I never have this problem with anyone else. Just you. And I can't help it. Nor do I want to, honestly.
I have felt vulnerable. I have done foolish things. I have uttered stupid words. I have fallen into almost every snare that the songs warn us about. But I have loved.
And so there you are. One click away. "Busy". I double-click and leave the window open. I do not say anything. But it feels close enough.
And I think I am losing it. But you're just that amazing. Who can help it?
Love. It is a concept that has plagued centuries of philosophers. For years, people have encountered phenomena that they have tried in vain to explain. It seemed that in addition to the innate survival instinct that everyone understandably possessed, humans were capable of commiting the occasionally random act of irrationality. And none was more guilty than love itself.
Love had the ability to inspire, as Erwin Schrodinger can attest to after writing his most groundbreaking paper following a retreat accompanied by some young lady. Or so the records show. It had the ability to distort time, so that people in love always seemed to live in a much slower-paced world. They no longer just stopped to smell the roses, it became all that they could smell. And of course, love always demanded a sacrifice. Shakespeare wrote of how Romeo would give his life for love. Often, the sacrifices would be far more costly than what the emotion would seem to cost. And yet, it only served as further proof of the claim that love often went contrary to logic.
And this would understandably have been very distressing. Clearly, as its most fundamental, the only difference between love and narcotics was the physical harm that narcotics promised to inflict. But if love was a well-blended mixture of addiction and love; if it made people lose the ability to make sound judgements, surely it could be branded a danger to society? The only exception with love was how it would eventually lead to marriage and thus to birth, a benefit to society. And perhaps, because of this benefit, it has not been ranked amongst the commonly abused drugs.
But still, the need remained for people to attempt to explain this feature of life. For perhaps, with understanding, we could learn to overcome it. And so, in vain did they try. They questioned if love shaped society or if the converse was true. The Beach Boys took it one step further to ask if all we needed was love. Aaron Neville, however, took a simpler stand, admitting to not knowing much except that he was in love. And that may well be the same sentiments that most people around the world share.
For there is something special about unexplained phenomena. It elevates love from the Earth into something that is spiritual -- religious even. And from an anthropological point of view, human beings have always desired something of the spiritual realm. Whether it is morals, money, science, religion or cults, they have always exhibitied a tendency to believe in something that is beyond just mere survival instinct. And perhaps, it is in love that they often find this.
And so, ultimately, what is love? I do not know, but it is a lovely feeling. And that is all that really matters.
I am sometimes stunned at the way you approach relationships. You expect people to return to you the same sort of attention you give to them. Which then begs the question of what your original motivation was. When you write letters, is it truly to express appreciation for the other or is it a subtle plea for attention?
I have seen the way you try to expect nothing, and I must applaud your awareness of altruistic values. Still, there are times when you do express frustration at unanswered messages, and it is at times like these that I shake my head sadly. Really, Jerome, have you never not ignored an email or instant message? Surely you jest the friend who took the effort to communicate. But there was no ill-intention, you say? Then your interpretation into the apparent indifference of your friends surely carry things beyond what they really are.
But your desire for communication, does it not prove your claim that you treasure the friend? And the incessant hope for reciprocation -- albeit childish and a tad mercenaric -- underlines the humanity that is you. You can almost instantly set up impenetrable barriers, clinging desperately to the heroism of unrecognition of your efforts. No one will be able to read your mind. No one reads everything like a literature text, sensing for nuanced tones and attitudes. No one. So if you never risk it, who will ever know?
Of course, you could probably write it out in a blog post and expect that word of it will spread. Like you always do. Although it reeks deeply of cowardice and detachment from the world, I do not think Shakespeare ever intended his plays to bring such terror to many innocent schoolchildren everywhere either. At least it is nothing immorally or lawfully improper. And if it helps you feel better too, why not?
So, the conclusion of the matter is this. Your friends probably appreciate what you do for them. There is no obligation for them to reciprocate. Any such obligation spoils the entire sweetness of the initial act. So do not expect any. Take pride in the hope that you made them smile. Few can ever stake claim to having done something special for a friend they so greatly treasure. Count yourself privileged to be amongst them.
