Yesterday I was deliberating with my friend on love, it turned out to be a heated discussion and finally she asked me if love is there in my life and if not when did it stop being there. I did not have answers to either of the questions. I responded that I would have to think about it before I came up with an answer.
This is what I am doing now; thinking aloud so as not to get confused or drift away from my train of thought. So really why do I find it so difficult to welcome love with open arms? Why so many doubts? It could be because I have yet to got the hang of it. Love can mean so many things at different levels but I suppose universally it conveys a positive vibe. I suppose it will be rather impossible to get a Pragmatic idea of love, most of the times we try and alleviate it to such an extreme that it becomes a mere archetype. Yes love can also be reduced to the common denominator and be termed lust, which necessarily is not positive.
I sometimes wonder why and when this whole disclaimer to the idea of love arose within me, was it when I was in my mother’s womb and she lost her mother, or was it much later in my childhood when I got molested, or was it simply due to rejections that one learns are ways of life and still find it so hard to accept. I hope it’s the last one because that way you are damaged the least and there is still hope for you. You see it’s much easier for me to believe in the practice of hope, I find it to be an essential ingredient of life and is going to be there for years to come, but love, now that’s a color which is fading, and fading too fast. Maybe that’s exactly the reason I don’t want to take the risk of acknowledging that yes it is there in my life may be a very small though significant little bit. I am too scared that soon I will be left with a faded yellow paper to reminisce about love.