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Thursday, December 14, 2017
Article written by Zeeshan Raza

I Think I Feel Love

Ah, loving is a voyage with water and with stars,
with drowning air and brusque storms of flour:
loving is a battle of lightning bolts,
and two bodies, overcome by one honey.

If youíre poetic then Pablo Nerudaís words could suffice to define everything lovely in the world. Nerudaís grasp of Ďlovelyí matters seems exorbitant, but still he gives hope to those who believe in the Phnom called love. Love has always been a feeling that man has tried to understand. Does the feeling of love exists, if it does then how strong it is, how do we describe it?

Love is a state of ecstasy with minor hangovers. Itís when you go out for a walk on a foggy December morning and you think, ĎI love the weatherí, or while reading a work of fiction you say, ĎI love his work, heís goodí. Love is when your friend leaves for a journey and you murmur a prayer under your breath, conscious that no one hears you. Love is when you take a stand for your favorite sportsman even though his form is like a dog using a vacuum cleaner, totally outrageous. Love is when you give your calculator to the prettiest girl in class in a mathematics exam, and you flunk the exam.

Love is about feeling good; itís about waking up every morning, looking forward to whatever is in store for you. Itís about not burning your toast and spilling your coffee, itís about the laugh you have thinking about it all at lunch. Itís about cheating in an economics paper and getting the highest score in class. Itís about spreading Sikh jokes in school, no wait, thatís racism, sorry. Love is about going to bed every night thinking Ďtoday wasnít a bad day at allí. Itís about holding onto your beliefs. Itís about forgiving those who oppose them. Itís about leaving a good tip after a meal. Itís about helping an old lady cross a road. Itís about taking a special someone to dinner. Itís about respecting people related to that special someone; maybe take them out for dinner too, no wait thatís cheating.

Love is being so engrossed into something that all other things cease to exist. Itís about learning the wile and guile of the world and still ignore. Itís about the joys of nostalgia, and the mysteries of the future. Love is when you believe, when you close your eyes and sense closure to the race of materialism.

You know you are in love when the dew drops on your car windshield donít annoy you anymore, when the snoring of your roommate does not bother you anymore, when rain doesnít mean a traffic wait to you. Itís easy to be in love, its all around us. We just have to open our hearts and let it slide in. Maybe then we can understand the mystical stories of love our literature is so obsessed with. And just maybe, I can get that girl from mathematics class to notice me. I think I feel loveÖ
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