At some point in time, most people will come to realise that what they see is not always what they get, and that life and people can sometimes be quite deceptive.
It's like when I see my ex, and we smile and greet each other, and we're both cordial and polite and even friendly on the outside, but inside I'm thinking that he's still the same indecisive loser asshole that doesn't want to grow up. And he probably thinks I'm a judgmental bitch and secretly wants me to disappear so that he can avoid the awkward encounter, and continue on his merry way like nothing ever happened. Only those people who really know us will be able to see through that façade.
It got me thinking about the world at large and the number of people who pretend on a daily basis. It also got me thinking about couples and where their relationships (and love) go to after they die.
My friend Zenat comes to mind. In typical Celeste and Jesse style, she and her fiancé Nazir amicably decided to call it quits for a number of reasons, the most important one being that while they loved each others company, in the end they just had too many different ideas and wanted different things. And they managed to remain good friends afterwards, still going out and attending events together... until Zenat met someone else.
And then suddenly, it was a cold war. From the way I saw it, Nazir was particularly devastated - a result of either having had the vain hope that they would eventually get back together, or from the dawning realisation that it was over for good and the acknowledgement that life as he knew it would never be the same again.
Or perhaps, there was a third reason. Maybe his ego was just bruised because he had lost?
There's this unspoken rivalry that exists between exes... sometimes it doesn't even manifest until a particular point in the break-up. It's the who-can-move-on-first question that becomes a competition of sorts.
I'm reminded of this every time I secretly stalk my ex on Facebook, even though any kind of feeling for him had dissipated years ago. Moving on not only seemed like the next logical step, but as the brass ring, some kind of marker for success. And then came the time when I somewhat painfully conceded defeat - it was only painful because I allowed my own ego to be crushed under the weight of his obnoxious arrogant behaviour - which subsequently cemented my belief that he was a loser asshole and warranted my pity for his new girlfriend.
So I look through his photos, and as an ever present if not secretly hidden spectator in his life, I witness all the women that come and go and all his ups and downs. Do I really care? Not at all. Is it juvenile? Of course it is... but looking through his photos and quantifying his failures gives me a sense of gratification I cannot explain. It confirms everything I ever suspected about him, and validates every reason why we broke up in the first place.
Because as human beings, we tend to want reasons for everything. And when we're not looking for those reasons, we smile and nod out of courtesy, even when we think the recipient of our smiles and nods are bitches and assholes.