Something about love

I could be the worst person to write about love. The clock is ready to strike 2 at night, and there is nothing else I can think about between the tossing and turning, and the struggle to sleep. I don't know if I will be doing any justice writing about this four-lettered word, which has so much to it, so much depth, so much that I can't possibly express. I still want to try because I have been thinking about it a lot lately.

Five of my best friends got married this year, to the best people who fit perfectly in their lives. It is humbling to see them together, to know that they are meant to be the way they are. Some of my girlfriends have changed their surnames post their marriages, some are struggling hard to get up early every day so that they can tend to the needs of their new families before they zoom to their offices, almost all are becoming multi-tasking goddesses, and are trying their best to fit in their new lives. The good news is, they are all happy with the transformations, no matter how difficult it is for them. They make me realize that changing your way of life for someone is not so bad after all, if it is done for love. A friend flew to another country, another continent, just so that she could be closer to that one person who she thinks she can spend the rest of her life with. I have never seen her so excited about life. This is humbling to see, to know that she is turning into the best of herself, because of her man.

My own relationships with X and Y have taught me so much about love. I made mistakes, I grew, I learnt. It always happens that relationships that don't work out leave a bitter taste, a void. They have done the same for me. But regardless of how I feel, or how they have made me feel, I want thank them for teaching me invaluable lessons. I might not really know what love is, but I have ended up knowing what love is not. I have read it innumerable times, but I understand it now. Love is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered. It does not keep record of wrongs. It is not rude. It is not proud. It does not boast. It always protects. It always trusts. Always hopes, always preserves. It never fails. Or else, it is not love.

Between my friends who are so much in love with their husbands, between those who have found love, between those who are ready to take that plunge, I think that I wouldn't mind having the same for myself. I would like to share that joyful companionship with someone, to share my dreams, my hopes, my breakfast, my room, and my life. But then I also enjoy what I have now. I know that this is never going to come back. I like the thought of just being able to do things on my own, to be able to go to that shop and get what I want without having to depend on someone to chose the best one for me, to be able to meet my girlfriends whenever I want to, to be able to flirt with that cute guy, to prove myself to be a better daugher, a better sister, a better aunt. And look out for the man who is going to make me feel complete, who will embrace me, and stick to me for life.

A colleague shared some words of wisdom today. Life has a strange way of making things work out, she said, just have faith and everything will fall into right places. I am sure they will.