Critique

There was once a very simple young man. He was unusually quiet, and he was kind. He would agree to almost anything said to him. He didn't always believe things people told him, but he never brooked an argument. He would aquiscence at the time, and move on, not letting what he considered false notions bother him.

Now this young had a very lovely young lady as a friend. They weren't in love, but they were pals, they were chums. They had shared heart-makes, heart-breaks, troubles, money problems, acne, toothache, foot-corns, broken nails, paper cuts, car breakdowns, muggings, dissapointments with the way the world worked, professional problems, problems with other friends, with their bosses, politics at work, problems of crowded buses and trains, and a bunch of other problems with each other as well, including flat tires and running out of shampoo.

This young lady was of a flightly mind, having wild notions every now and then. She would turn into a pacifist and thence to a pro-war demagogue in a matter of seconds. She was possessed of an iron will, but her attention wasn't fixed on any set of ideas or issues in particular.

The young man and the young lady were the best of friends, had been so for years. The young man never raised an objection to any of her proclamations, never argued on any topic, even if it went against his natural beliefs. He was of the bent of mind that says, live and let live for Opinions never change facts.

The matter of interest in this story is when the young lady once proclaimed herself to be a hater of all men. Men were egoistic pigs, she declared. She had suffered a bad breakup, and was venting nearest him who listened the best - the young man of our little story.

"They do and say anything and everything to keep their little egos and pegos satisfied, " declared the young lady.

"Yes indeed, I agree that we are", chimed in the young man. He knew that she needed support, not a discussion on the statistical distribution of such qualities among the male half of the species.

"Women, now are much more stable, they are able to feel better. We are much more sensitive", the young lady added onto her tirade.

"Ah, woman, thou are a saint", echoed the young man.

"You know what, I'm heartily sick of listening to you agree to everything I say. You never have an opinion of your own. Or even when you do, you simply agree with me, and try to let the matter drop. Why do we even talk?", asked the young lady all of a sudden.

"No, no, I have opinions. I believe in things via my own persuasion as well." rebutted the young man, taken aback and concerned.

"You're spineless, that's what you are, just like all men. And to think that I once thought I loved you." the young lady prepared to leave.

"What? No, listen! Please wait...!" the young man put in desperately.

"What for? You're a sissy. I can't love a man who has no willpower at all. I'm leaving. Don't try showing up at my place ever again." the young lady picked up her things and departed, leaving behind a sad young man.

There wasn't much to say, the young man thought. There never is. People never truly understand. Willpower isn't about believing in your own convictions enough to back them up in public for no real reason. That isn't what it is about, really.

What is willpower then? - A question raised itself in his mind. And though the man was sad that he had lost his friend, he wasn't sad that he was weak. For he had will-power, lots of it. And what could be a greater feat of will-power than to let the woman of his affections for a good number of years hate him for a while, before she cooled down?

Willpower is about bearing things for people you love, even when those people do something you dislike. Fortitude is nothing but keeping things that hurt you, inside, not disturbing the quietitude of others engaged in important tasks.

Strength is when you can afford to bear not using it when you know you can make things go away just with a little effort. That much-cliched virtue, stoicism, is nothing but a paragon of solid and iron-bellied will, that allows you control over that most flighty of human traits - emotion.

So he said nothing, as he never did. Love is letting live, after all, even if noone ever understood.


***

Was he stupid? Was he heroic? What do we know. And who are we to critique? Things, people, hearts, passions, all are inconstant. Love is the only thing that is constant. And that is why true love is based on communication, understanding, and respect. Oh, and space, and accomodation of the occaasional bout of quirkiness or ego. :)

But then again, who am I to know? or to critique? I'm just a guy.