Thursday, March 3, 2011

#79. What is love?

picture by julkusiowa

I remembered that my little toes wiggled in excitement as I happily stood still when my mother dressed me up in my new pink princess-like dress. I feel as though I was the prettiest girl in the world at that moment. I was getting ready for my third birthday party and that day, I secretly wished that my prince charming would appear on his beautiful white horse and carry me away in his strong arms and live happily ever after. That I was told to believe in when I was three, young and naive.

I remembered that I couldn't help but to touch the crown of purple and white roses which felt so soft and subtle on my head as I walked down the white aisle behind my dear aunt, who I thought, had never looked anymore beautiful than she did that day. She was dressed in a graceful, long white dress with detailed designs made of shiny pearl white sequins, hair dressed up in a clean bun, eyes sparkling, edges of her lips reaching the sides of her ears as she walked towards the man of her dreams. That was when I was nine and I witnessed recruited true love.

I remembered when I looked straight into his puppy doe eyes, I felt as though nothing else mattered in the whole wide world. Every single time when his fingers link mine, my heart skips a beat. Every time our lips touches, nothing in the world could explain that feeling, not even fireworks. Every moment we shared, was simple and sincere. That was what I experienced when I was sixteen, an innocent first love.

I remembered that my heart was pounding and tears were rolling down my cheeks every time I see my parents quarreling and arguing. I remembered my mother's horrid-stricken face, tired and sad, trying her best to hold me and my sisters close to her, preventing my father from hurting us. I dreamt every day and night, the horrendous angry looking face that my father had every day when he drunkly steps into the front door of our house, reprimanding my mother and demanding for more beer. I was still in my college years, only twenty, when I stopped believing in marriage.

I remembered I was alone in my room, trying to keep my voice down, sobbing against my pillows as the picture of my fiancee cheating on me in a hotel room with another girl painfully popped up in my head. Those sweet memories that we shared, years of growing and learning together, smiles and laughters, and dreams of building a future together, all doesn't seem to mean a thing any more. I was twenty six when I stopped believing in love.

So love, was supposed to be the only thing that matters in the whole world, the key to making the world seem much more bearable regardless the evil in the world. Love, so fragile and pure, is also something that many had lost faith upon. So, what is love then?