In junior year of high school, I learned the purpose of literature. Indeed, the purpose of all great art. The lesson came to me at the hand of Mr. Fremuth, a gray-haired, bespectacled embodiment of Ivy-Leagueness, right down to the suede patches on his elbows.
"So, class, I propose this," he intoned during lecture one day. "I propose that the author's intention...doesn't matter." He stated this with a breathless sense of drama. "I know that a lot of time is spent studying an author's biography, trying to find some key with which to decipher an author's 'true intention.' But I believe that's a fool's errand. The true value of art is gained by first identifying how the piece affects you. Second, you must ask yourself why you react this way. It is supposed to challenge you, to help you understand yourself."
The lecture was followed by an assignment. Read a story, critique it, then offer an explanation as to what about yourself inspired that reaction.
I chose a short farce, a snarky tale of imbecilic lovers, too caught up in their emotions to understand how ridiculous they were. I was delighted by it, but that delight had a dark edge. It was a squirmy, smug feeling of self-satisfaction. Probing this reaction, I came to a harrowing conclusion, that I must be afraid of love. Why else would I react with such glee when the lovers met with tragedy?
There was no escaping it. Years of warnings, frantically imparted by my mother, and familial examples of love's tragic consequences had taken their toll at a young age. I had seen the suicide attempts, the shame, and the alienation of family that love could bring in my culture. Anything with that kind of power needed to be feared.
It would take me twelve years to fully understand that this was a poisoned Kool-Aid I was drinking. Twelve years of timid explorations, truncated experiences, and missed opportunities to realize that I had been misinfomed. But at the end of it, I threw off the yoke of fear.
Not even two years later, that act was rewarded in a way that I could never have imagined.
Meeting my girlfriend was pure serendipity. A chance occurrence, at a time when I was very unhappy and unfulfilled. I wasn't really looking when I found her, but even during our first e-mails and meetings I was experiencing something new. I became a different person, confident, empowered, and capable of more than I knew. I finally felt able to trust my instincts. And so I did.
Now, for the first time in my life, I feel what it is like to love with abandon. And I can see why it inspires fear. It is so powerful, and so awe-inspiring, that to experience it and then lose it may seem unthinkable. But while such highs come with risks, to actually experience love, to feel it, is to know that it is the opposite of fear. The two do not coexist. Whatever happens in my life, I am better for experiencing this.
And so I offer this song. There is no fear in it...it is a simple bauble of a tune, joyous and unabashed. But it reflects how I feel about my girlfriend...that wonderful person who is light where I am dark, woman where I am man, yielding where I am inflexible, open when I am reserved. And while we complement each other and fill each other's shortcomings, we share the same dreams in our heads, and the same songs in our hearts. I love you, honey. Happy Valentine's Day, I can't wait to hold you!
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