Alas, this is a common post-Nikita theme in his life: alone and thinking because he thought too much. Whichever way you choose to interpret cause and effect there would be correct. Ironically, he's becoming more and more like his father, a man (RIP) he tried to counsel, comfort, and console (unto death) regarding the same repetitive problems and negative feelings he finds himself engulfed in today: Will the self ever allow others to save it from destruction? Do people even want to save such a self? At what point does constantly critiquing yourself finally drive other people away or simply tire them out? These are pertinent questions to the situation Aden appears to be in, yet feigns being oblivious to. In truth they gnaw at him everyday (in much less grandiose prose). Does he really care to address them? I'm not so sure anymore. He did once, but I'm uncomfortable with his lifestyle now. It has become a somber procession of too much self-destruction via self-reflection (dad's path). He's always leaving occupied rooms for empty silence these days; hence he's leaving little room for those (hopefully) continual life improvements and accomplishments, things to strive for, that keep the faith. For the love of all held dear, without something or someone to fight for, we become lazy, pestilent creatures. We withdraw into ourselves without being acutely aware of it. Isolation is the true gateway drug to addiction and that eternal want to go nowhere (get out...I want to get out...where did you go?...why do I remain here?). As social beings we have to insert ourselves before we can assert ourselves - do you feel me? Aden doesn't. Sadly, he's seeing the present only as creating more past and thus can't grasp the future. Before always seems better because it's gone, leaving nothing sacred to the present. This is a vicious cycle. This I repeat. Aden's cynicism has trapped him in the paradox of belief that nothing really matters since everything is eventually lost (an optimist would infer exactly the opposite).
Surely, this man is allowing the past to tip the scales a bit too much in its favor. However, I must admit I will never subscribe to that heavy load of sentimental rubbish delivered by proponents of a 'live only for today' purview. People who readily proclaim such a stance never fail to strike me as untrustworthy and/or unscrupulous and/or ungrateful (they wear it as a mask). Or they just haven't lived close enough to death yet. It's grab the nearest scripture or hedonistic pleasure or Dalai Lama quote and voila! zero accountability; discard every bad memory (either made by or impressed upon them) and voila! endless naivety; disregard the perspective of history and voila! have another slice of that repetitively bland side of humanity. After all, rats will race given the slightest of provocations to go on. To these vermin I wish to say: get off it already! Your interpretation of 'today' allows collective vanity (read: popular culture) to write the rules of social engagement rather than morality. (And those doctrines and scriptures you prescribe to arguing for morality conveniently whisk enforcement off on laws and gods, not the most proactive things, i.e. THERE'S NO NEED TO ANSWER TO YOURSELF...) Everyone must occupy themselves with the consumption of mass culture and political posturing so our leaders can ameliorate catastrophes with just the touch of a mute button - we have a moment of silence, then resume the game. If we're all in on it, no one shoulders the blame (though we all remain liable just the same). Yes! nation may kill for nation again and yes! religion may kill for religion again and yes! person may kill for the good of the people again and again and again 'today'. You'd think history could at least instruct us on how to constructively approach this persistent fallacy of 'conquer for the greater good'. Like, whoever etched out those national divides obviously had the common good in mind. Right? No matter these imaginary lines actually get drawn and protected by innocent (or perhaps more aptly: 'unwitting') blood. Ironically that's also how we justify their existence (freedom isn't free, don't you see?). To numb compassion with difference is akin to mining fool's gold for pay, nay? Okay, so I'm getting a bit carried away...(But when has altruism entered battle lately? I'd argue never in our global psyche since facing the likes of Dostoevsky...Did he really prove conceit and jealousy win out, inevitably?...)
To get back to today - what worries me about Aden is I'm afraid he's starting to believe all good stories must be written in hindsight. One (me) might argue a person with such convictions lends living the story to everyone else...Though perhaps we do see more clearly what we stand to gain in light of what we've lost? Regardless, Aden needs to strike a better balance again. That's why he has me, you see. I am his past; I am his perspective; his now and then. I am his morality; I am his immortality. I am all his wants and torments and successes and failures rolled into one. What am I? I am his conscience. With me, amigo, and an ego capable of humility (remember, you're always the best to me), we'll do it all - live to tell and love to share. That should be (our) motto.
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Aden's way was different before Nikita hopped on the ride. Whether it was her or simply time that changed the course of his life is an answer discourse never could or would provide. What's obvious though was losing Nikita crippled Aden's self-esteem, or at least how he lost her. There appeared to him very little deviation from the course and then BAM! she was gone. The train just up and derailed without any warning from the conductor (there is where his faith was mislaid). Aden was no longer attractive. He was no longer humorous. He was no longer 'himself'. Prior to Nikita, Aden lived in what could be described as an ardent state of chaos (though something in him - me again, likely - would be more wont to call it a want of something more). You know, he just had that...he had that unrelenting drive for the edge that ignites a party; that sparks conversation; that fills a room with movement; that injects people with restless, directionless energy until they're sick with anxiety or sick of it, which is bound to be a tale for another time or perhaps further down these lines. He cared little what others thought of him, or what they thought in general for that matter. That is not to imply arrogance - Aden just found it difficult enough to live by his own principles, albeit just a few, and off-the-cuff emotions, albeit just a few. To also consider what another person may want from, or expect of, him was asking too much. Hence he found pleasing everyone, day-in and day-out, too overwhelming and downright exhausting on the ol' psyche...and pocketbook, to boot (should have learned from his father that you can't buy happiness out). Yet how do you get the most out of life? Then Aden would throw all his chips at adventure instead of comfort; now Aden is trying to find some superficial balance based on finance. Both peasant and king alike will tell you the best answer to that question is always to equate finance with poverty - enjoy the journey instead and let pleasure fill your pockets; the rest will fall into the lining, they say.
I cannot rightly explain what constitutes 'the edge' Aden strove for, but I do know this: in the past his ideas became actions through the intuition of his heart. After Nikita left, he began to over-analyze and scrutinize every social interaction, particularly romantic ones, for fear of attachment. Stated more bluntly, he just didn't really bother to get to know anyone; and he even went so far as to keep those closest to him a safe distance away (the mere thought of losing them pushed him further astray - strange, eh?). He began to view intimate relationships with a cynical eye. Like we form and/or maintain them solely based on our own degree of happiness. Appeared logical and sound enough, until he realized that neither happiness or unhappiness were sticking around long. Both just ebbed and flowed like the tide goes. Thus his cynicism was affording him exactly zero meaningful relationships to form. The end result was Aden finding himself in a confinement he didn't want, nevertheless somehow managed to pigeonhole himself into. He was constantly met with urges or real longings for deeper connections though. The more he pulled away, the more people he suddenly had to neglect. "...Sorry it's been so long, but you know, it's pretty goddamn difficult to be content with where you're at," was how he'd justify prolonged absences. Unbeknownst to most (those doing the same knew), he would thoroughly contemplate every possible hurtful path a relationship could traverse until he ultimately decided, well, he convinced himself one such outcome was inevitable and not worth the emotional cost.
It appears the intuition of our heart yields to the suspicion of our mind when subjected to the cold nature of reason - and so what if some of those suspicions are well-founded? There will always be someone better than you (billions of us). There will always be someone more attractive than you (billions of us). There will always be someone to take your place (billions of us). Shear probability in this day and age is a series of hard blows to the mid-section of a man...Unless you tell yourself there will always be someone for you (out of billions of us). That's never enough, is it? I'm so sick of arguing against that point (it truly feels like billions of years). You know, I'm just tired of seeing people cut each other down, be it with words or actions, voicemails or automatic weapons, because that wasn't enough. If there is not one person in this world with a similar worth than yours, how do you value everyone else? To such selfish personalities, and those who've poisoned Aden's mind in such a manner - be they presidents, senators, teachers, enemies, idols, talking heads, actors, singers, etc. (they are always such people) - I have only one substantial rebuttal: live within yourself while standing in someone else's shoes for once. Sounds (oxy)moronic, doesn't it? Yet if there's one thing Aden (and Nikita) has ever been true to, which I commend him (and her) of, it's this: he (or she) can make you feel like the only person that matters. Their personalities diverge here in terms of acting this way for themselves or for you, surely, but this ability has lent them others' trust before they've ever realistically deserved it...One can only imagine what it takes to gain their trust...Anyways, when a few of Aden's suspicions did hold true, he decided people just weren't molded correctly for commitment. I mean, is what you take for granted more substantive than what you cling to? He felt he'd discovered an unparalleled pleasure in this world by being a self-absorbed, socially amicable rambler. New cities brought new experiences with new faces. Everything seemed atypical, including himself. So Aden readily lent his love to the selfish allure of 'inevitable dead ends' with regards to intimate relationships and championed it as freedom. Where steady gales used to fill Aden's heart sails, now they breezed through tatters left by his own pointed slashes. What a somber sort of freedom, even for the wind, yeah?...
...And the very concept of freedom itself shows just how well-equipped human minds have become in safeguarding us against the misery of our sentience - knowing that for as well as we survive, we must die. Absolutely, Aden gave way to his suspicions too much in that he suddenly became wary of everyone, constantly looking for any sign of malevolent intent. He was especially skeptical of women. I cannot blame him for that. Men are typically very shallow creatures with decidedly clear intentions (the dogs). Women, on the other hand, have far greater depth behind their motivations (the cats). For example, where a vengeful man may set out to kill you over love, a vengeful woman may set out to make you kill yourself (mind or body, both equally as satisfying, though clearly with different volumes of emotional baggage). Tell me now: which plan requires a more intricate blueprint?
As you now see, it took just two years for Aden's head to steadily betray his heart (this was partly my fault, I provided little support) to the point where he now sits - thinking himself into a befuddled mess of delayed feelings and reactions. Perhaps this change in Aden helps us define 'the edge' - on one side your heart ardently drives you towards each moment, on the other your mind fixes you in a doting sentiment for the past. Between the two is the perfect blend of nostalgia and desire. Yet trauma, like that forsaken second when you realize someone you love or share blood with or admire and respect, etc. is lost to you forever (8x for Aden to date), and all that concurrent filthy bluntness, has a way of catching us off-guard and shoving us aside. Some personalities fall towards remembrance and others disregard...But what's important is to strive for that edge again. The edge that cuts between the timelessness of death and the reality of life. If you do not, it'll be very difficult to ever ascribe the word 'live' to any aspect of your life again, friend. Live only for now and the past will have you running blindly through every moment until you find yourself squirming in your deathbed trying to remember what the hell just happened. You'll have spent a lifetime 'moving on' and then suddenly you're gone. Or live always in the past and crawl away from each new moment with the future kicking you in the ass. You'll end up in the morgue before you realize you could never go back. So straddle the moments and walk on through!
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Aden remains on this puke-colored couch desperately searching his mind for the person he once was, giving little consideration to the person he wishes to be (what a remembrance man; what a crawler). A strong Pacific wind rattles the wooden rafters of his Auckland home. Auckland is the perfect place for a muddling man - seeing the summer sun alone provides enough direction for the day. But tonight a steady drizzle gnaws at the varnish of the Radiata pine-framed windows. The creak and patter sounds snap Aden out of his thoughts long enough to remember that Ada is on her way over. She has a way of saving him from emptiness. Ada knows how to save Aden from himself.
Ada is the first true romance in Aden's life since Nikita. She's walking down Mountain Avenue with her head down, sheltering it from the cold, damp air. Jet-black hair billows out from under a hood, each brisk gust of wind pushing exposed strands from her coat's lapels back to her shoulders. She watches as the leaves of the street's European deciduous trees blow across her feet. She moves with purposeful strides, the swagger in her hips causing her torso to sway. Given only the chance to see her walk, one quickly surmises that Ada is a synonym for passion. (The first time Aden had watched her walking down that road to meet him, he had instantly adored her gait to the point of envy. He noted the perfect thirty degree arc of those hips in motion, like a bird's wings in flight. Ada never knew how often he'd sat at the corner of Mountain and Stokes just for a few extra minutes to watch her, but I've always presumed she felt his eyes {some long gazes still feel sudden}.Though Aden had only known her a few months, that first time felt so long ago already. I suppose first times always seem so far away, last times so close.) As Ada flits along her mind is fondly dabbling in the past, picking up and inspecting little keepsakes of a life she's loved living: a family Christmas back in Northern Ireland full of savory food and red wine and white snow; a dinner conversation in London with an Russian ex-boyfriend whom she now recalls with a paternal love largely absent from her childhood; the bustling sounds and pungent, occasionally fetid, odors and salacious male eyes of a Latvian marketplace. She sports a wide grin, her body feels so warm and lively, remembering and reliving these things. A loud honk and screeching tires bring her back to the present. She lifts her head, exposing a creamy pale complexion to the world (sometimes her skin makes her self-conscious, but we find it other-worldly). She's still smiling, adorning dainty dimples just below the mischievously upturned edge of her lips and downward-arching eyebrows, lending her a sort of devilishly affectionate air. Ada revels in her current surroundings. The winds bring that ever-so-nostalgic salty seaweed scent of ocean air. (I truly believe the smell of the ocean is lodged away in some dark recess of our DNA - just watch a person born and raised in a sea of land catch their first whiff and you'll notice a momentary calm touches them, and then a deep-seated recognition will pass slowly across their face only to retreat back into darkness again.) An elderly couple holding hands pass by on the opposite side of the street. She can't help but marvel at the ostensible depth and longevity of their love. Will there ever be a moment in her life as lovely and novel as this, she wonders? Oh yes, many, many have been and probably many more will be even lovelier, but she tells herself that's never the point. Point being, every moment holds this potential for Ada. She begins thinking of Aden and what the night will bring. Her face flushes with excitement. Her anticipation is making her legs hover above the pavement, movement evading her awareness. Everything she adores in this moment is at an enchanting standstill yet somehow she's still approaching 2 Stokes Rd. In one swift movement, Ada shakes off her hood. Her blushed red lips want to whisper sweet nothings at the world! She quivers with delight, and a bit of curious trepidation, walking between the wooden fence and garden of Aden's home. She smiles to herself once more, her most assured smile, and approaches the heavy, white-painted door...Aden opens up right as she hits the top step, her arm still crooked for a knock. Ada's caught off-guard and she struggles to hide her surprise. Aden smiles and says, "Hello, love." He's been patiently anticipating, waiting for, Ada's arrival for quite some time now. "Hi!" is Ada's reply, with a hint of a shiver and eyes afire.
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