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Till Life Does Us Part

Updated: Dec 1, 2021

The first thing I read today after waking up, was about the separation of a couple I thought inseparable. I didn't follow them diligently, I don't know anything about them beyond the philanthropic ideals they share; but to me, a spectator, they seemed to be one of the very few constants the world could count on. So naturally, the news unhinged me.

Absurdly enough, this comes a day after I watched a movie whose premise revolved around the aftermath of splitting up. Now, in my limited understanding of life, I could never make much sense of the idea of breaking up. To me, it was always simple. When I find a person, the person, and I can admit to myself, to them, and to the world that I am in love, irrevocably and irretrievably in love, that would be it. Somebody would have a hold on my heart that I couldn't break if I wanted to. It would be humbling and overwhelming and possibly painful at times, but I couldn't stop loving them any more than I could stop breathing. My forever would not come with an expiry date.

But in the course of time, I have been told life happens. The magic lets up. Rainbows and unicorns part to make way for thunders and krakens. And although I see it everyday and I have all the reason in the world to believe seldom does love last, the little girl who grew up on rom-coms and literary classics, refuses to back down.

Far be it from me to go around doling out love lessons, but if I may, there is a recurring theme I see in today's heartbreaks. Quick to love, quick to lose. It seems like we have forgotten that good things come to those who wait. I was 11 years old when I first heard about my classmates "being in a relationship". They were committed, they said. At an age where I only cared about breaking my Pacman high score, I could not comprehend the love my friends proclaimed for each other. And sure enough, as the years progressed, so did the recipients of that undying love.

Of course, this would only explain modern heartache. I do not have enough life experience or wisdom to comment on more serious separations. But seeing years of companionship break apart makes me realise I may have been too rigid about love. They say, it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Maybe, after years of finding each other, an individual wants to find themselves. Or maybe, giving up comes easy to human beings. It certainly sounds easier than the alternative, fighting for something you're not sure even exists.

I don't know where I incline. I have always struggled with the relentless battle between idealism and realism. At this point, all I can say is, until you deep dive headfirst into a crazy little thing they call love, you will never know whether it's a lighthouse or a storm.

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Grateful and more, yes, but fuck my life.


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