Skip to main content

I was watching on TV the other day, the story of a couple deeply in newly found love. Their moments together were filled with smiles, and kisses, and hugs, and promises, and many more promises. Their moments away from each other were filled with callings and missing-you’s and had-you-been-here’s.

“Bae, why did God make you so wonderful, there are no faults in you,” the guy said. “Boo, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, I can’t believe someone can be this perfect,” the lady replied.

In truth, watching these couple made me want to change my stance on many topics about relationships. Theirs was an encouraging one, unlike the many I’ve experienced in real life.

There was so much love. The understanding of each other was beyond this world. They have many things in common, loved and hated many things in common. They agreed on issues in unity and they disagreed likewise.

All these, however, was as far as the middle of the movie. The second half of it opened with the beautiful couple disagreeing on something trivial. Remember, the story of Achilles and his vulnerable heel? That was exactly how it looked to me. The love and relationship that looked all overly invulnerable at the beginning of the movie actually has a vulnerable heel which, once targeted by even the smallest, unexpected arrow of individual difference, brought about the abrupt end to it.

Then, enviable lovers became repelling strangers. The mutual energy that was so apparent between them suddenly diminished. The brightness of the star became the dimness of fog.

While each of the couple, unsatisfied with this totally unfortunate turn of events, were wondering, singly, where they’ve gone wrong, how they should have reacted and how the other person should not have, I was thinking about how this is actually the sure, fixed end of many, if not all, relationships.

Close relationships are like baby diapers, they are at best momentarily enjoyed. A sudden poo or wee by the baby, and the diaper gets destroyed. The bond is usually strong at the beginning, and will most likely begin to diminish in the middle, till it is met with an eventually end.

This is the problem of relationships. The major reason why I’ve been sort of a coward towards close relationships of any sort. I already know the end even from the beginning: it might come soon and it might come late, but it will surely come–the end. It will come so painfully you’ll wish you hadn’t ventured into it at all.

This is why many people are like me, cowards toward nurturing close relationships. “It’s only momentary what’s the point,” we’ll say, “I’ll only get myself or the other person hurt in the long run.”

Recently though, I’ve started thinking differently about this. And my thought, unreasonable as it might seem, deserves to be thought and to be shared. That’s why I’ll go ahead and share it, briefly, here.

Yes, close relationships are momentary, but so also are other things in life. So also, in fact, is life itself. But then, even though we know that all things are momentary, we still decide to enjoy them as long as they last.

When a youth buys a new phone, it automatically becomes his closest friend. Closer than anybody can ever be to him. But then a time will come when this phone will be stolen, or when it will suddenly stop working. The youth probably ruminated over the possibility of this when he first got the phone but he didn’t let that stop him from getting the phone anyways and enjoying it as long as it lasts.

So also is life itself. Thousands of lives are begun daily. This despite the fact that a significant part of these are ended before they could trudge to a reasonable age. Despite the probability of expected deaths and euthanasia-worthy ailments, new lives are brought to live to enjoy life as long as it lasts.

If this is the case, how is relationship any different? Shouldn’t we also venture into relationships with a heart willing to enjoy it while it last, with the sure end in sight but out of mind?

Perhaps because we are being too childish, all we want is the sweets that only feed our passions and not the bitters that really feed our growth.

Instead of chiding from reality why don’t we embark on a journey against this form of cowardice toward relationships, carrying with us on the journey a head filled with probabilities of an end as well as a heart filled with possibilities of a magnificently enjoyable beginning?

Leave a Reply