04 February 2011



"What if someone you never met, someone you never saw, someone you never knew was the only someone for you?"

Think about it. Out of the billions upon billions of people on the planet, right at this moment, how can you even possibly determine how someone is actually right for you? Hell, what does it even mean to say someone is right for you? Is not love's divine goal to search of a fairytale happily ever after in this very adult life you are living and find essentially the perfect person that matches the being that you are?

It's very hard to imagine, yet alone to actually go out in pursuit of what almost seems like a daunting impossible task luring upon your head as the future is literally ticking away. It would be pretty damn unrealistic to expect our lives to actually wind up like "Sleepless in Seattle" (of which the famous tag line from above came from), or any of the Nicholas Sparks romance-novels-turned-blockbuster-hits, and have amazing fate-binding experiences of pure fictional form come before our eyes and instantly grant us epic journeys to find "the one." While surreal romantic dreams can actually come true, it just happens that real life and love operate in an amazingly different dynamic than what any fiction can actually perform.

Why? Because we are both main characters. Our lives is the movie. Our 24/7s and day to days is the plot. Our communication with all these people that we interact with is the screenplay. We don't get takes. We don't get cuts. And for damn sure we don't get edits. Pain is as real as it gets and its affliction is seldom forgotten. Fear trumps our confidence and rises our doubts. We question possibilities and create all these expectations in our heads because life moves in one constant motion in which we cannot turn back, and of which we'd hope we wouldn't want to turn back. The very moments that you live and the experiences you garner will be those very things written in your biography, what people will remember you for, and most importantly, what you can reminisce about as you contemplate in silence when you reach your very last breath. That is how monumental all these friendships, flings, relationships, breakups, marriages, separations, and divorces are. But what is most significant in all those encounters is the point wherein you admit to yourself that you are suffocated and absolutely immersed in this popular culture-famous, butterfly-feeling, supposedly emotionally driven thing the books, the movies, and all other kinds of media, call "love."

Don't ask me for the meaning because I myself do not know how such an emotion can even be described or defined. From my own perspective, I am led to believe that it is something we nurture within ourselves to be able to comprehend and absorb quintessentially in order for us not only to genuinely express it, but to inherently possess its confusing yet overwhelming capabilities. I imagine it to be some kind of euphoric haywire of sensibilities in what seems to be (hopefully) an almost endless rising climax. But what the hell do I know? At least that's what I can assume from seeing people supposedly "in love" or when these very people attempt to illustrate this captivation triggered by their very souls.

But how do we find it? How do you find that particular feeling for someone? And when you do, how do you know he or she is that person you should feel it for? What if there's someone else on a different area code, or a different state, or a different county, or of a different race, of a different religious background, of a different political stance, who is that one individual completely compatible with your personality?

How do you find the one?

I'll put myself as an example. On the surface, I am a hedonistic out of control social monkey that craves physical and mental connection with enthusiastic people who enjoy deep conversations, one whom to some is freakishly multifaceted but adores dancing the most as it is the one talent I feel is intrinsically natural in my body, one who appreciates modern street culture in fashion, arts, and design while being true to clean classic style, and a devotee of all kinds of music with a catalog that ranges from Let it Be to Hell Hath No Fury. But on the inside, I'm really this highly introverted young aspiring writer-slash-English studies geek who covets surrealist coming-of-age stories like Murakami novels and philosophical chronicles from Allen screenplays, Sorkin dramas, Franzen essays, and various contemporary non-fictions. Basically, I don't mind being on my own and chilling with some good ol' Eggs Benedict and OJ on a Sunday morning while reading a book. So, I, this convoluted individual of many interests and curiosities, much like everyone else in the world...how can I find that one person? What if I do find her but she just happens to be really far away? What if I don't even get to meet her? Or that she would never know I existed? What now? Do I dwindle in despair and consider my chances for that precise "happily ever after" as a ridiculous improbability that I won't ever be able to obtain? These are all very reasonable questions that the average person can only ponder about, and possibly only eternally seek the answer yet never actually conceive.

This is a challenge that we all face. There are countless people in the world, of countless faces, countless personalities, who come in countless shapes and sizes, and just the thought of reaching such a probability is almost like drowning in quicksand as you are deluged with literally too many possibilities that you can't even begin to step your foot forward. It's literally like having numerous doors but you don't know which one to pick, or even if you should actually pick one. It is especially harder for people like me who are struggling trying to find the balance between two totally polar qualities of the self. I enjoy being around other people, but in retrospect, all I've really known is being alone.

But it does not mean that that is all I, or anyone, has to know.

Just like the infinite possibilities in front of me, there is a world out there ready to be tackled, of love, of lust, of joy, of sorrow, of pain, of pleasure, and of every other kind of emotion there is out there.

Perhaps the only thing we can really do is ultimately find such a person who will adore our idiosyncrasies, accept our weird tendencies, be dazzled by our subjective notions, be interested at the fact that we are interested in such peculiar things, and hopefully be able to conjure a spiritual connection with them that defies our very own realities, because the closest we can have to anything cosmically built is only in our dreams. But we are the only ones who can make these dreams come true. We can go beyond "Sleepless in Seattle." We can supersede Nicholas Sparks romance-novels-turned-blockbuster-hits. Because, maybe, just maybe, that this thing they call "love" isn't just about finding that one person that deserves you and your love the most. It just might be that it requires that person finding you as well. Maybe these things aren't supposed to be rushed. Maybe these things aren't supposed to be over-analyzed. Maybe despite all the nitpicking, hopeless cycles of waste-of-times and countless mistakes we'll make in our lifetime, it can and will actually happen on its own, but only if you let it.

How? Where? When? Why? I don't know. But you have now until an indefinite amount of time to reach "happily ever after." Perhaps that's why it's supposed to be synonymous with eternal joy. It isn't supposed to be easily found. And that's what makes it different from everything else.

That's why they call it "love."