They say women make room for their emotions and as such carry hand bags; and men compartmentalize, hence carry a wallet.
Men are physical beings; women are emotional beings.
Men like to have sex; women would rather eat chocolates and cuddle than have sex.
When a man is stressed and going through some tough times– especially of the financial variety– he looks inward and tries to sort it out himself; women like company. I’m guessing whoever began the expression “misery loves company” was probably thinking women.
So when a man is heartbroken, he wraps the cloak of his pride tight, bows his head in shame and finds a way to sort out himself; perhaps he prays for another loving hand to massage his aching heart once again. Or he takes the less honourable but easier path of becoming a serial flirt, collecting his jar of hearts to grace his trophy shelf.
But when a woman is heart broken, she gathers the fragment, calls the girls, and throws a pity party. Chocolates, ice creams, tissue, a lifetime of hugs and sappy love movies. We talk about how men are pigs; the boyfriend has big smelly feet; his mustache makes him look like wolverine. Then cry some more because none of that’s true. Wish our love life were like the movies and fairytales we love to watch, and become wary of the next man who crosses our path.
But of course that’s if you live in a movie or fairytale and you’re white. If you’re African or most certainly Nigerian, you’d probably keep the story of your heart break hidden from your friends because you spent the last couple of months bragging about how he was the best thing since sliced bread.
We sit and hope the errant party realise what they are missing or have lost in letting us go and pray they come to their senses soon. We dream of that life changing call, where they profess undying love and affection and blame their pride and stupidity for the decisions made, just like the movies.
But you know what, life isn’t a movie.
There are no dark knights charging in on great white stallions. No true loves’ kiss to mend the pieces of shattered dreams. There will be no choreographing our way to happiness. And if the gods of regret happen by our way, the greater gods of pride and tradition, of whom we are conversant, will most likely than not succeed in stuffing our ears with the buds of stubbornness.
Do yourself a favour and invest in actions flicks like The Expendables; while they are just as surreal as their sappy cousins, they are less likely to blur the lines between reality and fiction in a way that will mess you up in the head.
Work on what’s important. Love will come and go, but your happiness will remain if you discover the secret ingredients to cook a pot from within.
Most of all, write your own conclusions and know that the best movie experiences come from those that give our imagination the wings to fly and avail us the opportunity of filling the blanks ourselves.