I bet we would not listen to Lady Gaga if it were just about her voice, but because she is a self-proclaimed drama queen. Likewise, I believe we would not have tears in our eyes when “All of me” plays on the radio if we did not feel something with these lines, no matter how trite they are. Is it the drama that we are in love with? Why are we running after drama and instead of fleeing from it when it seems to be hurtling towards us?
I’m told over and over again, from friendly sources and mouths, that I’m dramatic. But what does it even mean to be dramatic? Is it possibly about the unspeakable insinuation of hysteria – which is especially true of middle-aged women and derived from the Latin word for uterus? No thank you, Mr. Freud, I don’t think that is what is meant by it. The adjective dramatic has its own meaning. It stands for ‘exciting’, ‘full of suspense’ – borrowed from the drama genre, the poet’s dramatic work, or the suspense of a play.
Does this characterization apply to me?
Yes, I would say so. Because what does it mean to be dramatic in life? To fly off the handle, to get louder, or to burst into tears? If all that counts as being dramatic, then I’m damn glad to be.
I remember numerous breakups at the end of an exhausting relationship or even after a passionate affair. It is usually me, who at some point could no longer stand to keep my feelings to myself. With a lump in my throat and my heart racing, I have begged for conversations and then had them, crying and screaming and knowing that by this time, it was usually too late. The drama has run its course, and so has my self-control. But did it hurt me? No, being dramatic does not hurt, but holding back hurts. Suppressing emotions hurts.
Now back to dramatic music and suffering singers:
Imagine you are listening to a playlist of songs. Throughout the evening, soft music is playing in the background; the next morning, you can’t remember any of the songs played. What would be your conclusion? Blank. The music was a nice accompaniment to a possibly pleasant, entertaining conversation. It wasn’t the protagonist of the evening, didn’t burn itself into your memory. Then, there are those evenings when not much needs to be said because this one song is on. Your heart starts to race; chairs are thrown away, everything pushes to the dancefloor and wants to move. And there it is: passion. A feeling that, like a heart chart during a heart attack, leaps through your chest, capturing your thoughts and setting them free.
So whether I prefer and approve of being an electrifying hit with the temperament of a Lady Gaga? Sure. Hell yeah, curtain up!
Kath Kolumna shares her thoughts and insights about dating in the big city of Berlin, the confusions of a late 20’s woman’s sex life, and never-ending discussions with friends and strangers about relationships.
Header Artwork by Cara Brock
