It’s been spoken in all the languages of the world. It’s been sung about in countless songs. It’s even been written about in the oldest book in the world by a great man called Paul in a letter to the Corinthians. It was there since the beginning of time, and it will be the one thing left when all else fades away.
And yet, for me, it’s the hardest thing to write about. I mean, how does one put into words the meaning of this great, big, marvelous thing called love?
If you type in “what is love” on Google, you’ll get 1,560,000,000 results in 0.44 seconds (yes, I actually tried it). But when I attempt to define and explain love for this column, it takes me days of gut-wrenching brainstorming, and I know why it’s been such a struggle for me: My knowledge of love is the result not of half a second of searching, but of a lifetime of experiencing it in all its facets as a daughter, sister, wife and mother.
So for today, allow me to share with you the result of that mighty struggle to come up with my own definition of this oft-repeated, oft-used, multi-faceted thing called Love.
Love is a commitment. It’s not a feeling; for me, to define it as such would be to demean it. Sure, it’s incredibly thrilling when the guy you’ve been swooning over winks at you from across the room, takes your hand in his, says those three words you long to hear. But it’s so much more than just that. Feelings change from day to day; love is constant. Years down the road, that wink might not be so thrilling, your hands will probably be too occupied with keeping little fingers out of mischief, and the three words you long to hear might very well have morphed into “Good night, dear” as you reach over to turn off the light at night. But when you hear the same voice whispering good night, night after night, till the day you breathe your last, you know that you’ve been blessed with a love that is truly committed, that has stayed for the long haul, that has taken you and carried you and lifted you, not in spite of but rather together with all your little factory defects.
Love is limitless. I think it’s uncanny how the universal token of love is a ring. Like a circle, without a beginning and an end, love just goes on and on and on. It knows no bounds; it rises above petty squabbles and huge fights; it travels through space and time and distance. It doesn’t keep count on a scoreboard and it never gives up, even when the going gets tough. It has no expiration date and sets no conditions. It’s what makes us wake up at night to mop up the contents of our kid’s stomach for the fifth time as he suffers from intestinal flu. It’s what moves us to steel our soft hearts and still our tears when our teenager screams at us for not allowing her to attend a party that we know isn’t going to be with a good crowd. It’s what makes us perfectly happy to sit quietly, holding our beloved’s wrinkled hand in our own, even as weakened eyes and rheumatism plague us in our old age.
Love is giving… in all forms and shapes and sizes. It’s a husband giving his name to his wife, a mother giving her body to house her child, a friend consoling a jilted bestie late at night armed with pep talk and a tub of ice cream. It’s giving in and saying sorry even if you don’t think you’re at fault, because it’s what will keep the peace. It’s giving up myriad comforts for the sake of the other. It’s doing the right thing, even when it hurts. And the amazing thing about love is its power to transform sacrifice into a deep and lasting joy.
Love is trusting and believing that you’re never going to be left behind, that you’re always going to have someone watching your back, that you’ll always be in each other’s corner till the end of time. And sometimes it means reminding yourself of these truths when faced with little jealousies and insecurities that threaten to eat away the bonds of trust.
Love is touching. Sometimes words are not enough. Sometimes a look, a touch, a hug can say more than three words – or three hundred – ever can. You see it in the twinkle that lights up the eye of a guy as he bends on one knee, a diamond ring in his hand. You see it in the mother’s gentle ruffling of the hair of her little boy. You see it in the sweet kiss a daughter drops on the forehead of her mom who barely recognizes her. Sometimes love can only be accurately expressed in the profundity of silent touches.
Love seeks only the best for the other. I’ve always told my children that the opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s selfishness. And when my boys have grown old enough for The Talk, the one thing I emphasize above all others is this: You will know that you really love her and she really loves you when you both seek what is best for each other, and what leads you to true happiness is a clean and pure expression of love. Anything less than that might feel good, but if it leads you away from the right path, then it can’t be true love and it won’t last. Impressing this on my boys’ minds might not insulate them from mishaps as they careen through their teenage adventures, but at least it will serve as a constant flashing reminder at the back of their heads of what they should look for and what they should be, if they truly want a long and lasting love.
And finally, love is the greatest legacy. It is what I want my boys to think of, to aim for, to live for. It’s what I want them to keep in their hearts as the greatest gift we’ve ever given them. Because love is a legacy that lives forever, passed on from one generation to the next, transforming this world in its own unique way, until the end of time when we are all united with the Great Author of Love Himself.
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