One evening, in the midst of what was yet another overnight group project session, the small talk shifted gears from the scholarly, academic discussion to blogging. One classmate of mine commented that my blog posts were mostly about serious stuff (really now!). Then I found out the reason a little later:
“You don’t talk about your love life.”
Jeepers creepers!
Well, well, well, we need a little clarification here, don’t we? For the information of everybody, I don’t talk about love life, precisely because I don’t have one. What else is there to talk about but me, (yeah, call this a slight manifestation of narcissism) my experiences, and my thoughts. Things about love and details of my past flings and short-lived romances are things that are kept locked away in the deepest recesses of my memories – they’re personal and I intend to keep it that way for now until a meteor crashes into my head and causes aberrations in my brain functions – for one of the greatest puzzles in my life is (romantic) LOVE itself, what it is and what is the logic behind people falling madly and crazily in love. The bits of vocabulary I have about “love” are the faintest recollections of my childhood crush(es), high school flings, text mates, one-minute flirtations, and hopeless romantic moments. Period. If it goes more than that and I talk about it, congratulate me – I solved my own riddle.
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