every move. And you look at me, and I look at you. And we don’t have to say aything, but we say everything anyway.
Your fingers glide down the curve of my waist; the valley of my body, and up on my hips; the ones I used to find too big, until you looked at them like they were you new reason to live. You lightly scratch my stomach, and take a bite in the dip of my shoulderblades. You breathe in as I breathe out; our breaths meeting and mixing, becoming one as our bodies do the same. You pull my hair as I scratch your back, you sigh as I moan, our eyes meet and we know this is not a dream. We take our time, making every second last a lifetime, as life stops around us.
I want this dream to be my reality. I know life won’t make it easy on me; never has, never will. But I won’t give up; never have, never will. Because sometimes you just have to stop. Stop, take a breath. Lk around, and trust the process.