Lust - never growing up.

 ...she has a way with me. She knows how to lead me on. I find it difficult to resist her. She comes by many names. Amongst the many names I have come to know her, her original name is lust. 

Lust grew up with me. She was never far from me. She knows where to press my buttons. She knows how to take over. She knows how to steer me on. 

Over the years, she has got me to do what I do not want to do. She is always in my mind. However hard I try, I could not shake her off. Ironically, the only way to keep her at bay is to shake it off. But that would mean I have given in. Some may call it a harmless release. Others, a risk or an obsession we can’t dismiss. There is never any clarity or resolution with lust.

Ours is often an unhealthy relationship, because nothing is ever enough for her. When she wants my attention, she knows how to get it, draw it, and demand it. Lust knows my soft spot. Somehow, I often give in to her, even without knowing it. I harbour this belief that she operates better in my subconscious. Her constant presence is that subtle to me. She is at her best in the dark. She is the shadow of my conscience, the fire of my desire. 

We often conspire to justify our relationship. Don’t ask me why I am a willing participant to it. It’s like a suicide pact but it is not about the death of a life. It is however about the slow death of self-control. Yet, I am putty in her hands. I often do her bidding. 

I know it takes two to make it work. Her agenda is open and clear. She has nothing to hide from me. Lust wants to draw me into her world. She dreads being alone in hers. She wants my company, for as long as it takes, for as long as the heat burns.

Though I do not want to admit it, I can’t stop thinking about her. She has a pull on me I often struggle with. The reality is, there are times I have the upper hand. I managed to say no to her. I refused to step into her world. Those times, I sensed the rising pride. I was back in the driver’s seat. 

Yet, my “no” never lasts. The resolve never holds. It is a momentary victory but it’s funny how every victory only makes the next struggle harder. It is like finishing a race, sweat and all, hoping to rest on my laurel. But, the next race is even longer. The terrain is tougher. The sky darker. The shadow looms larger. 

There is just a certain vexing disproportionality when it comes to battling it out with lust. It’s a one-sided bargain, a Faustian gambit. It’s like she had let me win on purpose just to give me that false sense of buoyancy. My rising pride was nothing more than a conniving partner with lust. 

I believe she takes pleasure in stringing me along. She knows how to play with my feelings. She knows me too well. She is a mind reader and a heart discerner all rolled into one. 

I always ask, what is lust’s ultimate purpose in my life? Where is her seat of consciousness or conscience? Does she have one to begin with? What would become of us if creation comes without it?

And will pleasure be any less enjoyable without her? Will guilt be eliminated without her? Will marriage work better without lust? Does marriage even need her? Are they mutually exclusive? 

And within the sacred boundaries of marriage, is lust even necessary? Can’t marriage be enough to drive us on, make us desire, show us the way to unbridled, lasting consummation?

Alas, if marriage has any competitor, it is novelty. Lust is never in want of that. She is an old hand when it comes to that. Novelty is her middle name. Mind you, she is not called the forbidden fruit for nothing. It’s that forbidden-ness that makes her hard to resist. She seems new every morning, when you wake up with her.

Lust may be superficial but superficial makes the perfect partner for a fling, a tyrst, because she demands nothing from us. It is a pact for that season, and once that season is over, we depart, no strings attached. That is, a clean break, until a hook up later. That’s the hook right? For how does a fish imprisoned in lust’s pool resist the only bait that hides the hook?

Let me end with an imagery. 

I see lust as a childhood friend. She has been with me from the start. I also see a long corridor. Some call it the corridor of life. It is a narrow and dark corridor. But lust would not have it any other way. She says she likes the silence. She says light makes her uncomfortable. 

This corridor has many doors. Lust always holds me by the hand and we would open each door to see what’s in store. Every door opened has me inside. It shows a world with me and someone else, or at a place with other people. They are familiar faces. 

One door leads to a room of my childhood. Another door to a room with my dad and mom, my siblings. Yet, another to a room of celebration, some graduation, promotion and awards reception. 

As lust takes me by the hand, giggling, she even allows me to enter these rooms, to be with the people in the rooms. But it will not be for long though. After a while, she beckons. By the door, she sulks if I resist. I know I have to leave to join her to journey down the corridor. Don’t ask me why.

Over the years, lust and I opened many doors. I had also joined the many activities in the room, in the lives of the people in the room. I recall one room I just can’t forget. It is a room with someone I had walked down the aisle with. I recall I said I do to her and she to me. 

We really like each other. We spent many intimate moments together. But, even during those times, I can feel lust watching me by the shadows. She was not too happy; sometimes, seething. 

That particular room was special because together we had kids. They were so special to me. I felt a true connection. I was actually happy. 

But yes, lust beckoned again. This time, I resisted her. I wanted to fight. I wanted to turn away. But every night, when I am all alone, I would find her in my dreams, in my thoughts and even in my waking hours. She was relentless. She pursued me with flaming desire. She wanted me back, into her arms. 

I recall it came to a point I started to live a double life. In the room, I was there, physically present and participating. But, I would also sneak out to be with lust, to journey down the corridor. There are still many surprises along the corridor, and with lust the surprises never end. When I am done, I would return to that special room, to be with those familiar faces, faces that I miss so much. 

But, before long, my resolve gave in and I held on to the hand of lust for good. I also left the room for good too. I rather chose to travel with lust. 

Yet, at the end of the journey, traversing down the long corridor of life, I finally reached the end of it. There was a mirror at the end. It was a dead end. Lust then invited me to look into the mirror and I did. What I saw shocked me. What I saw in the mirror was a child. It was me never growing up. I was totally naked. 

The years and decades may have gone by, but I was left behind. I never grew up. I was a child. I thought I have grown up, achieving so much, but I was still a child. I then looked at lust, that is, her image in the mirror. And I saw her as opposite of me. She was old, really old. Her skin was not as flawless as the mirror was revealing it to me. It was heavily wrinkled, worn down, and she didn’t age well at all. 

At this time, something within me beckoned me to look back. I turned around and looked behind me, where all the doors were - all the doors I had walked past. They were all tightly shut, closed. I left them that way. 

Alas, I was never fully present in those rooms. I was never really invested. At that point, I came to realise that I had spent my time, my life, running down the dark corridor, with my hands led by lust. I was never fully in control. I had spent my life chasing that which has taken me away from the things and people that mattered to me, people I am happy with. 

Standing there, with aged lust, facing my end, I just could not recognise myself in the mirror. My life was never my own. I never took control.