Once Upon a Time, We Loved
One of the fondest memories from college involved a girl. A pretty one. You remember those butterflies in your stomach, churning out everything you ate at the sight of her. And she isnât even yours to claim. She is free, and you know she will remain free because such is her spirit. You have no idea how she thinks, only that she thinks a lot. You donât know what makes her smile, just that she has the most beautiful smile in the world. And what would happen to your world if only she saw you with that smile? You think youâd die right at that moment.
My dear reader, you must be wondering why I am reminiscing about a girl from college. In my defense, I am not. What I described is what we all must have felt at some point in our lives. I am happily married, and at the risk of turning my wife into Dexter, I am writing for you, dear reader, about attraction.
What is it that makes a young boy fall in love with a girl just by seeing her smile or hearing her sweet nothings, or merely by remaining in her vicinity? They call it a âcrushââwhatever the fuck that means. I disregard that word because it implies something that doesnât last. Such is the state of our times that we had to create words for fleeting feelings because we are so fickle, even in attraction. We keep looking for more and more options, as if in a buffet.
But the attraction I am talking about is a specific kindâone that surrounds beauty but doesnât rely on it. It starts with you liking her smile or her face or her perfect eyes but doesnât remain limited to those things. It catapults into several other things: how she speaks, what she speaks, how she walks wherever she walks. The adage of worshipping the ground she walks on is about such attraction.
I wouldnât dare use scientific claims to describe why we feel attraction. You need the heart of a boy to describe thatâbetter yet, the heart of a young boy who can express it in words. That besotted writer will tell you that attraction is the bedrock of all human feelings you will ever experience. Itâs the most fascinating aspect of the human experience that you cannot fake; you can only go through it, much like grief.
I mention grief because one cannot fake that for long. You can fake sobbing, even depression, but never true grief. It stays with you for years and changes you from within. That cannot be faked; it can only be experienced. Itâs the same with attraction. But why am I talking about this? We are all grown-ups now. We will never feel that attraction again, and whoâs to blame for that but us? Because we are too âknowledgeableâ for our own good.
I want you to remember the butterflies, that giddiness in your tummy when you thought about her, that joy you experienced when you saw her smile, when she talked to you, when she smiled at you. Didnât you feel in that moment that God is the kindest, most benevolent entity for creating this beautiful world in which she exists and allowing you to share the same spacetime with her?
I want you to think about that. Does it remind you of how hollow we have all become? How far weâve come from this primal feeling that is a pure gift of evolution. One can feel physical attraction toward a woman with the intention of sleeping with her, but you know, dear reader, thatâs not the kind of attraction Iâm talking about. Iâm talking about the rare kind that you have felt but will never feel again. And usually, only boys feel that in the extreme. Women are too smart for that, arenât they?
I often wonder, on hot, humid summer nights while lying in bed alone, what if I could love something with that same devotion? Wasnât that devotion what we felt in that moment when we secretly promised to fight any goddamn monster to death if it ever came near her? Or to kill anyone who dared wipe that smile off her face? I wonder, on those lonely nights, if Iâd ever feel that devotion again. Maybe not the butterflies, but at least the sophistication with which I could handle that something.
And if thereâs anything in this world, dear reader, that takes you closest to that feeling, you must not let it be corrupted by money, fame, or validation. It would be so goddamn beautiful to fall in love with that thing over and over again, indulging in it for as long as you live. I wonder how many people get the chance to have something they treasure to the point of hiding it from the world.
When a young boy picks up the guitar and composes the worst musical melodies, those melodies remain in his heart, he keeps humming them while playing with his friends, while confined in those classrooms, always eager for the bell to ring, always awaiting the end of the session so he could rush to his guitar or his piano and create more such melodies. In that rush, my dear reader, in that phase of the boyâs life, lies an attraction of the noblest kind, something he will always remember till he dies. Much like âRosebudâ from the 1941 movie Citizen Kane.
But if you donât have it or cannot think of it while reading this, you could also be a poet at heart, living in the search for that love. Maybe think about that person you will always be attracted to but wonât tell herâbecause telling her was never the point. Seeking anything out of that love was never the point. Living that love is the whole point.