a pesky question.

Crossing my hairy pins I rest against the wall and glare my favourite curly locked friend in the eyes. “But I aaaaaaaam……” I howl.
“You can’t be,” sighs Freddie, slackening his shoulders and laying back into his seat with frustration, “The Cribs say you are either or eye-ther, so what is it?”
“I’m defiantly both. I promise you, it’s possible to be both.”
“But hooooow?” wails Freddie this time.
At this moment the spindly, profoundly limbed friend jostles into the room, insistent to be integrated into the natter. Matthew Sandford and myself are fervent, conflicting opinions on the matter at hand. I knew his answer to Freddie’s question prior to it being asked.
“Matt, realist or romanticist?” enquires the ringlet one.
“REALIST,” bellows the gangly one.

How did I know? Honestly, I may well have had a small hernia if he’d of replied anything but the cynics response. Matt Sandford is a pessimist, a sceptic, incapable of dreaming loving rom-com’s up in his script writers psyche.

“What are you then Freddie?” I wonder aloud.
“Well, I’d like to think I’m a romanticist, but then again…”

Is it feasible to be a realist in addition to being a romanticist at one time? Or is it implausible to be a romanticist. A romanticist without a smidgen of cynicism about yourself?

For myself, there have been a number of encounters, many experiences where in a split second I have gazed about and contemplated about how the world is truly perfect. How cheesy?! God, I wish it wasn’t true.
My happiest memory should truly be tainted, because the reality a year on is so dissimilar. Yet my romantic side allows me to acknowledge that in that one moment, whilst laying in that Bangkok bed, jet lagged and wide awake at 6:00am flickering through music, chitchatting as life continued in the busy streets of Pinklao outside of my sanctuary, I truly was happy and time can not snatch that memory away from me. This is my romantic side. The segment of my mind that looks upon a beautiful beach, or up at the stars, or across at my dear old Nan and smiles. Because things are right in the world.

Nevertheless I do indeed declare I’m both a romanticist AND a realist.

Despite my optimistic outlook on life, I acknowledge reality. In the deepest realms of love, I’m not naïve enough to believe that it will continue forever. When I gaze at my Nan, I mentally prepare myself for the worst; morbid I know, right? Whilst lounging about on a stunning beach, I know that in but two weeks it will be time to return to reality; beach bumming can not continue subsequently for the next 80 years of life.

It would appear that during times of glee my natural reaction is to remind myself that this will inevitably be followed by sorrow; I seem to reality check myself constantly so as to control my over-zealous emotions.
Whilst alternatively during times of grief and dilemmas my optimism shimmers through, my innate response is to mentally reassure myself that things can and will become better.

Therefore, it is shown. I am both a realist in times of cheerfulness yet a romanticist throughout periods of unhappiness. Optimism and pessimism can coexist beside one another. They can I tell you!
And does this not just sound like the most idealistic state of mind to possess? To allow one's self to have faith, yet misgivings as well, at once. To debate the pro's and con's in one's mind? To be rather brutally honest, the romanticist within is probably the stronger of my self's since, despite acknowledging the brutal realities of life, I will continue to put myself in these positions that one day I know will hurt, but at that moment they create happiness in my life. It's alike that time old saying: a moment on the lips, a lift time on the hips.
Should we really live for the long term, how those pesky 100% Matthew Sandford realist would have us go about our day to day buisness? Or is the spontaneous, short term thinking and consequence forgetting life of the romanticist’s the way to go?

"There’s always madness in love, but there’s always reason in madness."
Leecher