Pic of the day: Special thanks to The Sims for helping me making my first webcomic ever. If you have problems with the colors, here's a black & white version. This whole sequence just suddenly appeared before my eyes on my way home, like some comic I had read. You can't believe how long I had to play The Sims to get it even this similar to my vision. Hey, why are you looking at me like that? Yeah, so the characters are modeled after two people mentioned in this entry, but it's all just for fun. Really. No, I mean it. Would I lie to you? Would I lie to myself?
What is love?
It seems that every autumn I have a new definition of love. Is it a case of the blind men each trying to describe the same elephant? Or are there different species of love?
The last couple years I have focused on how it is to love. This time I've thought about how it is to be loved, too.
It isn't just about someone holding you and stroking your hair and whispering "I love you". (Incidentally, isn't it a little icky when they do that to big hairy grown-ups?) But what is th essence of it? What is the core? As my e-pal asked, what do you miss?
Someone who loves you is someone you can depend on. Rely on. Trust implicitly. They will be there for you. (Within their own limits - the one in a wheelchair will probably not fix your car, and so on.) You know that you are important to them.
People have different needs. A child needs food, clothes, protection, instruction, lots of attention. Typically parents provide this. Often other relatives too. But then the kids grow up and their needs change.
I have heard that sexual activity can be very pleasant and very addictive once you get into it. Once you know how to apply your body and your soul to the task. If two people are sexually compatible, then they could easily "make love", because they would fulfill each other's need at the same time. Also there's a lot of attention in there. Even grown-ups need some attention!
But just because you can make love doesn't mean that you love. The test of love is when it doesn't feel good. Like, to take a totally imaginary example, she freaks out each time she sees you drinking form the milk carton, and insists that you have to first pour the milk into a glass, which has to be washed afterwards, and which doesn't in any noticeable way improve the milk. You try to explain but she's like completely deaf to reason and insists that just because it "grosses out" her, then you must change. Just to take a wild, unrealistic example.
It may still feel good because you value the other person, and their happiness make you happy. But when people take you for granted, and won't budge an inch themselves for you, then it is hard to love. Still, it must be possible: Some people have cats ...
Can love become inactive? (As opposed to dead.) I think so. I would not be surprised if my earthly father still loves me. Parental love is pretty much incurable once it has settled, I hear. But there's not really anything he can do about it. We live in so different worlds now.
Whenever I'm on my dad's farm, there's this awkward, unreal feeling; like I'm a ghost or something. That's how it feels. Dislocated in time. I guess my dad would feel the same about my reality, only more, if his religion allowed him to use computers. Seeing his son writing on and on in a foreign language about unfamiliar things. Man, I bet that would hurt.
I guess I feel some of the same about SuperWoman, my best friend. I think I loved her approximately like myself, because it made little difference whether I spent my money on her or myself, or spent time on my hobbies or hers. But we live in so different cultures and have so different experiences. And eventually her needs are ones that I cannot meet. So my (friendship-type) love kind of goes inactive.
I guess you can see where this is going. Nobody loves me, because I need no one. And I have made sure I need no one, because I don't expect anyone to love me?
Well, big deal. That just means there's more for someone else. Oh, and I hope we can still be friends! :)
Visit the Diary Farm for the older diaries I've put out to pasture.