Love: As I Know It
The changing perceptions of love throughout the years
I started to grow aware of the word love when I was 6. Until then, it was something I associated with chocolate or a movie I liked. I remember asking my mother one day if she misses me when I go to school, worried about her being lonely and having no one to talk to, and she told me she loved me too much to keep me home. I didn’t understand then. I cried, which was — and is — my first reaction to almost anything. Six-year-old me thought her mother didn’t love her enough and wailed until she was calmed down with a treat. And that was that. I did not possess the proper focus to contemplate on problems beyond homework or playtime — things that easily stole my attention once they were mentioned.
I was 8 when I saw love in front of me. Back then, I had started having persistent migraines almost every week and throwing up was the only thing that let my pain simmer down till it was bearable. To a child who hadn’t known pain beyond a knee scrape, it felt like I was dying. But I saw my mother stay beside my bed as if my pain were her own, I saw my father pacing not knowing how to take the hurt away, and I saw my brother, practically helpless, as he popped in to check on me often. I think that’s when I decided — with all the determination of a child who had begun to think complex thoughts — that love was taking care of someone else.
I was 10 when my father got transferred to another city, 10 when I had to leave my friends behind, 10 when I knew what grief felt like. I knew, then, it was love that I felt — having grown to recognise the emotion for what it was. Love for a town that I considered home, for a set routine, for familiar faces. I remember my mother telling me that it’s better not to get too attached to people because it’ll hurt less when you leave them behind. It sounded important — the way that everything grown-ups say do, but my 10-year-old mind couldn’t comprehend it properly. Still stuck on the idea that you’re supposed to take care of people when you love them, I let it float in the back of my mind — like a litany I wasn’t wise enough to recite.
I was 14 when I had a crush on a boy. Love to me, then, meant shy conversations between classes, phone calls every night, trading songs that spoke words that neither of us had the courage to. Suddenly — as is the norm — the movies made sense. All those scenes I used to cringe away from in rom-coms became moments I yearned for. It was sweet, innocent. Everything that first love was supposed to be. Until it ended and my whole world felt like it was falling. It didn’t. I survived and lived to tell the tale. And as traumatic as the experience was, I can only think of the relationship in fond recollection.
This did not, however, solidify my idea of love. I was still lost. A couple of years and another relationship down the drain, I decided that love wasn’t for me. It wasn’t worth the heartbreak nor the effort. It wasn’t worth anything I already had.
As much as I complain about being lonely now (mostly in jest, sometimes not), it’s not at the forefront of my mind. And despite the looming threat (not really) of Valentine’s and the targeted ads that make you feel like you don’t matter unless you have a partner, I’m okay. Love will always exist and mostly be the one thing I will not be able to unravel the mysteries of any time soon, or maybe ever.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t see it at all. I see love in the little things. In saving your friend a seat for class, in petting that cat who sometimes rejects your affection, in calling your family to tell them about your day, in sitting beside a friend while they cry. I see it in tiny reassurances and gestures that go unnoticed. I see it in hugs and greetings, in packages and texts and routines you build. I see it in a helping hand and conversations that go on for hours. I see it in my friends who tuck me in securely after I fall asleep with my glasses on; I see it in people who call to see how you’re doing, in sending you videos they think you’ll like, and forgiveness and trust and support and everything you take for granted every day.
We’re surrounded by love — all sorts of love — every single day. And as unpredictable and convoluted as it is, love is always something you can fall back on.
