The time that I’ve taken,
I pray is not wasted,
Have I already tasted my piece of one sweet love?
– One Sweet Love, Sara Bareilles
I think in all the 30 summers that has come and passed in my life, I enjoyed this summer the most. And throughout this summer, amongst my travel companions and friends that I shared time with, I think the most compelling discussion that I had with them was about how love is defined amongst different point of views and experiences.
For some, love is being happy in your own solitude because it is easier to live life that way. It is not a compromise nor a lazy conviction but a conscious choice to be happy on your own. Life is certainly more fulfilling with someone else to prop your arm as you go up the staircase once you reach your golden years but not everyone is fearless to risk against pain and anguish just in case, in some cases, that is what it would take to fall in love with someone.
For some, they define love by seeking it in the most uncommon places, people and from the most uncommon events. It may seem glutinous for some, but who is to say what is moderate enough for a person to consume love. Who has the magic formula when it comes to this potent emotion anyways?
For some, love is trouncing previously held beliefs and giving up your son’s fate to a higher power that you once conceived as irrelevant, illogical and impractical. Love for them is what makes the impossible anathema to what lies beyond the realms of possibilities that we prefer to call life.
Throughout my life, my one definition of love is this: love is when you hold on to someone else’s hand and never ever let go of that hand all throughout the rollercoaster ride of each other’s lives. My definition has never changed but my conviction or belief on this definition would waver from time to time depending on how I would fare on my own personal relationships, romantic or otherwise. Some say that my definition is just innate fixation with object permanence, that I objectify love and thus prefer to believe that love exists as long as you hold on to it. The jury is still out and by jury; I mean time would be the judge if my definition holds water.
For one, I doubt if anybody would want to hold my hands for the longest time. My hands are rough, clammy and would produce enough sweat to water a plant for a week almost immediately once it gets into contact with any foreign object (human hands included). Although these same hands are strong and could hold on to anything for dear life indefinitely, sadly I haven’t found any hands to hold on long enough to test my definition. It goes without saying though that inasmuch as my hands are not perfect, at least anyone who holds it can be assured that I will never let go. My hands may get clammy at times; but it is because it is moist with anticipation as to where life would lead me and the other person that is holding on to it. It might be rough but it gives it a certain grip comfortable enough for the holder to hold on to forever.
I deem it necessary to apologize for such a sappy read, but I would want to define my views now, because if my critics are right, if this only object permanence, might as well will the object to exist than to pine for it forever.