It was late at night, 10pm. A friend pulled me aside and asked me "What is love?"
I blanked out for a moment. It's a question most of us had asked ourselves at some point. We might even go into discussion at length, and still not even arrive at anything. It feels like it's simple, yet profoundly deep, so much so even a whole essay will not be able to do it justice. It felt the answer is right at the tip of my tongue, yet when I open my mouth, there was no words.
So instead, my brain took over and search for ways for me to articulate. I started asking the reason for this question, and midway through her sharing, my mind goes "ah, the affairs of thy heart".
But funny how when we say "affairs of thy heart", we immediately know we are referring to the romantic type of love.
But is that all love is about? Love?
Once I heard a child say, "love is when I have my favourite snack in my hand, but I still choose to share half with you."
But can love only be describe the one and only person we chose and commit to spend the rest of our life with? If love only exist in this area of life, then how would you describe this tenderness in your heart when you think about your family, your friends, your life on earth?
Love is, too, the safety extended by my friends who made safety possible.
Love is recognising that our parents never had any ill intentions, and yet they are the very same people who caused the trauma we might be suffering for the rest of our life.
Love is remembering the friends who see beyond my bad times and bad behaviour, but for who I really am, and never left me.
Love is that she looks at you desperately for a safe space that bears no judgement, and you welcome her in with open heart.
Love is your voice shake when you share your deepest, darkest secret even you're ashamed of, and bracing yourself for distasteful sneers, but you received a hug instead.
Love is watching a lion chewing a sheep's raw flesh, and in awe of how nature works to keep us all alive.
Love is with your shivers and tatter breathe, you crawl down under the bed, holding your hand out to the monster under the bed and say "I'm afraid, but I choose to welcome you home."
Love is tasting the breathe coming down the back of my throat, simply because I'm alive.
This, this all, to me, is love.
But it may look different to you, because love is unique to us all.
Sometimes we have words, sometimes we don't. Sometimes what others say may spark something in you, and yet it should never be taken for "end all, be all". Because love ripples, love grows.
Love has many flavours, and it exist not in just one paradigm.
If you open you eyes and your heart, you may just see them.
Love is everywhere, but it will not exist, if you have not turn inwards into your heart, and allow it to grow from within.
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