To be in love, I believe, is one of life's peak experiences. It's the stuff books and songs are written about since the dawn of time. It's the kind of emotion that drives one to the brink of insanity. Sure, the ancient greeks have coined eight (8) different types of 'love' (TLDR: Agape, Eros, Phillia, Philautia, Storge, Pragma, Ludus, Mania) but none has been so widely promulgated in literature such as the romantic love you feel for someone whom makes you feel like you've accidentally stumbled upon something you didn't think you'd need but now you cannot live without. Actually, there's a word for that. Serendipity. The real pity (hehe) unfortunately, is that some live their whole lives without ever knowing what love is.
I discovered early on that when it comes to love, *logic will leave the chatroom*. For two people to fall in love simultaneously is an alignment of the right time, being at the right place, radiating the right pheromones, being the right person for both yourself and the other person-- and other times it's just something that feels right for two people and happens by chance. The statistical probability of something like that working out for you in your early 20s in a planet of approximately 7 billion people (once you've filtered for the right age, gender, religion, personality, physical preferences or other compatibility that is) ?
Does this mean you'll never find a match? Just as you pass the mid-20s mark, suddenly , you're forced to stare this prospect in it's glaring eyeball. First, the idea seeps in from wedding postings of friends' friends. Then it's your friends. Then it's your family. And before you know it you're 30 , thinking about whether the universe and that perfectly-timed statistical <s>im</s>plausibility will work with you before the biological clock works against you.
So, it begs the question.
What does being in love feel like? There is sure as hell no universal answer to a question like this. But today, I will try to postulate. Here's a little fictional narrative.
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She had the kind of unparalleled , almost paralyzing beauty, that even if you tried to stop yourself, you couldn't help but take a peak and blush (however slight) when your eyes eventually met hers. Even in default, resting-mode, if she enjoyed your company, her eyes glistened with interest, her body leaned in towards you as she listened ardently, and man, was she expressive. When she flirted, she did it with limited words. It was heavy on body language and her voice would transform, as if to ask you, "Is this really the best you can do?" (which was enough to draw the attention of any narcissist whom immediately felt both smitten and challenged. It made them feel like they were dealing with a woman whom knew exactly what she wanted, which thrilled them.) It was the subtle hair flips, the right perfume, the outfit she picked out days in advance. The manner she crossed her legs. The way she handled her drink. The way she held a cigarette. It was like watching a skilled artist at work. Her eyes always appeared as if it was laced with eyeliner, much like a stereotypical Egyptian goddess, but it was only the thickness of her lashes. She always wore rings, and preferred her nails manicured and painted (often emerald or red)-- this was when she most felt in her element. On her left cheek, there was a dimple which looked as if God himself took a teaspoon and made a slight indentation there. I remember reading somewhere that cheek dimples are a genetically transmitted abnormality of a muscle in the cheek. Pfft. One man's 'genetic abnormality' might be another man's cause for 'rapid heart flutters' . Her skin was tanned, Polynesian. A combination of these made her ethnically ambiguous, a trait she valued deeply. Unfortunately, it also attracted trouble. Lots of it.
At first glance, you would expect that she was familiar with 'pretty-privilege'--ironically, she spent her early years living a life of anything but. When you sit down and take the time to get to know her, you open yourself to a kind of story you wouldn't normally pair with someone who outwardly looked like that. When she spoke, it revealed of a kind of intelligence, the kind she didn't have to work hard for. You knew that she read good books, watched good shows, discussed good documentaries to fill up her free time. The kind of chick who really did not care about clout. She listened exclusively to music which does not air on the radio and lost interest in them as soon as it went mainstream.
There are two kinds of people. You're either a body with a soul, or a soul with a body. She was the person who truly revealed to me what this meant. She made me realise that the both of us formed the latter. She made me see that we were made up of the similar strain of stardust particles, in a multiverse with a billion planets. Do you know what the odds of something like that are? And to think, if only one decision went differently.
But above all, as far as I could remember, she was sad. She was troubled. Like most young women, she was unsure of her place in this world and lacked a sense of belonging to any person, any place, and any religion. The drugs, they elevated her experience to life, so much so that she wanted that experience to be the default, so much so that real life became the bits of digression from the default. She was easily overwhelmed with the responsibilities and demands of real life, but that mattered little especially because the world somehow wielded to her favour.
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Key takeaways:
I learned some years later, that to love someone, and I mean REALLY love someone, is to sometimes leave them to allow them space to grow into who they are meant to be without your constant projections of what their life ought to be. To stay by their side in the name of "love" but be frustrated that they are not matching expectations you've set for them in your head is a form of suffocation which is NOT love. This is more like being in love with an IDEA of a person. And THAT'S what the cliche "If you love something set it free" means. In retrospect, I always hated this quote. Now, I stand corrected. If something is destined for you, the universe will send it to you when you're ready for it. But sometimes, people are just there to reveal to us lessons, (and this can very closely resemble love but it may not be).
Love must be two people willing to put in the work and consciously choose each other despite the odds, every day. It cannot be love if it's always 90:10, 80:20, 70:30. It cannot be love if it makes you equally miserable to stay and leave. It cannot be love if you are unable to set boundaries with the other. It cannot be love if your identity is so merged with theirs (Re: Enmeshment) It cannot be love if you have lost who you are, in order to fit into their world. It cannot be love if their family does not see you as their equal. It cannot be love if you're scared to disagree with them. It cannot be love if your 'love' is a secret which can never see the light of day.
The most important thing I learned about love is that it can sometimes escape the standard definitions available for it, even by ancient Greek standards, and it is something really personal and unique to each lover.
Conclusion
All said and done, what an all-consuming feeling it is to be in love-- and what a blissful experience that is, despite the bitter aftertaste of hurt when it doesn't work out and you witness a whole dimension of your identity crumbling like a house of cards in slow motion.