The Dialects of Love

I am not a romantic. But I carry hope like a romantic would. There is a difference between the two.

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Recently, I read a book titled, 'The Noticer' written by Andy Andrews. This book is about 'perspective', which the writer emphatically states that most of us miss; the reason for our sufferings. In one of the chapters where he writes on relationships, he mentions that there are four different dialects to love or expression. Each of us speaks at least one of these and a failure to adapt to what the other understands and accepts, leads to broken relationships.

Somewhere near the White Rann in
Gujarat, India

The four dialects are:

1. Verbal form of expression;

2. Performing deeds or doing something special;

3. Spending quality time;

4. Physical contact.

As I was reading through the chapter, I was wondering that maybe all of us speak all these dialects. However, by the end of the chapter it dawned upon me that even though we may speak a combination of these, we do not necessarily understand that at least one of these will be stronger in each one of us. A failure to understand this leads to superficial relationships, and not deep ones. 

For instance, I may believe that the other person is my friend if that person says that she/he loves me. But for this other person, spending quality time with me would be an assurance of the friendship between us. On the other hand, If I continue to tell her/him how much he/she means to me (because that dialect of expression is mine), it won't make a difference. He/She will continue to not get assurance or feel secure in this relationship with me. This is because we both have not adapted to the other's dialect of expression. I am not spending quality time and he/she is not saying it enough verbally.

So what is love or friendship or family without comprehending these dialects of love or expression? I do not know. I am on my way to ponder upon these in light of the relationships I have in my life.

Until next time,

Find your dialect of love!

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In Sickness and In Health.

Somewhere near the Mediterranean Sea

Sickness says - "I will make your 'usual' life stop and I will not let you do anything. Just be. "

As I manage to sit up on my bed and the song, 'Find Love, Then Give it All Away', playing in the background, I wonder - Well, this is good. At least I can get back to blogging. I also wonder about many other thoughts that come and go frequently, for I have nothing else to do for now.

What is love? What is friendship? What is family? What is life? If Rumi would have asked these, it would have become a soulful poem may be. But from me, it is just random, maybe useless thoughts, to pass my time. One of my truest friend yesterday (Mihir) sent me his valedictory speech from his convocation. Despite me saying that I consider him my true friend, I have not been able to meet him for so long. I miss you Mihir, very much. Your letters are perhaps the only thing I look forward to, in times like these.

Coming back to his speech, he mentioned that for him life is a book, yes and that it has chapters, yes. But these chapters are not already written for him. According to him, we write each chapter but when it is written, we cannot erase and go back to write it again. This made so much sense to me.

In my quest to seek answers to these questions, I wonder that maybe the answer to all of this is happiness. If there is no happiness, there is no family, love, friendship or life. So anything or anyone that gives you the opposite of happiness in any form, does not deserve any of this from you. I am not sure which chapter of my book I am in the midst of as I write this. In the presence of so much going on around me and my failure to understand how I can comprehend all of this and deal with it and actually be calm and composed at the same time, I do not know what to do. Most of the times, I want to be, like the air maybe; present yet invisible.

Somewhere near Tuscany

 I am desperate to write the chapter of commencing on a PhD. I am desperate to write the chapters on travel and blogging and clicking pictures and trying new food. I am desperate to write the chapters where I am free to do what I want to do and not bound by time, people, things or anything else in the world. I am desperate to write the chapters which will reflect what true love, friendship and life mean. I have not been able to find these yet across chapters of my life, though I have them as individual and beautiful chapters (now memories) spread out in my book. I say this because in my desire to have a fairy tale like story, all of these exist with the same feeling and emotion irrespective of the time, place, distance or new people. I have not been able to feel these in this specific context.

I am also desperate to write the chapters where I eat lots of orange candies, ice creams, ice and waffles; where I travel and see new places and wonder each time, "OMG, am I the one experiencing all of this?" I am desperate to know, study, write papers, research, talk to people who can talk some sense, who I can relate to, who are free in their mind, body and soul, who can take a part of my soul and give away theirs in return, for me to move on in life with much more strength and vigour and love and everything else beyond the universe. I no longer have such people around me. I am desperate to feel home at a place where my soul is understood, completely. 

As I embark on new ways to comprehend all of this, and find what I truly want to write in my book, I wish that all of us fall sick, if that is what it takes to realise all of this.

Until next time,

Stay Sick.

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