It’s that time of the year when everyone remembers their so-called “loved ones.” They equip them with mementos, gifts, christmas parties – all in celebration of their love for one another. But, it’s only fleeting. Just a few weeks of joy, mirth, and gaiety.
But isn’t love a bit more?
Love is to let go, I’ve been told. Love is to let be, I’ve been told. Love is to endure hardships, I’ve been told. But, if there is so much angst and heartache, then why do we choose to love? Or is that so few love to this extent?
There is the famous saying by Mother Theresa that if you love until it hurts, it doesnâ€™t hurt anymore, for itâ€™s there only that you find more love.
But do we really retain the capacity to love to that depth? Weâ€™re a generation and a world clogged by the daily clutter of life, the daily â€œbusyinessâ€ of life, that our love only seems to surface when we can accommodate it or when an emergency strikes. If we are such rational creatures, driven by schedules, real-world demands, and the practicalities of life, do we have space for such raw emotion?
Is it naive to think that love of such a nature still exists?
Love has been captured in great epic novels, in larger-than-life cinema, in the intensity of celebrated paintings, but is it still there, lingering somewhere in the mundane corners of life now? Do we still have the patience to wait, like the great heroes of these stories, to endure – for the one we love?
But what is the reward in loving to this extent? An old chinese saying says that itâ€™s in being deeply loved that we find strength, and itâ€™s in loving someone deeply you find courage. Itâ€™s a paradox in many ways -you love to find comfort and support, but to love is to take a leap of faith.
Perhaps itâ€™s idealistic, immature, romantic, escapist to believe that love of such grandeur still exists. But, then I wonder, if it doesnâ€™t, is our purpose in life merely to fulfil a series of endless tasks, that too on a daily basis. Then what satisfaction do we get? Maybe Iâ€™m flawed. Maybe I donâ€™t find that satisfaction anymore in the rationality of life, maybe I crave for emotions that are too risque to find in our modern, conservative society.
And yet, the hunger for love seems to be greater than the hunger for bread. Iâ€™m told repeatedly that are many unhappy wealthy people in the world – they found riches, but never unconditional love.
So does it still exist? That pure, simple love – the one that dwells in a manâ€™s heart, deep in his soul, the one that makes him yearn for his loved one when sheâ€™s not there, the one that makes him stop in his day, and say something meaningful to her, the one that is celebrated everyday, not just on a holiday, the one that is not about convenience or comfort but a raw desire?
For me, I became passionate about writing because it was a means to express, a means to share with humanity your angers, frustrations, and galvanize change. It is a career built on love – itâ€™s foolish to believe that you can ever fill your belly with that kind of writing. Words that are free, honest, brutal, and humble do not have a price. Itâ€™s only the words that are tailored, adjusted, accommodated for by other opinions that have a price. But then, they are no longer pure, raw, or unconditional.
Love is similar, for me. As I look ahead, I find myself at a crossroads – do I invest myself and my time in my so-called â€œworkâ€ or in love, in relationships with people that have depth? To answer the question, â€œSo what do you want to do when you grow up?â€
I want to love. I donâ€™t know if I have the capacity to do so. I donâ€™t know if I have the patience to do so. But I want to try.
For itâ€™s only the few fleeting moments of love that have made me feel alive, have made me feel worthwhile, have helped me find peace. No check, no podium, no laurel, no honor has given me that feeling.
Thatâ€™s why Iâ€™d like to believe, deep within my being, that life is designed to feel the complexities of love. Even if itâ€™s old-fashioned. Even if itâ€™s hard. Even if itâ€™s not the norm today.
Because love is built on two, not one. And thatâ€™s what life is about – us, not me.