I'd recently thought about, and discussed, how love expressed in movies and TV shows is so drastically different from how it is in 'real life'; and while using Google to try and see if my brother recently ripped off someone elses' poetry (I hope you'll take that as a compliment Pete... cause it is, LOL), I found a blog entry about one persons view of love, in where they also compare and contrast it to what you find in romantic comedies, etc. I highly recommend giving it a read, and since most of you probably don't want to bother clicking into another website, I'll post it here for you. The original source however, is here.
In many movies, (typically romances and romantic comedies,) there is always a scene of exasperatingly-sweet suspense where the main character and the love interest shyly and somewhat unintentionally express mutual attraction for one another, and, as you watch the scene unfold, you think, Maybe they'll kiss, or at least hug…or something. But they don't. It's part of the movie, part of what makes the plot so enticing; you know they'll acknowledge their love for one another in the end, because their feelings, so obvious, are displayed on-screen for everyone to see and understand. Of course they'll be together in the end. Reality is not a romantic comedy. Though it should be obvious, we often lose ourselves in television's exploits of our inner fantasies and desires, and we begin to think that movies aren't that far off from the real world. The Truth, however, is that relationships of love between real people, in real life, are much more complicated. No matter how talented an actor or actress may be, they cannot, simply with their words and filmed actions, express what the truth of true love is.
I have never known something so vividly pure, so breathtakingly incomparable, yet also so excruciatingly agonizing as real, human relationships. These kinds of connections are built upon many layers of several, varying types of one emotion: love. Love is the simplest thing in the world, yet the hardest to capture in its entirety because of its ever twisting, labyrinthine ways. Love is many things in one, all at once, ever-changing and never slowing down. Nothing in the theater can compare to the notes in reality's love song, simply because love sings in a language we can hear, feel, express, write, and speak…but never falsify. Love is the most mysterious, most irresistible feeling one can vainly try to resist. Love has a pull over us that cannot be broken by any means the world could offer; love is indestructible, but only if it's true.
Love can make you partially unknown to yourself, as it does to me, this very moment. I like to think myself courageous, independent, indifferent; yet here I sit, letting tears dry from my previously unfocused eyes, realizing that this love I feel flaring up from inside me is again introducing me to a stronger feeling than I've ever before felt in my life.
That moment of uncertainty in movies loses its charm in real life; if you watch the scene fifty times over, it becomes a familiarity, a predictable, even boring, occurrence. So is it when my very own scene of suspense plays: the first few times it's something new, something exciting. But after two-and-a-half years' worth of waiting for that moment of opportunity to arise, I find that certainty, assurance, and knowing the truth are much more valuable friends than the betrayal of the unknown.
Love complicates things. Even though that is just it's nature, and there's no other way for it to be, it doesn't give you any comfort knowing that you're waiting for something that might never make a promise to you; something that's a "maybe," or a "might."
Love is the only culprit, the only criminal in a crime of my own inner denial of wish-fulfillment. My own feeling of love, in the same moment, is as loyal to me as it is treacherous. It sends nighttime's heartsick tears to my eyes even as it illuminates a smile of bliss on my lips. What a price one must pay, to love purely; and even if I could force the love away, I would never attempt it. Even though it hurts as much as it heals, I couldn't imagine myself back in a past's world where I didn't have it blooming in my heart. It burns the flower's already-cindered ashes, yet from the black, dusty suffering sprouts a new, stronger bud that grows because of love's water and light caring for it.
In a way, love is like a flower. It needs a little bit of rain–and tears–to be real, but it is also in need of light, brilliant, dazzling light to help dry the rain from its leaves and coax it to grow taller, stronger, so it can be better prepared for the next storm. A perpetual, never-ending cycle.
Truthfully, I couldn't be more indebted to love: because through it, I am able to experience this new, before-unexplored feeling. Through it, I can discover pieces of myself I was not acquainted with before; new friends that tell me what I desire, what I need, and what I deserve. Though it blinds and wounds me sometimes, I cannot pretend that it isn't worth it to feel such love. I cannot pretend that I would be better off without it. And yet, sometimes, I think it would be nice to be sure of it, to be as certain as the main character is in a movie; that her love is returned, that she has nothing to fear, that her heart's whispers will become spoken truths, in the end. It would be fine, indeed, to say adieu to all the worries, trials, and fears of rejection that come along with such a feeling of love.
As I said before, this life's love is not a movie, and never will be; and though it often seems glorious and wondrous, sometimes I can't help but wonder what it would be like for me, right now, if I was just a real-life actress in my own real-life blockbuster, floating, happily-ever-after style, on metaphorical clouds and sharing such infinitely precious truths with the inspiration of my love.
But…I won't try to find out what it would be like. That's another thing, about this love; it's cautionary, it protects me even as it pushes me into the light of the world. It guides me as I try to make my way through its tangled vines. And though I suffer much from it, the purity of it is enough to keep me from abandoning it. It may burn and singe, but it also heals the scars.
What conclusion can you possibly receive from such an article? Well, perhaps one very simple, yet impossibly complex truth: The true kind of love is to be accepted; it is to be cared for and expressed, not shunned and denied. It is to be cherished, and respected. And, most importantly? The truth of love is to be understood. Because everything, especially love, is worthy of unspoken acceptance.Labels: love, movies, peter, quotes
Well I just got back from a six day vacation in San Diego yesterday. Had an excellent time while I was there. Most of the time there we just relaxed by the pool, but we took a little time out to drive around a bit and took some pictures which you can see here. We stayed at Matt's uncle's house in Rancho Sante Fe, which is just north of San Diego, and is a really high-dollar area as far as mortgage rates go. Matt and Ketti were watching it for him for a few weeks while he was on vacation in Europe with his family.
