Loving You

Lost

Endless sights I long to see, a starry sky comes greeting me. 

If oceans part our destined love, I’ll sail the seas and fly afar. 

Her eyes have this kind of sparkle, a glow that I adore.

A glimpse of your soul, dear, I’ll cherish forevermore.

I always wondered if I would ever get to feel love again. The butterflies in your stomach, the tightness you feel when talking to them, the worried nervousness that makes you act like a silly child. Such was a thing of dreams and fantasy, or reserved for the young, untainted soul who has yet to be disappointed by how human an individual can be. It is a tragedy to  learn that everyone is as confused and flawed as themselves. We are all just dumb kids trying to figure out the world, teddy bear in one hand, tear-stained blanket on the other.

I’ve loved people before; the joy of crushes, and the sorrows of heartbreak. Through all the souls I have gotten the chance to acquaint myself with, none really felt like the love I was promised besides my very first. She was the one that taught me about love. She was the one to really show me what it felt like to be in love with someone. Yet, I was a young child at the time, struggling my way through his first relationship. She took a part of my soul with her, and her absence left the adolescent me incomplete.

Compounded with the pressure of performance from my caregivers throughout childhood, I struggled with the thought of being able to love myself unconditionally. It was only recently that I noticed these tendencies, and such explains the very nature of why I acted the way I did after that very first breakup. Relationship after relationship, I sought after love, one that could fill the void in my heart. When one is liked romantically, they may feel invincible. To be liked is to accept who one is, not what they do or what they can achieve. One can only imagine how the adolescent in me felt, love-starved and insecure, when presented with such fortune. The ecstasy was intoxicating, as I found myself chasing.

As years pass, the heavier life feels. The hopeful child slowly grows into a cynical adult, smarter yet sad. “Love is a thing for children”, he tells himself, “I can never love nor feel love again”. Mature relationships were a pain, struggles that inevitably came to a disappointing end. Yet, something in me did not want to give up on love, romance, and fantasy. A spark that was filled with hope, igniting my passions every now and then.

Broken

A lighthouse that rests on a hill, gracing over ship’s embark.

She illuminates my world, the light that carries me through the dark.

Oh, how sweet your words, I love its taste.

Nothing could ever pull me from your embrace.

I decided to pursue something serious with someone I could tolerate. “Love shouldn’t be easy”, I thought. After years of avoiding commitment out of the fear of getting hurt, the idea to re-learn love came to mind. Perhaps this child needs to learn how to love once again, through intimacy, deeper bonds, and proper conversation. Perhaps this love I so desire isn’t one to be gained, but to be learnt and achieved. To stick around even when it’s hard. To speak even when the heart shuts its mouth. To show restraint even when the mind edges on rage. To love, even when it’s not easy to love.

Through hardship did I then endure. I followed what people said was proper, appropriate, or, if I may, spiritually aligned, or as the religious may call it, godly. Restraining myself wasn’t the hardest part. It was the act of shaping oneself to act a way that wasn’t quite natural, a way that the people said would work. Many weeks, confusing dates, and respectfully awkward chats later, I was much more uncertain about the relationship than when it started. “For love”, I told myself, “I will endure”.

She was pretty, she was kind, and she was smart. Perhaps, a little too smart for my liking, as she wasn’t the most honest person I have encountered. But who can blame her? The game of modern love is won by the one who does not fall for the other first. Yet, I chose to fight for it, no matter how hard it would be. Where the soul is truly passionate, love will triumph. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to realise that I was the only one fighting for it. I mustered up the courage to confront the dragon about it, only to be hit with confusing riddles and an unnecessarily long-winded rejection.

They say that despite your circumstances, you always have a choice. After I stopped talking to her, the one I so wished to have helped me learn to love again, I was overcome with bitterness. If anything, it was one of the few times I have ever truly felt resentment. I noticed that I wasn’t sad. I was mad, disappointed, and deeply upset. It was not so much the heartbreak that hit me, but the waste of energy and time that annoyed me. I now question if I did really like her, or was it more of a temporary infatuation driven by physical attraction, but her absence did not upset me as much as the loss of my efforts.

I was trying to be good, I was trying to do what was right. Yet, it felt like doing what was right only caused me some misery. The pessimism I felt then made it quite easy to feel isolated, as I found myself yearning for that which has always haunted me. It was then I went back to my old, yet safe self. The one that pursued noncommittal relationships with women who desired me, in order to feel unconditionally loved, even if only for a bit. Old ties were rekindled for the sake of company, new ones began to fuel more of that hedonistic ideal. 

It may seem obvious to see that Lucifer was silly, to keep doing evil, rather than to make up with God, who likely would have accepted him. Yet it is in stories as such that we can see ourselves play out this tragedy. My descent was fuelled by bitterness out of the unfairness that seemed to have met me on my way to salvation. I hated that my attempts to be better and follow what was right, only met with further trouble and wasted thoughts. It would have been better if I had never tried, at least I would be a little less miserable.

The road down did feel rather nice. It was warm, consoling, not too lonely, and very familiar. Nights did not feel too heavy and lonesome. There is nothing awful with feeling like another being loves you. Unfortunately, I did not plan to truly love my suitors back, as the hidden child is still a little scared of commitment. He is terrified of getting hurt again, dejected and cast out, and feeling like he sabotaged the very thing he desired the most. However, even Lucifer, they say, was not beyond the reach of grace. The child had not yet learned that he had a choice.

Found

Past storm and drought, deep flood and snow.

I’ll do all I can to protect you, my precious little rose.

My soul ever wandering, in the dark, lonely abyss.

The thought of you is the only thing to give me temporary bliss.

There is this story of an old man who had already made peace with the shape of his life. He was prosperous, respected, and enjoyed the rhythm of work and the company of his people. One day, he notices a woman on the edges of his land. She was a new sight, but nothing too special. She wasn’t doing anything different, unbothered, and not quite a performer. Yet, something about her caught his eye. She was still, humble, and unfamiliar. The man asked his servants about her, interested in who she was. To get her attention, he instructed his men to aid her indirectly and to treat her with kindness. Days went on and she started to notice the treatment she was getting, and grew to be curious of what was happening. One fateful night, surrounded by the silence of distant stars, the two meet. Few words were exchanged, yet something neither had planned for had already begun.

You could say that I had left the door open. Not out of hope, rather, out of habit. In all honesty, I never expected anyone to knock. In a way, I gave up on searching for the love I so desire, retreating to the confines of a welcoming past. This was, perhaps, the only reason she could have found me. 

Our meeting was one that would not have made for a good story at Christmas dinners, or one that would inspire a dreamer’s romantic passion. It wasn’t one of sneaky glances, of dropped handkerchiefs, or a fated encounter on a bench under a city of stars. Just a tiny note left to float across the seas in a bottle of stained glass, guided by divine powers to reach its destined shore. I’d like to think that the timid nature of the encounter was what made it feel different.

She was not what I had grown used to. There was no performance in her, no attempt to be someone she wasn’t. Her eyes felt honest, her smile was true. Her words were warm, her manner still. There was a stillness to her that drew me in, a safety I had not encountered in a long time. Faced with something so foreign, I did not quite know what to do with it. It felt like I had spent so much time through modern courtship that modest sincerity felt wrong. I was trained in the art of calculated distance, of being just loving or kind enough that another was drawn in, without giving too much of myself away. This modest sincerity I was faced with felt suspicious. Maybe deep down, I was waiting for some kind of show to begin. It never did.

I recall thinking to myself that I did not deserve her. Not in the self-pitying way one may say to garner some reassurance, but in a way that’s more deeply reflective. It was an honest call to my shadow, a whisper that reminded me of that which I had long avoided. She was the antithesis to myself, a light that revealed how much I had been hiding. Hiding not just from the gaze of strangers and friends, but also from myself. At that moment I saw, with some real clarity, the form in which I had become after all this time. Someone who misunderstood emotional economy for strength. A boy who claimed his fear of getting hurt and acts of self-preservation as wisdom. The many wounds gathered across the years had been so well covered, I had forgotten to mend.

There is something special, and a little disorienting, about being discovered by someone who is not trying to see you. Unlike others, she wasn’t looking into my wounds, nor listing out my shortcomings. She was simply present, open, and patient. Standing by her, I couldn’t help but see myself clearly. A fearful child, born into a world that taught him how much things can hurt. Even so, she never tried to fix anything. She never needed to. She just needed to take my hand and walk with me as I left the old house I’ve always called home. The Wendy Darling to my Peter Pan, in a universe where she gets to show him the world.

Perhaps, It was time for the child to grow up. To show up when he is called. To stop mistaking self-protection for wisdom. To learn, for the first time, that love was not to be earned. Not because he was asked or forced to, but because he finally wanted to. The child who had spent his whole life looking for something to fill the hollow had always been looking in the wrong place. She wasn’t the piece that completed me, but a mirror I could finally look at without flinching. In beginning to love her, I had slowly learnt, though imperfectly, to love myself.

I never expected to feel it again. The butterflies. The tightness. The nervousness that can make a grown child feel like a silly child. Somehow, there I was, stumbling through childlike love once again. For the first time in what felt like forever, I don’t really mind.

I’ll sing you songs, hold your hand under skies of blue. 

Oh, my love, eternity feels so short when I’m with you.

For better or worse, I’ll care for you with all my heart.

To love and cherish, as they say, until death do us part.