Kiss

Before I had my first kiss, I had daydreamed about it an infinite amount of times. Thinking back to these daydreams, I remember many flecks of glitter- the lit-up edges of these daydreams caressed my innate romanticism as I dreamt my first kiss with a boy, glitter-flecked eyes and some heart-shaped grin.

It slowly became an obsession of mine. And so, the obsession, as all obsessions do, grew into an overwhelming fear, cruxing itself on two fundamental thoughts:

1) how often can I practice kissing on my knee before I solidify my status as ‘lonely freakish girl’

and/or

2) can someone please inform me what the appropriate level of ‘puckering’ is?

I met a boy at age 16. I met him, and it took me five weeks to smile at him in public. He had these lovely thick eyelashes that left dancing shadows along his laugh lines. I would often stare longest at these eyelashes, studying the upward slope, always thinking back to my courses in physics as I wondered how much friction ensued when he laughed and happiness spilled out of his warm brown eyes onto the upward slope at amazing rates.

~

I have a bad habit of trying to pinpoint the happiest moment of my life. It is this rigid tendency, so futile that is closely resembles trying to hold the infinity of the Universe in the palm of my hand. I know that happiness has never fully expressed itself in a singular moment- it has ebbed and flowed as a murky cloak over my eyes. But alas, I try to pinpoint the happiest moment in my life so that I can have a point of origin. A North Star.

The moment I often think of exists as a single moment in my mind, but I really think it is a mosaic of many small fragments. I’m always sitting on a hill. I have walked a long way and have left my ‘comfort zone’ (drawn below as Figure 1).  

Figure 1

The light is always really soft, usually highlighting something in the distance. I sit on the verge of tears- the edge of a paradox as I release my happiness in the form of perceived sadness. Because I have left my comfort zone, I am always a little scared too. I usually think of something so big, so infinite that I must let out everything in one long laugh.

This is my happiest moment. I don’t know if it exists beyond the wheeling confines of my mind, but it does exist as a converging point. From here, I take in the view from my hill. Tears always meet laughter.

~

When my first kiss finally happened, friction ended up working against me.

I was on the golf course behind my house, wearing a hot pink bathing suit. I had a middle part (my hair always dries in a middle part, which inspired my mother’s now infamous statement that I just “don’t look good wet”). Ten of our closest friends were there, and they stood only a few feet away.

I remember him leaning in. Those eyelashes that I had loved so much became overpowering, so I squinted my eyes shut at the friction and puckered my lips as hard as I could.

I think it only lasted a second. I had puckered so hard my jaw was left sore. I jerked back after that second, and in my burst of rashness, screamed: I’M SORRY, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO KISS, I JUST UH AH. Then I made a weird shrieking noise before running as fast as I could down the golf course back home.

I share this story because it shows that life is always awkward and messy. In my daydreams, I can live in comfort and in magic. I can picture perfect first kisses, and of course, I always have that hill where my tears and laughter converge together. These moments in my head are always so beautiful- devoid of the friction my real life struggles to overcome with a smooth velocity. 

So, between the messy manifestation of my life and the beautiful moments I can always hold in my sacred imagination, I live on the edge of paradox, in which imperfection and perfection thrive as kindred forces.

It is here that I hope for the best all while getting bruised along the way.

The Paradox: Visits London in pursuit of wonderful adventure. But, it is rainy and windy and I make this face in photos.