March 2, 2011 § 2 Comments
How DO you know it’s true love and not false love? There is a more than enough written, sung, and produced about true love, but no one really can give a definition. Even our most reliable internet source, Wikipedia, doesn’t define true love in real terms, but rather lists film, literature, and music by which it was titled after and then sites a whaler/cargo ship constructed in 1764. The only written meaning I’ve found is, True Love: something girls feel when they have drank too much and something guys fear. Thanks, Urban Dictionary for the attempt.
To make the subject even more confusing, a lot of quacks say (myself included) there is a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Then there is the addendum to this by saying you can fall out of love with someone you are in love with. Also, some people have been known to announce a disclaimer: there is more than one true love for everyone. This sort-of negates any outlandish statements professed in previous relationships that turned sour and gives divorcées hope. Hey, guys! Let’s make up our minds already! Love… true or false?
Like the Swedish duo, Roxette, proclaimed with help of everyone’s favorite romantic comedy, it must have been love, but it’s over now. I too, like Pretty Woman, thought that my life was ending and that true love doesn’t exist. About a year and a half ago, the manboy I had convinced myself I was going to marry, broke up with me after growing some balls at a Bruce Springsteen concert.
I say grew some balls, because for a long time it must have been false love and we lost it somehow. We were like two puzzle pieces being forced to fit, finger nails turning white as you press them together, the kitten’s whiskers looking more like talons of an eagle. It was neither pretty nor easy. I was the one who was saying, “This totally fits together, looks just like the picture on the box.” But after seeing to The Boss on a different ocean, he stood up to me and said, “I’ve never seen a kitten like that, there is something seriously wrong with it.” Well, actually he didn’t stand up and say anything at all, not to my face anyway. Like an average Gen-Yer he used his text and composed it on an airplane then waited a little too long to give it to me. True love wouldn’t dream of breaking up with me like that, well… true love woudn’t break up with me at all. Spot on, it was false love, so I’ll spare myself the how and the why.
I can’t say that my outlook has changed a whole lot since then. I think I’ve experienced mostly false love in my time and I’m not so sure true love even exists. I’ve done some soul searching on the subject and it seems since adolescence I’ve had a pretty grim outlook on romance. I quote from my 2001 high school journal for Creative Writing class, “I hate Valentine’s Day, I don’t even want to get started on Sweetest Day. I don’t think you need a holiday to tell someone you love them. I don’t believe in anniversaries, 6 weeks, 4 months or 12 years. A relationship develops over time, and over time relationships fall apart. People fall in love with titles and statuses instead of other people. It’s sad really.” Wow, if seventeen year-old me could have talked to 24 year-old me, I might not have had my soul spit on when Mr. Wrong-Way-on A-One-Way-Track crushed my future wedding bells. Makes me wonder what other notes my past self might have been trying to leave for my future self.
Maybe true love is real, it just looks a little fake at first, like Cher from Clueless. Even a girl with her closet could realize the truth in the end. Maybe true love is exciting, shocking, yet weird and a little gross, like getting your first period. You’ve been warned and you wait for it… you wait for it. You imagine what it would be like, a glamorized womanhood in your head. There have been a couple a false alarms, some spotting and you just want the waiting to be over. Then when you least expect it, on an unassuming bathroom break after homeroom, you look down and know for certain: this must be it, there is no mistaking this. Thankfully, you’re prepared with the proper gear to take care of business, but you’ve never really done this before so you follow your instincts, worrying about every little thing. And you’re so flustered you tuck your skirt into your tights as you wander back to class hoping to run into someone you trust so you can tell them what’s going on in your panties.
Sounds pretty close to what my married friends say walking down the aisle feels like. So maybe I’m a late bloomer, I just haven’t gotten mine yet. Maybe true love is just as confusing as puberty.