We’ll fast forward to a few years later No one knows except the both of us And I have honoured your request for silence And you’ve washed your hands clean of me - Hands Clean, Alanis Morissette
Back when I was 19 or so, I wrote an embarrassingly naive article for the university newspaper wondering why - despite the fact that we were obstensibly adults - the simple act of having a crush on someone remained the subject of such secrecy and intrigue.
The better part of a decade later not much has changed, I realised when the aforementioned Alanis Morissette song began to play on my recent Great Central Australian Road Trip with my beau. Not between said beau and I, of course - that relationship is thoroughly in the open. But in almost every other crush, flirtation or momentary mutual infatuation I’ve entertained in the interceding years? Ambiguity has reigned supreme.
I look at it differently now than I did when I was 19, though. Back then, the silence and secrecy seemed to arise from a sort of immaturity and shame - the idea that admitting that you might actually be attracted to someone rendered you vulnerable and open to rejection. Now it just seems that sometimes, some things just don’t need to be said.
There is no need to ever acknowledge that once upon a time I liked you or you liked me. That she discreetly pretended not to notice the night he tried to kiss her, that he meant something more than ‘thank you’ by that bunch of flowers, or that perhaps she went a little overboard with the SMSes. Perpetual ambiguity allows everything to continue as it did before.
And as a strategy, it makes sense - what does Australian courtship mean, after all, if not always being able to say, “What do you mean, I was hitting on you? I was just being friendly!” Why not continue with the plausible deniability after the flirtation has passed?
reblogged from rachelhills
