Unattainable

It’s meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting his beautiful wife Isn’t it ironic? Alanis Morissette As a Canadian-American singer-songwriter, Alanis Morisette swept the music scene of the 90s on a global scale. Particularly popular was Jagged Little Pill, which became the second-best-selling album of the entire decade. Morisette’s clear voice, unique sound, and eccentric personality were perhaps most apparent in her 1995 music video for Ironic. Naturally, many of us were quickly drawn in, rewinding the tape numerous times in order to learn every word so that we as well could belt the catchy toon out the windows of our 1995 Pontiac Grand Prix. However, in my adolescent years, I couldn’t wrap my head around the irony of Morisette’s lyrics written above. How could meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting his beautiful wife possibly be ironic? Tragic? Yes. Cruel joke of the gods? Yes. But ironic just didn’t make sense. Perhaps the irony resided in the assumption that all the good men are taken and therefore how could I have ever been so naïve to assume this perfect man could still be available? Most people who’ve known me for more than a nanosecond will have heard me say it’s either a good time, or a good story. I am convinced in years to come I will look back on my trek towards love with clearer understanding, the strength to laugh, and perhaps even see the irony in the story. However, at this particular season of life I look back and see a ridiculous romantic train wreck with The Kenyan Cheater, The South African Swinger, The Panamanian Pandemoniac, and The Faraway Fijian. How is it possible that some people (my beloved brother and his wife) can make the process of finding love look effortless? It’s like those moms at the beach who perfectly park their expensive SUV in the one shady spot, gracefully exit in a pristine white flowing dress, take their happy child from the car seat, retrieve one small bag from the trunk, and saunter their way to the waves. Whereas my love life is more like a disheveled mother falling out of the car in a rush to retrieve the screaming child from the backseat, shirt already stained with vomit, Cheerios lodged in hair, attempting to grab the chairs, cooler, umbrella, diaper bag, and beach bag from the trunk, then limping my way to the beach for all to judge. This process of finding love has been anything but an effortless day on the beach. Many people have dated someone who has cheated on them, or someone who finally gains the courage to admit they’re gay after being engaged for months, or someone who is financially, emotionally, mentally unstable. Though I’ve dated all of these men, the cruelest joke would have to be falling in love with the perfect man who I can never have. Unlike Morisette’s lyrics, this man does not have a beautiful wife, in fact, he is in love with me as well. But alas, it is a love that can never be. He’s the most honorable man I’ve met, simple, humble, hard-working, hilarious, loving, tender, forgiving, learner, and a complete anomaly amidst his culture. The very best of his culture embraces foreigners as family, raises each others’ children, supports one another through tragedy and triumphs. The aspects of his culture that’d keep me from ever residing there include stringent gender roles, lack of respect towards women, addiction to kava, language, and laziness. Can he move to the States? Well, apart from never wearing shoes, I could never ask him to leave. He is integral to his culture in a way that most westerners could never grasp. Isn’t it ironic? No. It’s not ironic. It’s not even comparable to 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife. It’s painful. It’s cruel. It hurts. And yet in the very midst of this pain, I hope to someday look back and see the good time, the good story. I hope to laugh with purest joy and gratitude that I once knew a man on a faraway island who complemented my strengths and weaknesses, sharpened my mind, softened my heart, and ignited passion. There will forever be a place in my heart for this unattainable man.