Cult of the diamond

Cult of the Diamond

Did you know that the diamonds are the tear drops of the mermaids? There is a mermaid tear farm near Lapland, where they are chained and beaten hard until they cry, and those tear drops are collected by Santa’s elves who go around catching them in crucibles, as they need to earn extra money off-season. Actually, this is not true. The real diamonds shine so bright, because they are the dewdrops from the moon every time someone falls in love. Hmmm, does that sound more romantic? None of these are true, but merely our mind wanting to put meaning and a story behind this carbon element from the earth’s depths.

Like many girls, I grew up romanticising about one day being presented with the most beautiful diamond ring by a man who loves me after a whirlwind romance. We are led to believe that this symbolises the ideal of a romantic happy ending. I am not a cynic. I actually like the idea of trying to show how much you love each other with things we can see, as love can be hard to define sometimes. That whirlwind romance can happen to you unexpectedly. It happened to me when I was on a train home, after having a few drinks with friends without having a proper dinner.  I was stuffing my face with a big quick fix chocolate muffin and a decaf coffee as there wasn’t proper food at the station late in the evening. I recall my cheek was covered in chocolate. Not exactly how you want to look like when you meet your hot new love interest.

As I boarded the train earlier, I did see this very attractive blond man in mid-thirties with broad shoulders that hinted he was sporty fit, in a well-cut smart grey suit and expensive cuff-links, which indicated he probably worked in the City (financial and business district of London) sitting to the left.  The thought that he is my type crossed my mind briefly, but these men are usually married, and I didn’t think much of it, and sat down to the seat on the right-side of the aisle, diagonally across the aisle from him, and was happy to start devouring my muffin, oblivious to the fact he was staring at me. Mid-way through my muffin he stood up and I noticed that he was rather tall at 6’2.  He walked towards me and said:

‘I don’t mean to intrude your pleasure, but I just wanted to say that you are GORGEOUS.’ I looked up dumbly, meting his piercing blue eyes.

‘You take the 8:45 train into London from XXX station, don’t you?’ Yes, I was living with my parents at the time so I did take that train to work. How does he know? Is he a stalker? Alarm bell sounds <Boo-wee-boo-wee…pretend siren>. He later told me he saw me one morning a couple of weeks ago when he was going into work later than usual. Apparently it was love at first sight for him and that he even told his friend that he will do anything to make me his girlfriend, not even knowing my name or anything about me.

‘Do you mind if I sat down here opposite you? I’ve been out drinking with clients, I am actually quite thirsty…would you mind if I have a sip of your coffee? Don’t worry, I won’t steal your muffin. Sorry, I should introduce myself. I am Harry. Like in hurry up. Not in a hurry right now though. Haha.’ Firm hand shake and a confident laugh, showing his white healthy teeth, with prominent masculine canines that gave him character, like how David Beckham’s white, yet not perfectly aligned teeth give him character.

‘What is your name?’ He took off his jacket as he sat down opposite me, loosened his pale blue silk tie that complimented his eyes, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. It was a little humid, so it makes sense to take off his shirt, I mean his jacket (!), but oh my god, I thought when I glimpsed those masculine forearms.

We just chatted a bit. I was not sure what to make of this charming, yet dare I say cocky intruder, so when my station was getting close, I bid him farewell. That’s what girls do. We automatically dismiss every man until they prove to us they are worthy and that they are not a creep.

‘Wait, I want to take you out this Saturday for drinks or dinner. Here is my business card and mobile number. What is your number?’ I was actually taken aback and pleasantly surprised with his straightforwardness. Not the usual ‘maybe we should go out sometime, only if you want’, but simple, assertive and to the point. I ended up giving him my number. I mean, you are almost hypnotised by his commanding steely blue eyes looking straight into your heart - I don’t know if any girl can ever say no.

We fell in love like how they make you believe in Hollywood films, and started living together pretty quickly at his countryside mansion with a swimming pool, and I’d drive his Porsche to go shopping at the supermarket. He is not classically handsome, but extremely charismatic, a successful partner of a City law firm, and a descendant of a Swedish aristocratic family - a fit, 6’2 blond, blue-eyed Viking. I was 29, but still a naïve girl, so I worshipped him. He always took me to the best restaurants, the most expensive holidays, and gave me lavish presents. That was how he showed me his love. To the outside world, I was a very lucky girl, and the envy of many other girls. I actually lost a couple of friends, because they wanted my life, and were trying to seduce my boyfriend behind my back, or even worse, blatantly in front of me by trying to set up lunch with him without inviting me and wanting to exchange phone numbers. He was actually put off by their low level behaviour as much as me.

It wasn’t actually other women like them, but the difference in the outlook on life and him wanting control all the time, and not listening to me that made us drift apart. As he always got what he wanted exactly his way most of his life, because he was the baby of the family, and with his status, money and looks, he couldn’t understand that I wanted to make something out of my life that I can call my own. He wanted me to just look pretty and look after him, so I ended up quitting my job to cook and do house admin like oversee the house renovation few months into the relationship. By this point, I had high maintenance blonde highlighted hair, immaculate manicure and pedicure, regular facials and lips plumped up with collagen, dressed in an expensive designer outfit, just the way he liked. It would have been different if I was busy with a baby, but he was divorced once, and he started to say that he doesn’t want to get married again or have babies. It wasn’t as if I wanted to get married then, but I didn’t like my choice taken away without discussion. I started to wonder what is the purpose of my life other than to live through him. Also, he would want to control my life to a point where not only did he choose what kind of outfits are acceptable, but he would order what I should eat when we are in restaurants. The last straw was when he started to suggest that I should have some surgeries. Maybe my boobs made bigger. Maybe other parts of my body if I wanted to have anything else done. My breasts are quite big for my slender frame at 30E naturally. This is years ago, so at that time, the enhanced look was popular - even Victoria Beckham looked plastic, and I guess it was more of a status symbol. Because I didn’t have my own project on the outside world, I myself became the project to work on. It is like clipping a bird’s wings and keeping it caged, and making it wear all sorts of different ornate outfits when birds are not even meant to wear these outfits. Some girls might like that kind of life, but I myself couldn’t stay with him, and I moved out after a year. I don’t think any girl at 29 needs drastic surgeries. He didn’t understand, despite my attempt at trying to explain, because he thought he was being considerate and giving me everything any girl can ever wish for materially, and he blamed me for using this as the ultimatum to get him to marry. I wanted to be able to live the life I wanted outside of the cage as I am, as a woman of free will. I wanted to feel the air and the sky.

Immediately after I moved out, in his anger, he started dating an extremely young blonde as an act of revenge. I know now he was so shocked and hurt and didn’t understand me, he reacted that way. He is free to do whatever that pleased him as we were not together any more, but at the time it really hurt me. It actually put me off him, because he made no attempt to understand where I am coming from. I just carried on with my life the best I can, while everyone around me couldn’t understand why on earth I would leave such a ‘catch’. They were all trying to make me go back to him. And to make them even more baffled was that after some time, I started seeing a penniless Oxbridge phd student 6 years my junior called Chris who had nothing. I mean, nothing. He was still living in a student dorm. Chris was meant to be just a fling too, to help me get over the break up…originally. But he showed me a totally different way to love. He thought I was perfect as I am without ever wanting to change any part of my body, with my faults, and said that I am more beautiful than any Playboy pin up and that I am like a model and should be in a magazine. He embraced all of  me and showed me he cared by giving me the tightest hugs. Not throw another designer handbag at me to resolve a problem. Instead, he would sit down and listen to me. I mean, really listen. Listen to my worries, my day, and silly talks and try to understand me. Chris was interested in me as a complete person with my own thoughts, not just how I looked, and encouraged me to grow intellectually and try new things.

Harry originally thought Chris was a joke, just like his blonde fling. He laughed and said ‘Just wait and see, you’ll be begging me to take you back any minute. That boy has nothing! It is an insult to even be compared! I’ll just date all these beautiful girls until you are tired of that toy. You are getting older by the day, and he will never marry you.’ I guess his ego was bruised because he was always the winner, and every woman he ever wanted would obey him. The funny thing is, it was actually Harry who begged me to take him back and marry him 9 months later, with a diamond ring. He managed to convince me to see him briefly at his London flat in a plush part of Belgravia, and he took out that ring suddenly out of his pocket and forced it on my ring finger. By this stage after many months of being apart, it was very clear to me we had totally different outlook on life and I was starting to taste the joys of discovering who I am meant to be, not who Harry wanted me to be. It is so ironic that the ring was very beautiful. Like how I dreamed as a young girl. Not shabby small, yet not vulgar big. Nearly three carat. Flawless. Bright. Diamond. It is meant to symbolise love, commitment and eternity, yet to me it meant shackles and living in a cage again not being able to be myself. In that exact moment, I realised that diamonds are just an illusion. There is no correlation between how big or how expensive they are to how happy you are in real life. I desperately tried to take it off, and he desperately tried to keep it on my finger. Begging me to please please marry him and have beautiful babies with him because I am the only woman he can ever love, and he will give me credit card to his account too so I can buy whatever I wanted and never have to work for the rest of my life. Marriage on its own can’t solve our differences. I know he loved me, and I know all his cute sides too, otherwise I would not have even dated him that long. But he was trying to force what he wants again without listening to what I really want out of my life, which is to be just me and my thoughts respected. I suddenly stopped my struggle for a minute, because I was not getting anywhere as he is so much stronger. He thought I will accept, breaking into a weak hopeful smile, and loosened his grip on me. In a flash, like a feral cat, I yanked the ring off my finger, threw it back at him, and dashed and ran out of his flat, down the stairs, out the front door, to the busy street, to the wide outside world, never looking back. Tears streaming down my cheeks, and he probably was crying too alone in his flat, but I knew we could never be together again. I didn’t know what the future held by choosing the harder life, but it will be life that I can call my own.

Hmmm, a bit Nora of Ibsen’s Doll’s House? Rather dramatic too; I mean why throw a perfectly good diamond away? But hey, I was young back then. I am lucky I live in an age I can make a living as an independent woman and live however I bloody like.

Anyway, it’s been a long winded way of saying, I think having true love where you accept the other person as they are is more important than having a big diamond ring. We are led by the mainstream Western belief to covet it, but you are the only one who can put a meaning to it. It doesn’t even have to be a diamond ring to prove your love, right? You can get a camera to take photos of your happy life and future. Or not even material things, but get tattoos of a diamond together, like the BFF split heart so when you lie down next to each other it becomes complete, some kind of lunacy like that? Then it will really be diamonds forever, until you die.

More of my thoughts on that annoying controlling fictional Christian Grey, collagen injections, Botox, and modifying your body in another blog coming soon. Just for the record, I currently don’t have collagen, Botox, or breast implants…and I look like me. :D

Chat later!

Love,

Asako xxx

*Note: Some names and information have been changed under my artistic license.