We’re Not Supposed To Understand Love

In many ways more than one, the rules of life and love are almost always lopsided, ill-fated, tragic, and, well, pretty screwed up. I look around me and see different exhibits of the plights of love.

You could be enamored by a person you can’t have for whatever reason, the one thing that feels so right would terribly feel the otherwise because some norm that says such feelings are taboo. Or you could be one of those who hang in there for as long as they could despite being aware that it’s a mere fantasy. You’d become addicted to false hopes that make you feel alive, always choosing to prolong the doubt rather than to end the limbo that spares you from disappointment yet deprives you a sense of clarity.

You might be someone who stays in an unhealthy relationship, where you convince yourself to accept a love that is less than what you ought to have. You’d limit your worth to just as much because you believe that it is better than being numb; because you aren’t aware that you deserve way more than that. You may have perhaps settled for a love that is safe, average, and convenient because you are either consumed by the idea of security or are just in a hurry. Or you might be haunted by a love that keeps on coming back—the one that’s unwilling to set you free from the torture of being unsure of an affection that may be taken away at any moment.

Perhaps you could be one of those people who spend the rest of their lives trying to get over the person they have let to slip away. Everything that once surrounded your communal sphere of existence has evolved and moved on yet years later, the thought of your eyes meeting theirs still makes it a bit harder to breathe. Or, you may otherwise be one of those who will never get to find out how great it could have been if only the universe worked out in their favor—if only you had another chance, in another time, in another place, in another self, in another life.

Whatever and whoever you are, love is inevitably twisted. It comes in all forms and shapes and sizes. This is only a nip of the myriad of things that I would probably never understand.

The dreadful truth is that you don’t just end up with a love that is passionate and mutual at the same time. You’re never lead straight to the ones who could love you back, the ones with no buts, and the ones with whom you can actually be happy. No. You’re not allowed to skip ahead into ending without going through the intricate nature of life, because the universe just doesn’t work that way. The universe will constantly throw you every ugly, wicked, and difficult thing to rip your love apart, and there is never an assurance that your heart will get by in one piece.

Life would be so much easier if we were all capable of finding that mad, mind-blowing, all-consuming, extraordinary, lasting, and reciprocated love in a sea of about seven billion people on the first try. Sometimes it’s as if we’re trapped in complicated situations that we can’t control. Sometimes the external factors are just too exhausting that a love independent of space and time would be nice to imagine.

Hating on those ‘lucky ones’ who got it right the first try may seem effortless; but maybe they’re the ones who are missing out. Maybe it’s not supposed to be plain and simple. Maybe we’re supposed to embrace the complex bamboozling hang-ups of life. Maybe we’re supposed to put ourselves out there, go with our instincts, take risks, make mistakes, and be all over the place.

I haven’t really fully understood whatever it is in the physical world that makes love difficult and convoluted, and I am still asking myself what it would be like if everyone was completely certain that there was a genuine and relentless someone made for them. Yet if there was one thing I am sure of, it’s this: if love existed in a vacuum, we would have never known the extent to which the human heart was capable of giving, accepting, and enduring. We would have never found out what could move us by and rip us apart, and we would have never known love at all.