Life.

Love

Author's Note: I just want to say that I tend to have a realistic outlook on life, and I can be quite blunt at moments.

Every chapter expresses my views on a certain topic in 1000 words.

All rights reserved. All rights reserved.

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"For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack." - D.H. Lawrence

Growing up, I was a bookworm.

I used to bury my nose in books, reading mainly "true love" stories. I would read chapter after chapter, sometimes even reading in the dark. If something in my life was going wrong, I would just pick up a book and be satisfied with the fact that when I finished it, there would be a happy ending.

There would always be a "happily ever after".

It was pleasing to know that there was always a pattern to each story. There was always a "handsome male" and a "beautiful (but doesn't know that she is beautiful) female". There would always be some sort of problem that was keeping the hero and his "damsel in distress" from admitting their "true love" to one another. Then the "damsel in distress" would suddenly grow balls and admit that she does love the hero, after a "tragedy" happened. This "tragedy" would usually be if they almost died or he hooked up with another girl. After confessing their love to one another, it seemed as if everything was solved. No more tension or problems, as if someone waved a magic wand and caused all the drama to disappear.

The love in each story seemed to follow a very predictable cycle.

Every love story to me seemed like a hill that has two bumps, one larger and one smaller. The hero and his "true love" would meet, and that would be the hill getting taller. But then, tragedy strikes! They suddenly fight, and the hill slopes downward. Then, fate brings them together again, and they reconcile (hill getting taller). Then the second tragedy hits them, and plummets them down the hill again. What is different from the first tragedy is that the second tragedy is bigger, seemingly unfixable. For the final segment, they both realize how "stupid they were" and how "true love only comes once", finishing the story with a "happily ever after".

I loved the mushiness of each story.

I hate to admit it, but I did grow to love these stories. They were just so predictable, and I liked that. Unlike real life, you know exactly how something began, and from a third person point of view, you knew exactly what the hero/heroine should do in order to get their happy ending. There was always a finite start and end. I sometimes would feel frustrated at a character, yelling internally "Why aren't you chasing after her?" or "You just made the situation worse!". When I finished a book, there would always be a short term satisfication, knowing that the two main characters would get their happily ever after.

I hated stories without a happy ending.

It kind of messed with my brain, because I had my "book world", where everything was perfect, and the "real world", where I would have to deal with confusion and misunderstandings, with no finite end. I hated not knowing what was going to happen next, so if a story began to not follow the set cycle I developed in my head, I would be uninterested in finishing the book.

"Love" itself is quite confusing to me.

It's such an abstract idea, and no one can seem to define it in such a way that was logical. It was supposed to consume you, fill your brain with nothing but your S.O. To me, that sounds both illogical and terrifying. This may sound like a contradiction, but I feel like "loving someone" and to be "in love with someone" are two different things. I am capable of "loving someone", but I can't imagine myself being "in love with someone". "Loving someone" sounds so much more casual, not that much deep connection to the other person. I can "love" multiple people, but I think that my definition of "love" is different from others. To me, "love" is caring for someone in a platonic or romantic way. I say "I love you" to my friends (guys and girls) in a very casual manner. It seems like "loving someone" is opening your heart to them, allowing them to invade your life.

Being "in love with someone" is giving them your heart, allowing them to play around with it.

There just seems to be such a dependency on the other person, when you admit that you're in "love with them". It's much more personal, as you're trying to establish a deeper connection with the other person. Of course, there's always that possibility of rejection, that when you confess your "undying love" to the other person, they'll get terrified and run away in fear. I never want to take that risk, confessing that I have more than friendly feelings towards him.

No one knows exactly what "love" is.

"Love" is a feeling. Feelings can come and go, which seems quite unreliable, in my opinion. Humans are programmed to have feelings, but love just seems so confusing. It makes people crazy, in the sense that they don't know why a person keeps popping up on their mind.

I thought that "love" was real at one point.

The closest I ever came to love would be 2-3 months ago. There was this boy who was charming, nice, and cute. When I first met him, I thought he was a douche bag. His "crowd" wasn't the type of people that I would associate myself with, nor could I ever see myself voluntarily talking to. Fast forward to a month ago, I learned that it was all a lie. Of course, I felt like I was "heartbroken", that all I could do was sit around and mope. The worst part was that someone else had told me, not the boy itself. Of course, it could be a lie, but it just all made sense, once I started piecing all the puzzles together. The belief that I could actually feel love, vanished.

"Love" isn't real.