THE HANDS

“Your hand fits in mine like it’s made just for me. But bear this in mind it was meant to be.”

My friend once asked me why I was so obsessed with hand holding. His argument was, that there were far more interesting things to do with your lover than hold hands. But for me, that is it. Hold my hand and you have me, even if it be only for that moment. It’s no wonder I am particular about the way hands look. It’s a fetish I agree. It is the first thing I notice about an individual. I fall in love with your hands before I fall in love with you. And I can’t be the only one. It’s in all the songs. Well, most. So why hands? What connects the hands? 

There is something about your hands that when you stare at them, something’s missing. Like they aren’t supposed to exist on their own.  Like gaseous substances, living freely, until they are trapped in a container, given a form, given a name, given meaning. Suddenly, every scar, every rash, every spot, every broken nail, matters. Even if you were to hold your own hand, it feels lonelier like your hands belong in someone else’s. As though another person’s hand would give meaning to yours. It doesn’t matter whose. Someone is supposed to hold your hand. That is the point of humanity. Hand holding.

Does it matter how the hand is held? Does it matter who holds it? It does not. As long as you have a hand to hold, you are home.

Have you ever seen people holding hands and yours start to itch? Hugs are nice to witness and kisses are yucky unless they are meant for you. But hand holding stirs something in you, the need to have just that too. That is the point. Connectivity.

The memory of tugging at your Mommy’s hands as you hide behind her veil in the midst of strangers. A sense of security. That is the point. To fight fear.

That old couple, with their sweet and amicable connection, oh don't you wish you would get that in the future? Oh what is their secret? Oh Oh, Oh! Well, hand holding strengthens and creates everlasting bonds! That is probably their 'secret'. No rocket science. Just hand holding. That is the point. To have an unspoken means of communication, with immeasurable effects. 

The safety of a friend’s hand as you run together in a game of hide and seek. I was just about seven and I still remember the first hands that took mine, because I was running slowly and he did not want me to be tagged in the game. It was reflex, innocent and it was the safest place my hands have ever been. That is the point. Safety.

The shivers up your hand from the tip to your actual scalp as you link your fingers with that one person whose name your heart speaks even before your lips do. That you can’t believe just a stroke on the inside of your palm could stop your very active brain from functioning. It may be due to the fact that hands have the most number of nerve endings. But boy are they good nerves. That is the point. Nature's defibrillator ¹ , that bolts you alive.

The joy when a baby holds your finger tight like they are communicating with you, telling you they like you, you big human. They like your hands even though they are ugly or dry or just average. It doesn’t matter, a baby holding onto your finger, it is blissful. That is the point. To release Oxytocin². To feel loved.

Yet some hold your hands only to let go, because it means nothing to them. It is so easy for them to discard someone like that. Your heart will heal, your mind will forget but what about the hands that were left empty?

And they remained empty even when I sat that day at the café on an apparent first coffee date and I waited. I listened intently as he spoke about himself and still I waited. Perhaps if he had paused, he would have noticed my henna adorned hands, desperately calling for his claim. Instead I filled them with a napkin just to have something to hold. Took the napkin home, and it became like Neville Longbottom’s Remembrall. That in case I forget, I will look upon it and remember that sometimes the very things you wished for can be sitting right in front of you, within your reach and still will never be yours.

But that’s how you know, isn’t it? From the hands that leave yours empty. Because the one that truly fits wouldn’t dare. It has found where it belongs, where else would it go? And so it is, that it is not the ribs or the soul or the damn heart but it is the hands that have a mate.

culled from weheartit.com

FOOTNOTE
1. Defibrillators are devices that restore a normal heartbeat by sending an electric pulse or shock to the heart. They are used to prevent or correct an arrhythmia, a heartbeat that is uneven or that is too slow or too fast. Defibrillators can also restore the heart's beating if the heart suddenly stops.(nhlbi)

2. One of the four happy chemicals of the brain. Oxytocin is a hormone secreted by the posterior lobe of the pituitary gland, it's sometimes known as the "cuddle hormone" or the "love hormone," because it is released when people snuggle up or bond socially.(www.livescience.com)