I’m very much not a nostalgic person, though I’ve lately been thinking about how love has presented itself to me in every relationship I’ve ever had. I don’t know… maybe it’s because I’m getting older that I feel this strong urge to contemplate the ways love has come to me. I’m nothing if not an idealist, so I believe that my current curiosity about love is connected to my explorative endeavours of the Most Merciful. Before we get into it, a definition of love would help, wouldn’t it, dear reader? I present this question to you before I attempt to come up with an explanation for myself: what is love? Is it a feeling? Is it an action? Could it be both at the same time? I urge you to take some time to sit with your thoughts.

Love has different categories. The love a child gets from their mother differs from the love a person reciprocates with their pet. The love you get from your dear friend is different from that of your spouse, and so on and so forth. Now that I’m on the second paragraph, I’m realizing that it was quite ambitious of me to think that I could sum up all the loves I’ve experienced up to this point in one article. So, let’s zoom in on one specific kind of love today: romantic love. Woooowww, right?!?!! Yeah! Let’s go there. Everyone LOVES talking about romantic love, don’t they? The first time I became conscious of romantic love was in grade one, when the kids in my class shipped me with that one boy. His name was Nabeel. It was so random.

I think my brain did a splendid job at erasing almost all of my memories of my childhood. I don’t remember what that boy looked like, what he sounded like- I honestly can’t remember if there was something genuine in the constant teasing I got from those kids. Was any of it real? Did I have a genuine crush on him, or was it the other way around? Did the perceptive six-year-olds in my class see his gaze falling on me once and then decided to make a mountain out a molehill? I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you what happened there. All I can say with certainty is that my deepest root of romantic love starts there, with that boy I can’t remember. I don’t know if this is real, but my mind is echoing chants those kids made: “UMULKHAIR WA NABEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLL.”

I think I remember being slightly irritated by their loud, annoying little voices. I don’t know why, but a vivid image popped into my head just now. I remember standing outside the classroom one day. I don’t know why, but I can almost picture him standing to my left. Is that real? Or am I making it up? I can totally picture the non-confrontational six-year-old version of me being fed up with those kids shouting his and my name when the teacher stepped out of the class. Maybe it’s real. I don’t know. If that’s a real memory, then I guess you wouldn’t be shocked to learn that my fighting style is still the same: I avoid, evade, and isolate. But.. yeah, I could see myself just wanting to get out of the class out of frustration to get some fresh air, and him stepping out too. If that actually happened, then I think it was cute of him to follow me out. But maybe this is all fiction. Who knows?

Instead of thinking and hypothesizing about capital L love and what it means to me, I’m now more concerned about my brain and how it stores memories. What did you do to me, brain? What was I like when I was six? Why can’t you tell me about it? I seriously need to get into contact with a psychiatrist with a special focus on memory once I get some money. Writing about six-year-old Umulkhair’s first ever encounter with love (romantic) feels nice, but it doesn’t answer my main question: what is love? Why are people so obsessed with it? Which one actually makes the world go round: money, or love? I think this might be the start of a series of connected articles about love. I’ve barely scratched the surface on romantic love. I think every kind of love I’ve ever experienced deserves its own spotlight.

I don’t usually dig into things with an ulterior motive. I have always been a naturally curious person. Once I have an itch, I need to scratch it enough times until the feeling of wanting to peel off my skin subsides. It’s only right that I put forward a disclaimer for you, dear reader: I have a larger purpose in finding my answer to that question, and it ties back to my pursuit of the Most Merciful subhanahu wa ta’ala. I want to learn how to love my Creator, and I want to love Him properly. In order to do that, I need to start somewhere. Admittedly, starting this monumental task with just one question, asking “what is love?” is seemingly not the best, but it’s something. Okay, until next time!

فِي أَمَانِ اللَّهِ