Ah amour… Isn’t it grand. This one word has played host to a whole range of emotions ever since the very first thought and feeling formed in our Neanderthal cousins. They were the first of our species to live together and congregate in groups, so I can only assume it started then. Sometimes I’m sure you’ve wished that you never knew the word love and what it stands for, while other times you knew that life was not worth living without having it. Which is curious seeing as most of us are forgetting the details in it. We are rushing from relationship to fling, to hook up, back to a relationship whereupon losing the glorious subtleties in the slowness of a flickering flame. The beginning musings of two lovers has become a novelty act in a modern novel which will no doubt be picked up by a billion dollar movie company so it can be mass produced and distort our already skewed notions of the subject. They forget to tell the truth that sometimes love doesn’t work out. But the point of it, is to have been able to have experienced it. The touching of hands, the embrace leading up to a passionate kiss. The midnight conversations and the giggling of inside jokes. I know it’s an even better story if the “Boy gets the girl”, but what about what they went through after that?
I would just like to point out that I am not pooh-poohing on love. On the contrary I am a great romantic soppy being who has unfortunately shoved all the mushy hope of love deep down into the darkest recesses of my soul. But despite this blockage, I still yearn for it. I suppose ultimately I want to be proven wrong. I want more than anything, to experience falling in love again. But I want it to be done the right way. And I want a man to at least make the effort to go along for the ride. To be partners even if for a short moment in time. But living in a fast paced city along with failed relationships, I have started to lose faith. I have started to internalise that maybe the common denominator is me in all of this. That maybe I can’t compete with these Instagram famous beauties and tinder women ready to give it up in two seconds. I unfortunately have realised that I am an old soul. A soul that needs to feel some sort of way before I spread my legs to a potential suitor. I mean usually if the man lasts three dates, chances are he’s getting some. However, I want to be courted and wooed despite the fact that I am a strong, independent woman. I want to feel like I would be a great catch. And thus, when I feel like the burdens of love gets the best of me, I have a little trick that soothes my melancholic mood… I turn to Etta. That’s Etta James to the rest of you. Haha oh I’m just joshing! But seriously though… I think it’s best you call her Ms. James.
It’s no secret that I am one huge Etta James fan. Yes, sure, she was troubled and had hardships throughout her life. But, the woman harnessed those feelings to tell stories through song. And one has stuck with me and probably will stick with me, for the rest of my life….A Sunday Kind of Love.
When I was younger I never really got it. But as I grew up I realised that I too was longing for something such as the comfortability of what a ‘Sunday Love’ could bring. I tend to romanticise how things used to be back in the day. Which is also no secret by the way. I don’t really know why that is. I suppose it was the slow smooth pace of things. I would hear my parents and grandparents tell their stories of how they fell in love and my imagination then got the best of me. I truly believe I was born in the wrong era. Does anybody else feel that way too? I just really long for the simplicities at times.
To me a Sunday Kind of Love meant a love that would last past the dynamic intensity of the initial meeting. It meant longevity, stability, the easiness of a Sunday morning (Lionel Richie style).
Etta James’ raspy strong vocals caressed your ears and when she sang:
I felt it. I knew what she was talking about. I went through it and I too longed for something more from this life. It’s so easy to let a big city take you and friends who rush you and your job that pushes you and a family that rushes you some more, that you naturally forget that love was meant to be experienced and not dabbled in. It should be something that you immerse yourself in, in order to get the full effects. Why is that so hard nowadays. We are turning into robotic zombies. We meet people through apps, we judge them quickly in a photo and a few random text messages and bang that’s it. What happened to looking at someone from a distance, looking at all their features, watching how they laugh with their friends or how their eyes sparkle when they are engrossed in a passionate subject. A single photo would not be able to show you all these nuances. And it might be one of these nuances that attracts you to someone.
Therefore I too want a Sunday kind of love. I want someone who will be there for me. Someone who gets me and cherishes the time and memories that we have created together. I want laughter to consume us and happiness to guide us. I want an adventurer who will follow me to new destinations; and I will him. I want easiness, wholeness, trustworthiness, attentiveness and assuredness.
I don’t think it’s wrong to hold out for these things. And I also don’t think that I am asking for the moon. So therefore I will keep my steadfastness in tact thank you. Even if it’s turning out to be just me and Etta on this quest. But I sure as hell know, I will not settle just because I found someone with a penis. Oh no! I will get that Sunday Love even if it kills me. And when I do… “At Last” will be the next song that I will be blasting from Etta’s catalogue of awesomeness….