“I may not be a smart man, but I know what love is.” Forrest to Jenny in the film, Forrest Gump.
For quite some time, I thought that those words were true for my life as well. It took a remark from someone else to make me see the other side. It made me see how limited I had become by trying to define smartness, love, and myself too.
To people around us, we are as much what we say and do, as much what they make of us through the lens of their own experiences. Objectivity is a myth that only the most self-righteous believe exists.
When we attempt to define ourselves, we not only limit and thus, diminish ourselves, but also grant others the opportunity to judge, limit, and eventually diminish us. However, the only true thing I have learnt about love is that it is one way of being in which there are no definitions or judgments, there is no ‘fixing’ of myself or the other, only acceptance.
Going back to love, I truly don’t know what love is, I have only discovered it in different forms, with different meanings, and extremely varying expressions.
All of it led me to believe that the best place that love, like everything else, exists in, is stories. Putting it in any other definitions, descriptions would be not only limiting it but also killing a part of me that has come to believe in my own ability to love myself beyond the way the world sees me, describes me, and judges me.
This section of my blog is my attempt to share the love stories I have seen, heard, lived, and told. You are also welcome to leave your stories in the comments sections.