We bleed in colors, framing our emotions in words. Leaking blue sometimes, painting melancholy. Sometimes gold, like the rays of the sun and all things bright, but more often than not, we just bleed in black and white, creating a thousand shades of grey. Trying to look at things in a thousand different perspectives.
Love, they say, is omnipresent. Like air. Like God. But. A very big BUT, actually. The only way love can be omnipresent is if it’s just as ugly as it is beautiful.
I once asked someone I love, “What’s beautiful without a little ugly in it?” And he laughed. That was beautiful. We fought after an hour. I cried. He doesn’t cry. He lashed out. I lashed out more. That was ugly. That was love.
The digital age we’re living in allows us to see the world at just a touch of our fingers. Which almost always gives me a serious case of wanderlust. I love France. Paris, especially. The city of love, they call it. I always dream of closing my eyes and being stood in front of the Eiffel Tower, when I open them. Gazing up at it standing tall in all its lit up glory, wide-eyed and awestruck. That is beautiful and that is love. And then I imagine a particularly snobby French lady or an old man, passing by me and turning their noses up at my ‘foreign appearance’. That is ugly, but is that love too? Maybe it’s their love for their country, the pride that comes with it that gives them the excuse to look down upon someone just because they were different than them. Could it be so?
I see pictures of the Al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem and it brings tears to the spiritual part of me. I wish I get to pray there at least once before I die. I see the Palestinians climbing up walls and climbing through barbed wires just so they get to pray at the place that is deemed as one of the holiest. That is beautiful. But at the same time, I wonder why do the Apartheid wall and those barbed wires even exist and what gives someone the excuse to treat fellow human beings so inhumanely. Is that love too? Pride maybe? Too much pride, I’d say. That’s ugly, but they call it love.
Even when we leave the world politics and economical metaphors aside, love simply can not be omnipresent without it also being the greatest paradox out there.
Take a rose, for example, it’s beautiful. Especially when it takes on that ruby hue and is fully bloomed. You pluck it, putting an end to its existence and a thorn pricks you. Hard. Things quickly get ugly. That’s love too, I suppose. Nature’s way of showing love.
There are parents who stop their children from doing things they love and then there are parents who give their kids full freedom to go out and learn from their mistakes. Neither set of parents wants to see their child get hurt, but one of them chooses to be weak by enforcing restrictions on them, while the other chooses to be strong by letting their child fall over and over again and tending to his injuries with a smile on their face and tears in their eyes, when the kid eventually gets up. That is love. Ugly in one case, beautiful in another. But it’s love nonetheless.
“Why do we fall, sir? So that we can learn to pick ourselves again.” I’m very forgetful, but sometimes, some things just tend to stay with you. This quote is one of those.
I’ve noticed things around me, things being done in the name of love, things both good and bad. Love for religion, love for money, love for fame, love for one’s family, love in its purest and most selfless form and I suppose the existence of ugly makes us appreciate the beautiful a little more. Even the best of us have a little darkness hidden inside us and the worst of us have the tiniest shard of light in our hearts, guiding us and it makes me keep thinking to myself, “What’s beautiful without a little ugly in it?”
Life was hard. She’d surrounded herself by a wall of thoughts. Thoughts that kept her away from people, and people away from her. They wrapped around her like a cocoon. Providing the warmth and comfort that was amiss in her life ever since he left.
For once in her life, she had a strong hold over her emotions, she only felt what she wanted to feel, only thought what she wanted to think. All else, was on the other side of the wall, with no way to get in. Or that’s what she thought.
She’d forgotten how even the hardest of walls could be shot down, crumbling into nothingness. She’d forgotten how even the strongest of forts were now only ruins, portraying their glory through cracked walls and half torn down towers. She’d forgotten how ghosts from the past now haunted those hallways, refusing to let go of their power, or whatever that was left of it. And above all, she’d forgotten how some people had a knack for worming themselves in, in the tightest of places and how they could jump the highest of walls or blow down the strongest of them with mere words, rendering the insiders defenseless. And as luck would have it, she was rendered defenseless.
He’d come back. Guns ablaze. Blew down her walls and calmly walked up to her, his gait slow yet confident, a predatory glint in his eyes. His posture, strong and brave, like the lion she knew him to be. While she stood frozen, still unable to process how he’d managed to tear down her walls after all these years, when hundreds before him couldn’t even manage to come close.
She closed her eyes and shook her head, thinking the sight before her eyes to be one of those rare tricks that her mind played on her when she slipped and lost hold of her emotions, making her spiral down into the alley of the coulds and could have beens. But it was not to be.
He really was there. She reached out to touch him, hoping all she’d catch would be air, but the moment her fingers grazed against his cheek, she was brought out of her daze. And quite rudely so. The speed with which she pulled back her hand would’ve made one think she was zapped.
In reality, it felt like she was. She stared up at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. That one touch had made those dormant butterflies spring right back to life, flapping their wings stronger than they ever had before to the point where she started feeling woozy.
The last thought she had before she hit the floor was he’d be gone when she woke up. Like he always did. Like the storm that he was. One moment here, disrupting the calm and wreaking a havoc and gone the next. But as strong arms caught her, she knew she was safe again, that the storm was gone for good, and the calmness would soon settle in. With a smile on her face, she gave in to the darkness that had now engulfed her completely.