In an alien landscape and social environment but the same pattern and instinct for being what we are, self-interest first and the rest thereafter, and for me, the second or the third experience of being an exiled one, it's sort of really shocking to find even stranger a phenomenon related with what I've been reading (I'm almost at the close of reading Marcel Proust.), namely an invert one, a guy so much in tryst with proving his being virile or machismo or having that many female admirers so obscure and nameless, who could dare to create a seraglio of his own out of his fancied notion of his being someone virile, foolproof, perfect. Apart from such a one being, perhaps, a perfect husband, for he accompanies only guys and thereby leaves his partner at ease as per her own ignorance, or a nuisance to her, for he tends to prove his virility by courting any opposite sexes at hand, I've encountered something novel that is nothing other than being criminal: one who is bent to his being an exploiter of yokels (village women) who he has chance stumbled on in an alien land through the medium of social networking sites. And a victim could be also someone whose love has gone awry somehow, thanks for the breakneck speed of just appearance of now. And for me, for his being more or less a close one of mine, it's really hard to digest such huge lies of his in terms of his being innocent in inveigling a woman to perdition, despite his seemingly consistent demeanor of being impassible and taciturn and placid. Despite so, he could leave a woman to her own fate, namely leaving her to death through hemorrhage overnight as of a miscarriage. But later on, he could reason her, when encountered with her own way of voicing her rights and interests, with such crude wording like 'one has to sacrifice any in the name of love' but after having been dazed by her challenging mode of expressing herself that he could never have imagined even in his dream.
No comments:
Post a Comment