2025-07-07
I used to think I would be very indifferent to love. Sure, I'd appreciate it, but it would be subtle. Something that's there. Casual. Effortless. When it calls me to give back, I'd do so. To other people, it is not very far off from the perception of my emotional range. It does not strike as very surprising when a reserved person who is expected to "just exist", actually does so. For my whole life, I have been - by nature - the textbook definition of an "introvert". I would get awkward around new people, I don't initiate conversations, I don't contribute much to a group discussion. I have a circle with a very small radius, outside which I might as well be considered a mute. It takes me a great deal of time to get comfortable with people. I don't take it as a fault of my nature. I think my mind is just simply being cautious, letting someone else occupy a part of me.
I have always thought of friendships as some part of ownership. When you are close to someone, you give them a part of you, a right over your time, actions, and judgement. This is why - in my opinion - I can ask my closest friends to hangout without any prior notice. This is why I can share silence with a friend, scratching my knees, without being awkward. Friendships have expectations. Expectations of being there, submitting schedules, and sharing embarrassment. And in my life, the people with whom I share such friendships, I can count with the fingers on my hand.
Most of my acquaintances share a common opinion about me. I don't care. I don't blame them. Over my whole life, I have given off the impression that I'm indifferent to the consequences of events that occur around me, good or bad. Now that one, that one is definitely a fault of mine. I rarely express myself visibly. I remember, when I failed the first Engineering Mechanics incourse, scoring 0.5 out of 30, I sat by the pavement in front of the Shahid Minar. I can still feel how deeply saddened and disappointed I was. A friend of mine asked if I was sad, and before I could answer, another one beside them said, in a very nice tone, "No he isn't. Look at him. Does he look sad to you. He doesn't care.". It didn't exactly hurt. But it did trigger something inside. It's not like I haven't always known this. My emotions don't show on my face. Or maybe my subconscious doesn't let me show them. Maybe it is a defense mechanism. Maybe by disguising me, by portraying myself as unfazed by emotion, it shields my insecurity of not being cool enough, not being strong enough to hold it in. I have been part of multiple social circles, and most of the time, there has been the echo, "Arban doesn't care".
Well, you can guess by now that that is not true at all. Why else would I be writing this then. I care. I care a lot. And sometimes maybe more than most people. I care when people are angry with me. I care when one of my friends need me. I care when my mother calls me. I do care a lot. Even when it might seem that I might not. I am, like most people in my life, the type of person that gives back the energy they are given. I remember something a friend of mine told me after graduation. After each semester break, I would completely vanish. No contact, nothing. Off the grid. Surprisingly, I don't remember doing that intentionally but I do understand why it might seem like that. I am very bad at replying to texts. If I don't reply it in a few hours, my mind considers that the reply window has passed, and it would be too embarassing to reply now. Completely unaware, I know. I am my biggest critic. I know where most of my problems lie. But I have gone off track. The point was that, I do care, and it is not visible to people. So it is no surprise that when I finally sought out someone I wanted to love, they refused. Not being certain that I would be capable of loving, caring, adoring. I lacked the reassurance they wanted in their life.
What is love? Can you define it? Can you point it to me? I don't know. I'm confused. Is love casual? It can be. Does love make you do things you would never do? I think so. Is love effortless? Definitely not. A person I love once told me, love is a choice. It is not just the feeling you get when you see someone. Not the butterflies, not the goosebumps, not the sighs of relief. It is deciding to stick around. Even on the tiring evenings, when everything around feels unbearable. Even when you notice a fault in them. Even when the rational part of your brain tells you to look for something or someone better. You cannot rationalize love. You don't love someone because they are perfect. They become perfect because you love them. Perfect for you. And whenever this comes up, I always add this. Love is mutual. If it is one sided, it can be affection, adore, obsession, or I don't know what. But to have a healthy loving relationship, both sides have to give back. I know psychologists will tear apart my reasoning. Philosphers will counter my thoughts. Romantics will bury me alive. But I cannot quite put my finger on it. What exactly is love.
Is it the fact that I want to keep up with what they are doing and checking up on them? Is it the conflict within myself that tells me to be understanding, logical, rational, even when every instinct of mine goes against that? Or is it the compromises, or maybe even the sacrifices you make for that person, no matter how much it hurts your, only to do as much as you can for them. I don't know the answer to any of these. I just know that I am making these choices. And I will. I will keep doing that. In sleepy nights, in lazy mornings, in tiring afternoons. When I'm happy, I'll choose them. When I'm sad I'll choose them. When I'm feeling helpless and alone, I'll choose them.
I truly wish to understand love one day.