February is here. The month I was born, the month of love and romance. No wonder I am a hopeless romantic. Blame February.
Our generation is fixated with love. As one of my friends had said, we were a generation who grew up watching these sappy romantic love stories, and I couldn’t agree with her more. We somehow got this ingrained into our belief system, that “someone, somewhere, was made for everyone” and one day we shall find that someone, in spite of all the adversities, and we’ll live happily ever after. I will be officially old in a fortnight, and I still haven’t found that someone. I doubt I ever will.
The first guy who had the balls to declare his love for me did not really get the answer he had hoped for. We were in high school then. These so-called “proposals” were a big thing back in those days. Amidst a lot of fanfare and evident preparation the guy said those three magic words to me, “I love you”. A normal fourteen year old girl would’ve swooned, or been ecstatic, or nervous, or would’ve at least had a blushing smile on her face. But my reaction to this innocent declaration of love was, “Dude, do you even know what love means?” The poor guy was so flabbergasted he didn’t know what to say and promptly fled the scene.
Although my friends still laugh, when we look back at that day, I sometimes wonder, was I right in saying those things to him? Did I know then what love meant? Do I know even today, what love is? Maybe that day, that guy cursed me so bad, that I am still figuring out this crappy mess called ‘love’, with no luck, I might add.
I have never freely used the word ‘love’, in the verb form at least; when I can make do with so many other words like ‘like’, ‘admire’, ‘respect’, ‘emotional connect’ etcetera. It feels as if love, the word, was like a beautiful dress gifted to me. It was so beautiful and precious to me that I nicely wrapped it up and stored it in the upper-most shelf of my cupboard, which I rarely look into. And its been lying there for years. Now, when I finally took it out to wear it, its all ragged and moth-eaten. I ruined it. Did I reserve it for so long, that now I might never get to use it again?
I used to be a silly little girl who used to believe in fairy tales. I waited for my Prince Charming and he never came. I think I waited too long. The fairy tale, even if it was only in my mind, is over. Life is not a Cinderella story. It is time to come down from the towered palace and face the practicalities.
I may not be able to define love, but I know it exists, even if in short supply. Love is like a precious metal or a limited resource. So all those who have it or think they have it, please do not squander it away.
As for me, I would say, forget love, I’d rather fall in chocolate.
Happy Valentines’ Month, everyone.
