I was about 12 the first time I thought I fell in love. He lived 4 blocks away from Granny’s two-storey dwelling. At first, I couldn’t quite figure out why on every average day, I yearn to see him, be with him, play with him, bump into him, and see him smile. I could go on and on (the list is utterly long). The feeling was inexplicable. Then, I had not known the word “infatuation” yet. And whenever I felt tickles in my belly, or the electrifying sensation of desire to be with someone, it is LOVE right away.
It was confusing, though, not to have a level of understanding about such extreme feeling. There were times when I confine my affections into a box, to at least spare me some trouble of being rejected by the person I feel strongly about. And the part when I saw him with someone and heard him say he liked somebody else was quite heartbreaking. Oh first heartache! So young and so pure to make meaning of it.
Right then and there, I was dumbfounded by the dynamics and complexities of Love. It was, I could say, the turning point of my love quest. I was young to go through such a painful experience, but life goes on nonetheless. A notable lesson I have picked up.
I fell in love the second time, third time, fourth time, and so on… The story remained unchanged. I could equate the good deal of men to a same number of moving on and a bucket of suffering. Being haunted by “what if’s” seemed frightening and grimly soul-piercing.
Maybe love do conquer the world; maybe we see it in our mother’s silent lullabies, maybe it is present in our father’s helping hands, or maybe in a friend’s insightful advice. And maybe some people are right. That love is not to chase after. That it comes in its rightful time.
But there is also sorrow in waiting. What if you’re waiting for that kind of love that is not written for you. What if you’re waiting for someone that is also waiting for you. Or (worst case scenario) what if no one will ever come for you.
When I am in solitude, endless stream of questions baffle inside my head and no amount of contemplation is enough to fill myself with happiness. There were times when I coerced myself to cease believing in love; to convince myself that it could not feed the need for warmth; that it is nothing but a chemical reaction in the human body, and nothing else.
I envy those people who stayed pragmatic. They were the ones who were able to think lucidly amid the overwhelming frenzy. Forgive me. I am not fearless! In as much as chances being not in my favor, I stayed grounded and hopeful that one day the opportune moment will rise to embrace me, and when I could finally say “it’s all worth the wait.”
But I also envy those whose hearts been mangled many times by the catastrophic outcomes of love, yet always found a reason to love again. These people have hearts made of invincible genetic fabric. I always wonder how overpowering love can be. Love (most of the time) triumphs over pain. But love can also nurture obliviousness within oneself.
So, I don’t know how to reconcile my thoughts. Would I like to wait or look for it? And if I find “it”, how do I know it is the “it” I have been looking for? And in that confines of uncertainty, should I give all that I can or should I keep some for myself? Then, what if I gave my all for the wrong someone, and held back for the right one?
There is just no way of knowing, is there?
I know for sure, that I will not stop until I get it right. After all, LOVE is trial and error.