A little hopping around has brought up the topic of love actually. A striking case of poetic injustice perhaps, after all, what is love actually? In all truth, there is no explicit specification to that. To do so, would be completely criminal for love has been renowned to have no conclusive order.
A girlfriend, an extremely proficient and sharp scribe in her own way, penned a brilliant composition on a modern virtual scroll, dedicating all twenty three stanzas worth of affection and adoration to her beloved for his twenty third birthday. Whether or not he has read it till date remains to be unknown. Frankly speaking, it was quite a masterpiece that could put any contemporary Shakespearian bard to shame.
Another girlfriend’s girlfriend put into writing, a beautiful lovelogy to her love to commemorate the six years, and counting, they have been together. It was a good ninety nine lines worth of little things so sweetly saccharine it could either have been delightfully charming, or sickeningly nauseating depending if it tickled one’s taste buds the wrong way. It does have the potential to reduce a girl to blubbering tears for it contained and spoke of a love so sacred, almost an exceptional fairytale, that it looks to be a case of wedding bells waiting to ring, even though that is not quite set in stone, yet.
Another girlfriend jotted and marked down her love’s devotion in the simplest few words that spoke volumes beyond its small number of two of “just because”. Evidently in her instance, action spoke louder than words, in more ways than one in a bouquet of divine champagne coloured roses, amongst other minute surprises her dearest decided to spring on her on an ordinary day, without a need for a special time or occasion. That was a true exemplification of the adage that “everyday can be, and is Valentine’s day”, quite literally.
Reading all of that could drive someone up the wall or off the cliff effortlessly like some raving lunatic, riotously ranting in despondency “i want a love that is mine” like Zhang Ziyi’s character of Sayuri in Memoirs of a Geisha. In spite of that, it is without a doubt, that there is much more to that by a long shot.
In more ways than one, much as it is hated, it cannot helped, for it just is such; love is all around, and all it takes, is just for one to search for it hard enough, and not look at it in one aspect in totality.
For me, love actually… is your housemommy showing up at your doorstep randomly with a little package of a few apples, a chocolate bar, a can of tuna and a tiny juice packet as a cheer up and get well gift, as well as a gentle, albeit not so subtle, reminder to eat when one is down with a fat sick bug. It is… your housemommy popping a gratifyingly sugary surprise of a small coke bottle, a fat juice box and a chocolate bar in your mailbox for that much needed sugar fix just before she jets off somewhere for business and cannot be around to check in on you. It also is… your housemommy dropping off a homemade packed lunch of strukli with freshly cubed cherry tomatoes and tomato paste, olives, chicken and cheese bits, topping it off with a thoughtful and sweet dessert of chocolate ice cream with freshly cut strawberries on a bright jolly Sunday when she could have just stayed in to laze and rest the weekend away having just flown back in.
For me, love actually… is your mommy dropping an online note out of the blue using your daddy’s messenger account, and saying hi, and asking if you need anything so that she could mail it over, if possible, in the most unconventional way ever dreamed possible. Mind you, though not completely computer illiterate, she is quite the technology dinosaur and a complete snail of a tortoise when it comes to using a qwerty keyboard.
For me, love actually… is your daddy sending you an online note and text, checking if you need more medication, not exactly quite the first thing anyone would like to hear. Not to mention notwithstanding it is a very much delayed response than the usual he normally gets in touch with you, because that is a surefire indication that things back have not totally gone haywire, yet. Still, there could never have been a more relieved calm at seeing "found your two boxes of xanax and seroxat, do you need more medication?".
For me, love actually… is girlfriends dropping spontaneous arbitrary texts and notes at erratic instants, revealing precious moments that they care about and miss you, irregardless; all waiting in anticipation for the long awaited dates of catch ups. Pretty girls, correction, beautiful girls, all lined up in a row.
For me, love actually… is a new teddy bear, and hopefully more things, promises inclusive, to come, waiting for collection on return.
Love actually… is a complex simplicity that cannot be expressed in mere words, or anything else for the matter, and therefore, is somehow better left unsaid.