I used to want to love. But romatic love seems to play no role in my life. Any opportunity to be so involved with faithful experience is amiss. Probably, romantic love really doesn’t evolve from anyone. Not love actually but romantic love. It’s not like lava flowing and oozing out of someone’s vessel. It’s not even exploding and falling like the shooting stars in the galaxy. It’s not something that just pops and you can’t stop. It’s something very much improbable and you don’t have the luxury to find time to sit and relax and have a good thought about it. Well love is a real blind or in total blindness. It doesn’t react. It’s just there lurking in the dark like the head-foot of snail crawling and hiding inside its shell and this movement alternates when someone is looking on its ugliness. Love is a sublime mystery to the eyes of men and even the microscopic view of a microscope cannot detect the probably simple secret behind this love mystery.
Love ruins. This has been a lot in my experience and occupies so much of my limbic system. I’m not gonna rattle about it but what concerns me most is I don’t want any more addition to this already crumbling emotional memory bank. I hate to imagine that pain has really memory. Pain retains in the brain. Studies have shown that pain experienced in infancy or even in utero are saved in the memory box in the complicated brain. This juxtaposes everything happy and sad next to each other. Like Barbie and Ken sitting next to each other purposely placed by the child playing on them, this is utterly sad when in reality Barbie doesn’t want Ken or even men in general. Love ruins and twins with pain. There is always breakage. No accidents but victims and suspects come in. In the process of love-making, and I don’t mean sex here, love concerns every aspect of the human being involved. Everything is harnessed to the limelight to prod one’s self to mutual utopia with the chosen love partner. Unfortunately, some partners aren’t really the ideal partners and they started to loosen from loyalty and honesty. Some play in the forests of other romantic affairs. Some just swim into a pool of randomized controlled trial for a love-and-found game. And all this results to pain and ruin to the victim. And who is the victim here? The one captivated in heart and in mind. The one who really cares. The one often who becomes overinvolved. The one who invests so much emotional currency. The one who imagined that the eternal partner of herhis life is in front of herhim. Sadly, I used to play this part in a overdrama that Filipinos love to watch on their television couchpotatoing until midnight. And I refused to accept that in the end I was a loser. That in the end, I am an unfinished art and a rejected hypothesis in the art and science of love-making.
