Love is Blind.

I could still remember, in an extreme degree, how confident I was filling up the line beside “What is love?” with those words in my friends’ slum books when we were in our elementary years .  I have always known it’s the best answer to write.  Love… is… blind.  Simple and short.  However, although I used to write that line, I didn’t realize then that I was as ignorant on its real implications as I am today on integrals and derivations in calculus topics.

Today, I believe I am able to comprehend that line. 

I look around me and I see love—a lot of it.  Why is it blind?  Most of the love around me is caught in complicated situations, which the couples involve cannot brush off easily from their relationship no matter how equipped they are with strong adoration and respect for each other—but still, they choose to hold on to the promise they offered each other.  These complicated situations make the love theory I used to write in slum books more meaningful in my thoughts.  Yeah, love is truly blind!

Just like with the person I know who gives somebody the chance to take care of her, not minding the fear of possible hurt due the fact that he has a reputation of being a “player” to so many girls in the past.  Just like with the person I know who still desperately loves his guy even after he had broken her heart for more than four times now.  Just like the person I know who was cheated by his girl and still continues to feel the exact same love for her overtime amidst the male-ego-hurt obstruction.  Just like with the person I know who entered into a relationship even if it is an objectionable one for his loved ones, because they did not expect him to fall for a person of the same sex.  Just like with the person I know who jumped into the stage that resembles forever with his guy; they are cloaking it with a normal steady-date relationship, because her parents will just not allow her to marry at such a young age.  And the list goes on.

In these given situations, love does not mind complications because love just would not see complications.  Love can make people traverse North Luzon Expressway blindfolded at night, without feeling much tenseness and apprehension just to get ahold of the person they feel so much affection for across.  They love.  They risk.  And yes, probably they are blinded, but who can say that their context of the emotion is idiotic and wrong?  I dare you.

Thinking about it now, slum books may not be as saleable and appreciated today as it was in my juvenile stage.  But if I were going to fill up some pages again, I would still write the same boring passé thing next to “What is love?”—Hell, love is blind!  But this time, I know that it states a lot more than just its literal outmoded phrase I never understood before.