Forget about ‘the man who can’t be moved’ as sang by The Script and Ahem have you heard ‘Budapest’ by George Ezra? I concur it’s a 2014 song but every time I listen to this song I tend to drift away. Let me quote a verse “My house in Budapest, my hidden treasure chest, golden grand piano, my beautiful Castillo….”and the song goes on. I love the way he takes pride in what he has; golden grand piano, have you ever been in a posh public ride and the song playing just describes how you feel? And your thoughts drift to your ex you and the next thing you want is to text him or her probably saying “ Hi! I hope you are doing well, just checking up on you” and when you do she responds in a jiffy probably saying that she is fine and ….
Whilst growing up relationships for me were just a conundrum. I couldn’t enunciate the simple reasons as to why the man my elder sister was getting betrothed to acted like he knew me for all eternity. He would pick me up and dance with me, he would buy me chocolates as he bought my sister big flowers and wine, as he took my sister for dinner he would at times let me accompany them, he always showed up for her whenever she needed him. He was everything my sister could ever ask for in a man. On the flipside I now realize that there is more to this man than I could ever imagine. He had a family but he always spent time with us, he was selfless; putting other’s needs before his very own. He understood love, that when you love someone you help them unpack their baggage no matter what it is that’s within it, when you love someone you crawl inside their body, find where they are most ruined and you love them there. Of love and relationships let me leave it to the experts.
Have you ever walked along a boulevard; like the London Boulevard and you get a glance of a man (he may be from Eritrea, Kenya, Sudan, France, name it) seating on a bench by the side walk and he is constantly glancing at his Rolex watch on his left hand and on his right hand he holds calla lilies (we ladies love those). He is wearing brown brogue oxford shoes, a nice fitting Italian suit, no tuxedo and he is bald shaven and from the smell of the air betweex him and you, you can tell he uses Bvlgari’s man in black, back to the calla lilies, who on earth is he waiting for and why is she not here yet and that time it hits you hard that he is isn’t waiting for you and he doesn’t even know you and you console yourself by taking some steps and sitting on the bench too and you begin to wander in your thoughts and in ten he gets up, leaves the flowers on the bench and walks away. When he is long gone you pick them up and walk away not because you are desperate but because for a moment you believe that you deserved such a man. A man who will put on prada just to meet you at a bench by the sidewalk, he is not afraid of any shenanigans or what the guy code stipulates he shows up for those he loves.
We all vary in our understanding of the man who can’t be moved but for me, a man who is a feminist, a man who respects me, a man who finds time for God, a man who will ask me to accompany him to church, a man who respects himself enough to give himself the best things in life and eventually a man who does not take his last sip of a double whiskey; that’s the man who can’t be moved.
Long may this man live!