Love is A Many Splendored Thing

It's queer how easily people become so blinded with their emotions only to regret the outcome of its outburst. It's strange how being completely honest, or sometimes giving a little too much information (done in good faith) could result in more complex scenarios compared to dishonesty and silence. It's heart breaking to think that despite how true a person's intentions are, they are often questioned as to the extent of how true, how much and why. These are the things that trouble me at this moment.

Memories and experience could be said to mold a person, more specifically his perspective towards life. Unfortunately, not all memories prove to be of a desirable nature - usually they cause a twisted prejudice which does not respond all too well to contradictory biases. I am, as all are, a victim of life and a victim of memories - and sadly I admit, that there are times when I cannot break loose from its hold on me. Detachment is key in suceeding life - detachment from worldliness, detachment from personal emotions and hurts, detachment from memories. The ability to let go is one of the hardest lessons I still must learn. All the previous monsters that have raped my innocence and naiveness are still locked up in my head, unneccesary baggage which I cannot find strength to let go of. Perhaps this is the reason why I cannot love fully, for I am not complete in myself. I cannot embrace another with so many things holding me back. I cannot give entirely, because of the monsters that haunt me - teasing, brainwashing, tricking me.

Yesterday, I was at the hospital with my grandparents. I learned that my grandmother's illness has turned awry. She has begun to become cross-eyed a few days ago and thus was needed to be brought to the institute for observation and perhaps medication. There were fears that her cancer may crawl up the spinal column and into her nervous system - more specifically, the brain. In her room, instrumentals were played - "Memory" from Andrew Lloyd Webbers' Cats.

My grandmother is a strong woman who has a very sharp and witty tongue. At times her words pierce so terribly due to her tactlessness, other times they bring out laughter because of the sarcasm and original insulting comments she could come up with. And although I was laughing at her jokes about the doctors who disrupted her repose the night before, I couldn't help but cry inside. Even though everybody in the room was laughing loudly, it still felt gloomy, like a dark cloud hovering above it, choking me.

My grandfather was in the room caring for her, and despite his age - he is a healthy man who admits very openly how much he loves his wife. They were arrange-married, and I wonder how they managed to stay together for so long while so many marriages have failed. My grandfather loves her dearly - he often tells me, and I always see it. Even though she could be very hostile in talking to him, very unfeeling at times, he remains very patient with her, cares for her and watches over her. In their trips outside the country, he would worry himself crazy over things which she may like but is not willing to voice out. My grandmother often complains that grandpa was very fuzzy, always asking her this and that, giving her expensive food which she won't even touch, walking a bit too slow to wait up for her - even declining an invitation dinner from the ambassador of China just to take care of her in the hospital.

Sometimes I think that arrange marriage is sometimes worrisome compared to marriage by one's own choice - for should the relationship turn sour, the fault cannot rest entirely upon one shoulders for one was not given the leeway to decline. I believe that somehow, love rests primarily on choice, the choice whether to love or not to love a person - and thus all of mankind is given the default right to love and be loved. By how much and how long therefore is the question which I don't believe could ever be measured.

As for my grandparents, they have undergone the turmoils of marriage which many presently have failed to weather - and I wonder, when my time comes.. Could I possibly be just as lucky to love as he does and to be loved as she is.