the love I feel
I cried on the train this morning. It was only a few brief tears but the act startled me. I didn't know what I was crying for. It seemed to be one of those rare instances when your body reacts to something before your brain and heart can get to it. The effect came before the cause.
I soon found out that the book I was reading brought about my tears. It’s called Inseparable: A Novel, translated from Les inséparables, by Simone de Beauvoir, one of my all-time favorite writers. The book was never published in de Beauvoir’slifetime but was translated from French to English in 2021 by HarperCollins and then shared with the world. The story is heavily inspired by de Beauvoir’s relationship with her lifelong best friend, Zaza. The two girls, named Sylvie and Andrée in the story, meet in primary school and develop an intense bond that is bound to last lifetimes. I’ve only read the first chapter but one line caught my attention and sunk into my soul like a brick in salt water, hence the tears.
“I had only one idea of love: The love I felt for her.”
The idea of love is something I explore a lot. I read a lot about it, and write a lot about it, and I would say I often reach for it in my life, although I’m not sure that’s fair to say. I don’t reach for love in general, it’s really only romantic love that I pine for. I look to be swarmed by gusts of romance in my life. I go down every alley, download every app, and dip my toe in every pool just for a soft glimmer of love’s charm. I love to be loved and, admittedly, I love the drama that comes with falling in love. Or rather, choosing love because if I’ve learned anything in this exploration it’s that love is a choice, a promise, a vow.
Romantic love is what I wish for at night or when it’s windy outside. When I’m eating dinner alone or when I have no one to talk to about an article I just read or a new idea I have. I’m still getting used to the fact that it’s not wrong to want this. It’s completely normal although I feel pathetic thinking about it all the time. But, more than I want romantic love, I want to get into the practice of celebrating the love I have right now. The love that idly sits in my chest, waiting to be surrendered.
De Beauvoir’s writing reminded me of my sisters. And my parents. My little brother. The people who loved me first, love me most, and will love me long past all of our lifetimes. These are the people who showed me what love is and what it should be. Not because of how I look or what I say, I could be anything and their love for me would know no bounds.
I’m not trying to brag about how close I am to my family. I just want to emphasize the love I do have even when romance escapes me or has no place to burrow its heavy head.
I have many ideas of love, unlike the narrator says here, but my first idea of love was given to me by my family, specifically my sisters with whom I learned to share, sacrifice, communicate, and grow. The love I can always tap into is the love I feel for them.
