Sometimes, it feels like sunshine on the perfect day. I just want to bask in it. But a shadow passes and it becomes a vengeful storm; I just want to get out of it. One day, I'm flying. Another day, I'm drowning. Then, I can't have enough of it- craving and bursting with insatiable desire. Soon, I'm sick to my heart and dying to tear away. Now, a welcome delight; streaming in like dawn through an open window. Quickly, a horror- ten thousand rivers washing my life away.
Tell me- which one of these tortured, conflicting emotions is love?I remember a girl a few years ago and, I swear, my heart leaped. When she smiled, all the stars lined up in procession and bowed before me. We kissed and tears came to my eyes for my soul had floated up and pressed itself against the highest beam in heaven. I swore- forever. She swore- forever. In a moment, eternity nestled between us. I had never been so happy.
But it wasn't love. Because when I woke up in the morning I saw that her breath stank. Her right eye slanted and she snapped a lot. She wanted to know where I was all the time. It felt like wearing a tie too tight. She wanted to be held all the time. It felt like wearing a suit too small. There was pain everywhere and when I spoke my voice was a grumble or a loud rumble. She left me in the night. She said she was tired of my snoring.
Tell me- why did the sun not stay in our eyes? Why did eternity not stay on our lips? Why did this rose bloom so red then die so quickly? Is love not the feeling that never dies? I didn't know her waist would spread and her breasts would fall. I didn't think lines wouldcreep across her face. I didn't guess she had moods. When all the birds were singing in the trees, she seemed like a princess- without blemish; like a five-star hotel room that was already paid for. Nobody told me she was an onerous mortgage I could never hope to finish paying off- an unfinished construction; a long term, energy guzzling project. Till I woke up in the morning and she asked me to make breakfast.
Then, she fought with my friends and she hated my mother. Did she not see them when we were rubbing noses together and giggling like two teenagers? Did she not know my brothers were the sort to show up in the middle of the night and expect to be let in? No. There were too many dazzling lights, too many strumming gutiar. I heard nothing she said. She saw nothing I was. We ran towards illusions and collided with ourselves.
Is love an illusion then; an emotional blindfold that tricks you into a cruel commitment? It lets you give your heart to a mirage and wakes you up after the wedding with a violent slap. Suddenly, you realize you've been drinking sand- but, oh, it felt like fresh water before you said, “I do”. Where was my head when I was exchanging vows with a witch? Where was her head when she was touching lips with a fool? If it has all ended so badly, tell me- what was it I felt when it was beginning? Love, eh? Fickle love. It teases you into deep waters and abandons you in the middle.
I'm sure all of that sounded quite familiar. Love is one wicked experience. After you've fed fat on a few romantic novels and watched a few movies, you go in thinking you are about to be launched up to cloud nine. “Cloud nine” turns out to be a tiny room with no windows, occupied by two people struggling to breathe.How can something that felt so sweet at the beginning turn out to be so sour in the end? How can something that felt so natural at the beginning get to demand so much effort in the end? How can something that felt so filling at the beginning turn out to be so draining in the end? How can something turn out to be so different from what it felt like in the beginning?
The conclusion is love is left somewhere between dusk and dawn. It slipped out through the window, grew wings and flew away. Without its magic dust shading our vision, we see ourselves as we truly are- grossly inadequate, terribly irritating. It abandons us, strips the props from our beautifully constructed stage, leaving us to wallow in bare, grinding reality. It is, itself, like the wind- no telling when it will come or when it will go. So, when we commit to each other, we keep our fingers crossed, hoping that love stays to keep it sweet and beautiful.
Invariably, I fell in love again- like a dog chasing its own tail. It hit me like it did the first time- a bolt through my heart; ice and fire racing through my veins. I saw the scented mist falling over my eyes as I beheld a goddess. Fickle love had sneaked in, stoked my emotions into a roaring fire, consuming my reason- releasing overwhelming passion.
But my old wounds still burned and my mind struggled against the numbing sensation. This was how it felt the last time- dazzling lights, deafening music- and where did I end up? In the garbage dump. Open your eyes, man. At least check to see if she has slanting eyes. So, I shrugged off the stupor and peered. Indeed, she had slanting eyes and, not with me though, but with friends she had known before me, she snapped a lot and slipped into moods easily.
I dug in my heels, refusing to be swept on by my swirling emotions. Things that had been hurtling along at the speed of light, slowed down to a snail's pace. All of a sudden, I could see- every wart, every mole, every spot, every wrinkle. We talked and I heard her say- I need to know where you are all the time. We talked and I heard her say- I need you to hold me, not when you feel like, but every time I ask you to.
Then, I went home at night and I thought about what I had seen and heard. There were no stars in procession. I held her against the harsh light of reason. Like unploughed land, she would require lots of work but...hmmm...something, deep, deep down was certain that, beneath the brush, she was fertile earth. If I clear the bushes, sow the right seeds, tend them with the patient consistency of a loving gardener, someday- near or far I cannot tell, but someday- she will bloom into a delightful field, full of fruit and shade. I thought about her sincerity- how she told me what she thought. I thought about her understanding- how she listened to what I said. She could be my friend. She could be my sister. I tossed, I turned and then I stood up and said- I want her. I choose her.
When I woke up the next morning, her stale breath didn't shock me. I put the burden of her moods on my shoulder; I had prepared to bear them. I didn't expect her to be perfect; I knew she wasn't so I set out everyday to patiently tend her into perfection. When I felt her hands on me, trying to do the same, trying to smoothen out my roughness and mould me, though it felt awkward, I yielded and let it happen. It still felt like a tie tied too tight but I knew, with patience, I could loosen the knot and gently re-tie it.
Slowly, the effort became less conscious. It became a habit to respond with a smile; to delay a hasty reply; to bend over backwards. That was when I noticed that, while I was watching over my garden, something had grown in my heart. It was different from anything I had ever felt before. It didn't feel intense and tortured. It didn't rise and wane. It didn't leave me wondering if it would stay forever. And I knew that this…resolution in me; this stability, this strength; this knowledge that I would be with her forever- was love. It had not jumped into my emotions from an unknown source and driven me into frantic, hasty decisions. No, it had climbed out a decision made in the clarity of my mind to do whatever it took to make my woman happy.
I had found my peace.
What I'm Trying to Say
Love is not a feeling, so don't bother asking which one of the million and one things you feel when you see an attractive man or woman- is love. None of them is. None of them is the sign that he or she is the one. Nothing you feel confirms the rightness of your urge to pursue them or guarantees the happiness of a future with them. The truth- the certainty you seek- is not in your feelings. They will always be what they are- temperamental, fickle and constantly changing. That is the eternal nature of our feelings.Love is a choice. It is a decision you make, after you've seen the facts. Love chooses. Love decides. It is not a mysterious charm or an over powering attration that holds it down. Love is always free, never bound. It stays because it chooses to stay. It is not at the mercy of emotions it cannot control. It does not depend on feelings it cannot control. Love is sure and certain because it is produced by the one thing man has control over- his will. I tell you- love is the decision to be with someone and do whatever it takes to make it work.
It is not what you think in your head or feel in your heart. It is what works for the person you are living with. Deciding to discover what this is and to do it consistently, regardless of how you may feel on any given day, this is what love is. It is in this sense that the Bible says, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son” (John 3:14). In plain english- God wanted to be with man and did what needed to be done to make it happen. We do not love because we feel; we love because we are willing and able to do what needs to be done to be with someone.
So the next time you wonder- is it love? Don't check how you feel. Look at the person- look at their needs and their expectations, their dreams and their aspirations, their weaknesses and their inadequacies- and ask yourself; am I willing and able to make this person happy?
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