Photography by Kevin Tosh.
I’ve been thinking a lot about love– and love stories– lately. And no, I’m not about to announce my engagement/marriage/relationship or to write publicly about my love life here. There’s also not much to report– in the sense that I’m not even sure what I’d be writing about exactly. But, I digress. You know what’s a lot more interesting than my real life love life? Books, movies, TV series about love. Or “Love” given that people might disagree with some of the depictions of love in these works.
Did anyone out there also grow up on a steady diet of Latin soap operas and romance novels? No? Just me? Well all right then, I confess it: I’ve been a sucker for love stories for a really long time. Maria de Los Angeles and La Mujer de mi Vida and Danielle Steel novels which I hid under my desk to read during classes and I didn’t quite know what love was but I was SO impatient to experience it. I imagined and did not imagine a combination of the following: thump thump thump-ing hearts, an excitement that would empty you from the inside out, a feeling of “home” with a person, of “I want to stay here for eternity and do nothing else”, an immediate, intense craving for their presence right after you’d said your goodbyes, a wishing that you had known them in the past before you met them and that you would meet them again and again in the constellations of previous lives and future lives.How do you know when you fall in love? No, like really in love. Not infatuation. Not a crush. Not a something else. In soap operas it’s pretty evident: a theme song, a book cover, a synopsis, all which let us know what to expect. No matter how many times the two protagonists get separated, no matter how passive they are at pursuing each other, no matter how much the evil character plots to keep them apart, when the final episode rolls by we’re always guaranteed a white wedding and with a flourish *Fin* crosses the screen to let us know that, after weeks and weeks of waiting and watching, finally, this is it. Closure. Conclusion. How cool would it be if real life love came with theme songs letting you know that this was the love of your life, or a book cover with the two of you together? But I watched this movie once where everyone had a timer that would count away the days until you finally met your soulmate and it was actually pretty sad.So yah, maybe this lack of certainty is the fuel that love is supposed to run on? Would it be as romantic if you knew the moment that you met someone that they were “it”? But, if they were “it” from the start, even before you met them, then they wouldn’t be a choice but a requirement. And would it feel less amazing if you didn’t choose to be with someone and were predestined to be with them?So many questions. Here’s one more: to Martin Kinyuka waMuthoni, who commented on the second to last picture when I shared it on the Facebook Page: ” This reminds me of when I make sandwiches and the bread is really good but the centre stuffing is just off. ” Woah, Kinyuka. Such STRONG feelings against Fifty Shades of Grey. But whyy? :p