Have you ever been in love with an asshole? Excuse my French but…have you? You know, those ones you know damn well can be much, much better than they are now, knowing they have it in them but are just not willing to…to change? You know, those ones? They are good people, deep down, who are oblivious to the damages they make, not because they are heartless, but because they are clumsy…all thumbs, and it gets you when you realize the problem is not them. They are just a product of the problem and suddenly you see how they have become the victim, and you…the empathetic one…you fall…in love. You see the un-unearthed gems in there and you want to dig them all out, polish them and rewrite the story. Those assholes…yeah! So that is how one afternoon, sitting on the third seat, first column from the right in the lecture hall, sporting a headache as a result of all the thinking I’d done, the realization hit.

When you are served a cocktail of two distinct (?) emotions engorging your veins, leaving you asking no one in particular, “HOW. WAS. I. MADE!?” it is hard place. You do not understand you. You do not understand why you cannot love this thing wholly or hate it wholly. You do not know what to call it. Lovehate? Hatelove? There is so much you loathe about it, but what you hate are all mud to you; acres and acres of mud. But the love you have for those half a dozen gems you know are in there, won’t let you let go. So you cling on, and seethe, get bruised, sacrifice, hurt badly, get mad, lash out, kick, fight, dig and discard, stand…weary, exhausted, dirty from head to toe and your body is screaming at you…WHY DON’T YOU STOP!!! And you stop, sigh heavily, shrug…and go right back to digging, cos it seems you are the only one on that land who’s seen what those gems can do for that land, if only someone dug them out and rewrote the story.

Every day I am tempted to quit or convince myself to focus on those things that I can fully love, but that is not me. Some conform, some leave (not give up…leave, because this may not be their call, passion). But me…ah!…me…I cannot, will not conform…I cannot, will not leave.

This love will kill me, looks like…


Do you know why it’s called a passion?


7 thoughts on “DO. YOU. KNOW. WHY. IT’S. CALLED. A. PASSION?

  1. Ask yourself, what is the end goal? Why are you still sticking around?
    An asshole is destructive, do they want you around?
    Do they have good qualities? Does the good outweigh the bad?
    Then are you sure they are not their problem?


  2. For some reason I remembered this post this morning and had to come back to it. . .

    Do I know why it’s called a passion? I guess I do;

    it wouldn’t be called a passion if there still wasn’t some bit of love left for what you do despite the hardships.

    Liked by 1 person

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