Recently, my wife asked me whether I needed a themes cake for my 40th b’day which will happen in less than 6 months time. I said yes, to which she asked “what is the theme you would like love ?”, and even without the lapse of 2 seconds, I replied “Superman” (after my favorite song). It was my honest opinion and even for our wedding (Michelle and Mine), we were originally going to dance to a song by John Ondarisk (Five For Fighting) called “The Best”, a song loved both by my wife and me. We had to change last minute due to difficulties in choreographing the moves of our first dance to “the best”. After all what Superman had to offer Loise Lane, must have been the best kind of love, the best love can ever do and we wanted that for us too.
Anyway, “Superman” by Five For Fighting is my superlative song, b’cos it shows the real man behind the cape and all his layers of kryptonite. He just wants to be loved honestly, to cry both happy and sad tears, to feel vulnerable, to fall on the knees, to feel like a mortal, after all he is only a man in a silly red sheet searching for kryptonite on a one way street. His kryptonite is love, the truest kind, the type that is painted on the murals of the heart and even sketched on memorabilia of love exchanged between lovers – the profound and the cosmetics dichotomy of true love.
Anyway, when I hit 40, I will look back at my 30s when I’m bound to feel a sense of drowning in sorrow, after all that was the decade my life was deracinated and all I had was the top soil of sanity to root my life. Privacy – physical and mental – was non-existent, dating was scarce (after all a guy earning scraps and with only contractual employment, no woman will ever give a chance in Sri Lanka – perhaps even overseas) and until I met my wife, I was a virgin in holding hands, kissing, making love and every minute nonsensical act lovers do. I owe my wife my many rites of passage and that will always last with me till the end of time.
I’m no superman – I’m far from it. I look hideous with tummy fat after the whole of my 30s was spent binge eating (although that has rarely intruded me in the sports field), my libido goes up and down (due to psychiatric drugs) and I’ve realized most my dreams (I carry an empty bucket list), which makes me less of a fighter, in every way and I have phobias and fears which makes me far from a superhero. Still, what Superman and I share is the heart’s kryptonite, the dreamer’s disease, the el-dorado, the arc of the covenant, the grail of love. I may have found love in my wife and I direly hope that what I feel for her is the real thing. After all, when people around build a fake world around you, you don’t know what is real anymore just like Jim Carrey’s character in Truman Show. My only solace is that I did the best with what I was offered – I married the best woman, I did my best at work and I tried to be there for people that mattered. After all, I have worn my heart on the outside, just like Superman wears his speedos, and some empathy – if you can muster – is all I ask.