Tuesday, June 10, 2014

GIVING

I gave it to you, in retrospect thoughtlessly. I trusted you. And you let me down. I'd hoped, or rather believed that giving it to you as i did would consecrate its presence, that you'd value it, cherish it, see it as a precious gift i bestowed upon you, with full veraciousness and probity. I had assumed your circumspection, your discretion. I had thought my gift would be solely for you because it was meant for you, for you to examine, finger, explore and understand.

Because it was something important to me. I held it very close to myself, guarded it,  protected its preciosity. It was not something i randomly gave away, heedless of consequences. It was with not inconsiderate carefulness, consideration, judiciousness that i gave it to you. Now, in hindsight , as i reflect of human fallibility, i deplore my trust of you, knowing fully well that gifts of any kind, particularly if they are of a problematic nature get dispersed and attenuated.

Dwelling further on its importance to me, for me and given the fact it was a gift by me for you i realized how constitutive of me it was. I had suffused my being with the meritoriousness of the gift, assured myself, from all angles that it was safe to give. Because, you see, gifts often tend to be abused, only because the recipient either does not value it as much as the giver or ,in his excitement at the prospect of having been gifted something in the first place unconsciously and often unconscionably misuses it.

As you can see from my narrative, your apostasy has indented scarred and piquant craters on my consciousness and i can't overlook the significance of your dereliction. Each time i try to tell you how much the giving mattered to me i start reflecting on the trust i placed in you, a trust you shattered. As for what i gave you it was not simply a gift but a part of my being. Gifts, passionately shared, are not simply material objects attesting to their corporeal value. There is something metaphysical about a gift, a transmutation of inner life to one's recipient.

A gift is not unlike looking in a mirror. The bestower is convinced that the countenance the bestowal reveals to him is sanguine and prepossessing. It affirms his sense of goodness. It provides him with an image of himself that is what he would like to be regardless of its similarities or dissonance with his original being. The recipients moue of surprise and incredulity soon transmogrifies into a retrospective sense of having deserved, by virtue of his probity and specialness, of what he is given. The feeling is subterranean but yes it is there.

Hence my chagrin and unremitting ,relentless pain at your betrayal. Had it been a book, a painting or a box of chocolates i would still have, despite misgivings, forgiven your transgression. But you betrayed me. I gave you a sliver of my memory, of when i came out of the closet and by telling everyone of what occurred in the past, with all scurrilous ill intent, you betrayed me. 

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