Hearing two: He who asserts must prove.

Hearing two: He who asserts must prove.

Within this sob story are many facts. Some of them are arguably fictitious, real or simply assertions, key word being arguably.

I believe any case is based on that; the fact that a party is simply “claiming” things. Whether it is true or not is immaterial right? The standard of right and wrong in a court room more often than not, is that everlasting standard set by “the law”. You just have to prove that law fits into whatever you are saying. I guess in this world, that is what the wins cases.

I lost this case even before I started arguing as its construction is assertion. This ties me to a peculiar legal premise and one alone: he, who asserts must prove.

It is a well-known legal principle that he who asserts must prove. Assertions are not always necessarily true, or necessarily founded on what is believed to be proof, as I have said. I claim they are simply theories with seconded opinions in agreement; agreement being then what is commonly known as the “proof.”

Indulge the simple interpretation of this principle in this special context.

It was more of a deceleration. It was, having these assertions that could in this instance be synonymous with beliefs and dreams, to having others in reaction to the thought that the former for some reason were misguided.*shrug*  

I was finally the young grown up; the unfolding adult and I found it exciting for some strange reason. It’s at this particular juvenile stage that teens feel they have the liberty to exercise every right in them “inherently.”

While I contend I was also part of this metamorphosis I am seemingly cynical about, my sarcasm can be construed broadly. I thus beg to clear all possible doubt by direction to this fairly restrictive two pronged interpretation.

I was a dreamer. I believed in some sort of construction of love that with every day is being dismantled and re-arranged.

I loved and hated that about myself.

The bigger question being posed now: “am I still one?”

I believed in everything else too. Bands and tours, valedictorian speeches and awards, gothic and metallic rock experiences, vampire fiction indulgences- name it. I believed in all these things for myself. As that phase unfolded, I was to learn that dreaming that dreams may come true, may in most aspects be futile.

This is why. Sometimes the point of dreaming is to help you hope, and in hoping, live. Hope; it is the motion. It makes the blood change courses.

It is what keeps you wanting to wake up the next day, and grab the nearest pen and writable surface to jot down ideals and theories that are mostly songs and production ideas, even in the most absurd places and during the most inappropriate situations.

Hope kept me believing that someday, my everlasting subjection to boarding school would end and I would finally be able to “live.” I would be able to fall in love and go on those tours I played in my mind. That is something among many other things, that God used to curb my impatience and over enthusiastic tendencies. It is also a tool God used to enable me know him more, at that time.

As I mentioned, I believed in love. While it can be said that in the application of the objective reasonable man test, everyone does believe in love, I beg to state that mine was a special kind. Yes it involved the clichés; the knights in shining amours on white horses, with blonde hair, that were princes in some far, far away kingdom but  also included the requirements for a, colloquially speaking “hot” guy. But it was established essentially on the desire for a man that loved God more than he would ever love me. That hasn’t changed and I pray will never.

So here is what happened: cute guy in blue shirt comes on an outreach plan to minister, in which and during which ministry there is the happening of “a moment” between him and I. Personal deduction and holding?-dream coming true. I was but a child really.

That Sunday all we did was exchange Facebook names. At that time my parents were of the view that I didn’t need to have a mobile phone. Little did I know that the little grace that was to be accorded to me in having one in the time to come, would be relinquished from fraternizing with this one John Tucker. Nevertheless, the following day in my most treasured computer class, I was in exercise of the privilege given to me once a week. That is; the use of the most popular social media in my circles and among my peers at that time, known as Facebook. The main point was to check for messages, see notifications and chat with someone online if you had the time to. As the lesson went on, I got to the part where I had time to chat and lo and behold, it was John Tucker sending me the first message. His name has a lot to do with this particular situation. The subject matter of our conversation was mostly awkward and thus entertaining to my friends that were with me to see those messages. I know I had said that I was apathetic to the whole situation of meeting him, and him showering me with praises over my less than amateur playing but in truth, however much I am embarrassed to admit a few things specific to my sex, we love attention. I hate that I love it. So I try not to dwell on it most of the time.

Like now. Moving on swifly.

This point is to explain that while I enjoyed the whole unfolding of this typical boy- meets- girl story, I also awarded it the clichés it deserved. Take this very parallel instance for one.

Teenage girl, who is into rock music and wants to be unique blablabla, meets random guy who she thinks is too good to be true.  In one way she is right, in other’s she is not, but at that time, to her he is just another John Tucker like guy.

The substance of that Facebook conversation wasn’t even vouching for dissuasion to my cliché conclusion. So I made it up in my mind that he was such. A typical John Tucker bent on entertaining himself with pursuits of conquest; subjects being random 15 year old girls who suck at playing the piano. And that ended that. Category named and file saved in mind.

The point I am really making to myself is that for example, while I pretended I didn’t believe in this dream, I did. But it was not to be.

The song “Dear John” By Taylor Swift was etched into my ka mind for a while. When I was fifteen, the song “Fifteen” by Taylor Swift was etched in my mind as well. But from all these chart toppers I have learnt that a cut and a broken heart are two significantly different things I have to say. That Taylor Swift chic used to be deep.

I was a little girl then when that all started, but now I’m an older little girl. I don’t want to go into the details of what that was all about because it’s always re-lived. The most I can go to explaining it, is in the feeling of having dapple gangers; me multiplied- so many “me’s” with different amplifications that make me, them.

That kind of pain can do a lot, but in the end it’s you to choose to deal with the pain in the right way. The effects of pain are not chains, they are a chair you can choose to sit in, or burn.

So the main question, is do I still believe in this whole love dream? The answer is yes and no. While love can be many things, what I dispute is the picture I have of it now that still little girl has grown up.

 I don’t believe that love is a Knight in shining armor on a white horse, neither do I believe that it’s chocolate and roses and poems and mush, even while it can be these things. It’s something much more mature and complex.

It’s not the color pink, its red. It’s not blue, it’s black. It’s the most complicated thing I know. It’s the most beautiful thing I know. To love someone and be loved is something Coldplay called “Magic.” I contend. It’s something divine and of God, for he is the essence of love. To be in excruciating pain your heart feels like its contracting, and still choose to cherish memories that only put salt in the wound must say something.

When you love someone, you love them- No matter what. That’s the biggest glitch in any escape plan, and the lynch pin in the beauty of love.

But for me I am on some other plan. The loving God plan. Don’t laugh. I’m so for real. I just also realize that I do not entirely comprehend love. Go know its source to truly live it out right?

I assert all these things about love. But I have to prove them as is the legal principle.

So in the words of the band US#,

“No one can choose who they fall for, or when they fall, or how they fall or why. But no, I don’t fall in love, it’s much too complicated.”