I asked myself that a few times today.
I know love from the box of handwritten and handcrafted notes she made for me for my birthday this year for me to bring along on my overseas trip with the army. Her love is colourful like the craft papers and markers, post it notes and stickers she used. Her love makes me happy and yet also brings tears to my eyes when I read each day’s note.
I know love from the colourful rubberband bracelets she made for me a couple of weeks back. Her love is woven around me like each rubberband in every bracelet, like each time she wraps her arms around my neck.
The predominant concept of love that I’ve come to expect, is sort of a good feeling. Love, has to feel good. If it doesn’t, that’s not love…is it? I may have over-romanticised the idea of love over the years, so much so that now, when I’m in a relationship, there are times I question whether something I do (most of the time) is considered love.
Take today for example. I waited a few hours for her while she did her photoshoot. I was informed at the last minute that I couldn’t enter the studio because the photographer didn’t like to be scrutinised while he worked. I didn’t like his attitude. He was quite full of himself to me and during the few minutes I interacted with him, he didn’t leave a good impression on me. Maybe he felt that wasn’t necessary with me. After all, I am not his client, she is. And even though he may be a successful and rather renown modeling photographer, and significantly older than me, I thought it was basic courtesy to be humble when you meet someone for the first time. Maybe he felt that wasn’t necessary with me either. Anyway, the main reason why I chose to wait for her at a Subway eatery nearby nonetheless, was because of my paranoia. I kept imagining that she’ll be taken advantage of and even if nothing of that sort happened, I felt better knowing that I’m just around the corner if she ever needed me rather than sitting at home and letting my thoughts run wilder while waiting forever for her to call me to say that she’s done.
Can this be considered love? This act of waiting? I didn’t exactly like waiting during those few hours, mainly because I wasn’t physically with her and that made me worry more than just simply wait for her. It didn’t have a “good feel”, which didn’t go in line with my concept of love.
Then, I recalled the messages that my Dad sent me tonight, constantly asking if I needed him to pick me up. I didn’t tell him I was waiting for her while she did a modelling portfolio shoot, I lied that I was having dinner with her. And because the shoot didn’t end till quite late, I had to lie further to buy time, and I found his offer to fetch us annoying. But that made me think of how a lot of times I don’t do as he says and still, he lets me as much as his patience can take.
Is that love? He did something that he probably didn’t made him feel good, but he did it nonetheless because I wanted it my way.
Yeah, I guess what I did can be considered love. She wanted the photoshoot, my paranoia, I’d like to think, manifested out of my love for her.