Apologies to Iyanla Vanzat. But yesterday I wept. And it was not for joy that I wept. Like Andrea Agassi, who in Atlanta Olympics, won gold for his country, America. And neither did I weep from nostalgia like some former East Germans remembering a bygone era. No, not like these. I wept not because I mourned a friend. Like Christ weeping for Lazarus. But for same reason many people throw themselves off bridges, take an overdose of sleeping pills, and smash their cars against other cars. I wept because of love. Sounds familiar?
Yes, many of us cry over break ups and unrequited love. Or even, from ill treatments of a spouse. And why do we? Because we as humans are prone to emotions.
Love is an emotion. And a most powerful one at that. Without it our lives will be incomplete. No matter form it takes—whether it is amorous or platonic or agape—it’s same. But before you call me a “hopeless romantic” I will ask this: Would you rather exist like a machine? Or as a fictional android—human-looking robots—knowing no love?
But love, however, should not be confused with sex. These are two different things. Sex is a physical act. (We do it for pleasure.) Love on other hand is an emotional bond. (It defies common sense.)
I have read and heard many things said about love and sex. But most memorable, for me, is this one from Jason Solomon: “Sex is easy and cheap; love requires work.” And I found it, of all places, in a movie review. (Speak of serendipity.)
Yes, love unlike sex requires work (but some may disagree). Unlike sex, love cannot be bought at spur of moment. Like a Mars bar. Or a one-night stand. It takes time to appreciate. Like real estate. Or a Rolls Royce. Love also requires patience—a lot of it—and forgiveness. Forgiveness?
Yes, forgiveness. You must be willing to forgive those who hurt you. This might not be easy but it is an act which must be done. Because its other alternative is animosity. And this—like acid—corrodes. And this is not good for your mental health. So, forgive.
Now for my story. I loved a girl. And I told her this whenever I had chance. I whispered it into her ears. I wrote her verses. I even sent them to her as text. I thought things were moving well. But I was love struck wrong. For my much sort after damsel, “girl of my dreams” whom I had wooed for many months, was snapped up by a guy she had barely known for a week. And to make it worse, he was a friend.