Musings of an over thinker #1: Love and Pain

When I was an infant, I had an uncle (my mom's cousin brother) who really really loved me. Mom and him were pretty close too. Now of course I don't actually remember him but mom tells me he was a really great guy. Was. He was killed in an accident when he was on the way to see me. And ever since, mom has always called me by his name.

We, as a family, started out rough. My dad was an academic gold medalist in college but there's only so much an entry level job would pay back then. So the first few years following my birth, my dad worked over time. I would hardly see him, he'd be at work almost all the time just to make sure that me and my (soon-to-be-born) brother would have a comfortable life. He and mom went through a lot of blood, sweat and tears just so that me and my brother could have all those fancy little toys and never have to compromise. He kept us happy but at the cost of him missing out on countless, priceless moments with his kids. To this very day, he spends all his time with us trying to make up for all that lost time.

I've seen my mom, and two of my close friends lose their fathers. I saw their tears. I saw their pain.

So why am I telling you all this?

My understanding of love comes from my understanding of pain. Not my pain, of course. I've been lucky enough to have led a very comfortable and pleasant life. I have a great family and a wonderful set of friends who have all, in their own way, made my life great. My understanding of pain comes from elsewhere.

You see, my parents wanted me and my brother to grow up as compassionate humans like most parents do. So when we were kids, whenever they'd get us something, instead of just telling us how lucky we are, they'd say 'Okay, now I want you to remember how happy you feel right now and every time you see someone who isn't happy like you are, I want you to imagine how you'd feel if your happiness was taken away'. It was great advice really, it worked. Worked a bit too well actually. From that time on, I learned how to put myself in people's shoes. I learned to see from everyone's perspective. I learned to understand their emotions. I learned to step into their shoes. Come to think of it, it also kinda explains why I'm so obsessed with stories; writing, reading or listening.

And that's where my understanding of pain comes from; from the pain of everyone that's around me. And that in turn helps me understand love. I understand my mom's love towards her cousin because of the pain I see in her eyes every time she tells me the story of how I got my nick name. I understand my dad's love for me from all the pain he put himself through for me. I seem like a nice guy on Facebook but I'm a terrible person to actually live with. I'm highly self centered, mean and pretty much a dick. So I understand my mom's, my dad's and my brother's love for me from the pain I put them through; they love me despite the pain I cause them.

That's how I've always seen love and pain. Two sides of the same coin, where one cannot exist without the other. For me, pain's always been the only solid litmus test for love; if it hurts, it must be love.

According to me, emotional pain is more often than not caused by love and according to me (I feel compelled to mention that again) one can never know how truly strong and real their love is until they've been through pain. That's how I've always seen it. And all this has never bothered me until recently.

For those of you who don't know me, I sometimes write stories, most of which are centered around the theme of love and pain. Which obviously means that they're pretty morbid and sad stories. However, I recently came up with a small idea for a story and decided that I'd make it a 'happy' one (god knows why). A simple story about a guy and a girl who fall in love during their first meet, with the rainbows and all. And that decision is what brought me here.

Three times. Three times I started typing the story and couldn't get past the first three words. I just can not bring myself to imagine a love story without pain. Because that is exactly how I've always seen love; through this metaphorical lens of pain. All my life, I've used pain to define love. And now when I try to imagine what love would be like before the pain hits, I am lost. Which can only mean one of two things.

One, I'm right about all this. That pain is the only thing that can make love's presence felt. 

Or two, I am incapable of seeing the happy side of love.

Neither of which are exactly feel-good possibilities. Sigh.

Overthinking. Leaves me no more wiser but all the more miserable.