Love's only weakness Is also its greatest strength: It defies reason
I had fallen in love with him, not on first sight. It was that second gaze, the one that occurred when I contemplated if I'd been right to discard him the first time. The reason behind that second gaze might have been a chuckle, a playful grin, his expression when he looked at something he loved, or the simple way he was himself. When you watch a person, sometimes, you catch a drop of their essence. It was that essence that could cause a second gaze, and the drop that you caught by accident could turn into a steady stream straight into your heart. A steady stream of wrinkling your eyes with a smile because that's the effect they have on you. That's love.
Ask a Dutchman today about the year 1600 and without fail they will all respond Battle of Nieuwpoort. What they fought for or who, they won't know, but they remember that date as if it's important. For me, however, 1600 is the first time I ever saw a man with red hair, or a Dutchman for that matter. I even remember the human's name: Willem. The name of the ship he arrived on was the Liefde, or love. How ironic. 1609, and the Dutch were trading alongside the Portuguese. They were different. Instead of nanban, they were komo. A distinction that spoke volumes, with nanban meaning southern barbarians and komo red hair.
I met Stijn that year. I was expecting another barbarian that smelled like sweat and ass mixed together, whose clothes were unwashed, who would eat everything with his hands in disgusting fashion, and whose face could be read like an open book, yet could not even read. I had the decency to disguise my contempt for them. João was sitting, legs splayed wide open and his hair uncombed and unwashed. He had just come off of his dear ship, but he was angry. He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for his translator to come. "Finalmente!" João exclaimed turning around, grinning. His expression soured quickly, and I cocked my head. A tall, muscular man walked in. His boots came to his knees, and with every step, a thud resounded through the room. He looked ridiculous, even more so than the man sitting in front of me. European fashion. But he was different from João. He was taller, his nose thinner and pointier, his jaw squarer, his skin whiter, and his hair was yellow and his eyes green. This man was not human, nor Portuguese. He was a different nation. I looked at João to gauge his reaction. Judging from the narrowed eyes and the pursed lips, they were not allies. The stranger smirked at him, and crossed his arms. They spoke in a language I didn't know, but it ended with João standing up and snarling threats and insults. "Please welcome the Dutch representative, Constantijn Hendrikszoon," his interpreter said, bowing as João finally shut up. The Portuguese one then entered the room, and sat down next to João. Angry, hushed whispers that were barely whispers at all filled the room.
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It Defies Reason [1a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-12-17 04:09 pm (UTC)(link)Is also its greatest strength:
It defies reason
I had fallen in love with him, not on first sight. It was that second gaze, the one that occurred when I contemplated if I'd been right to discard him the first time. The reason behind that second gaze might have been a chuckle, a playful grin, his expression when he looked at something he loved, or the simple way he was himself. When you watch a person, sometimes, you catch a drop of their essence. It was that essence that could cause a second gaze, and the drop that you caught by accident could turn into a steady stream straight into your heart. A steady stream of wrinkling your eyes with a smile because that's the effect they have on you. That's love.
Ask a Dutchman today about the year 1600 and without fail they will all respond Battle of Nieuwpoort. What they fought for or who, they won't know, but they remember that date as if it's important. For me, however, 1600 is the first time I ever saw a man with red hair, or a Dutchman for that matter. I even remember the human's name: Willem. The name of the ship he arrived on was the Liefde, or love. How ironic. 1609, and the Dutch were trading alongside the Portuguese. They were different. Instead of nanban, they were komo. A distinction that spoke volumes, with nanban meaning southern barbarians and komo red hair.
I met Stijn that year. I was expecting another barbarian that smelled like sweat and ass mixed together, whose clothes were unwashed, who would eat everything with his hands in disgusting fashion, and whose face could be read like an open book, yet could not even read. I had the decency to disguise my contempt for them. João was sitting, legs splayed wide open and his hair uncombed and unwashed. He had just come off of his dear ship, but he was angry. He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, waiting for his translator to come.
"Finalmente!" João exclaimed turning around, grinning. His expression soured quickly, and I cocked my head.
A tall, muscular man walked in. His boots came to his knees, and with every step, a thud resounded through the room. He looked ridiculous, even more so than the man sitting in front of me. European fashion. But he was different from João. He was taller, his nose thinner and pointier, his jaw squarer, his skin whiter, and his hair was yellow and his eyes green. This man was not human, nor Portuguese. He was a different nation.
I looked at João to gauge his reaction. Judging from the narrowed eyes and the pursed lips, they were not allies. The stranger smirked at him, and crossed his arms. They spoke in a language I didn't know, but it ended with João standing up and snarling threats and insults.
"Please welcome the Dutch representative, Constantijn Hendrikszoon," his interpreter said, bowing as João finally shut up.
The Portuguese one then entered the room, and sat down next to João. Angry, hushed whispers that were barely whispers at all filled the room.