Like us (humans), decisions continue to grow until they are killed by another decision, or by fate. Small things need small decisions – what candy to pick. Big things demand big decisions – which house to buy. As simple as that. But what if the thing is either small or big, or neither small nor big? What if it’s abstract, like faith and hope? What if it’s love? How do we measure that? Are we supposed to be talking size? Or length? Or size? No, not that green mind.
I know of a love story about a guy and a girl. It was a beautiful story of a beautiful love affair, and that’s tautology. There were times I might have wished to see myself in a relationship like theirs. Or perhaps to hold a purpose as strong – to kill a lifetime together, to live a lifetime with each other. I might have wished to hear myself confess my certainty to my partner. I might have wished to see myself planning the future, without doubt, or fear. Well, I might have wished to imagine my wedding day. But I’ve long learned the word, “Cut!” At least, I did try imagining the wedding day of this beautiful couple. Goodness, I was envious like hell!
Not really the longest in love’s history. But the way they loved each other, cared for and worried of each other, was like optical illusion. Years overly prolonged. I thought they bought some more years to add to the actual count. And I thought they’d let only a year more before exchanging “I do’s” and cheesy smiles, all to be frozen in their wedding photos.
Guy and girl both lived simple lives. No mansions and villas, no cars, no high-profile parties, not even the latest of fashion trends. Just life as it is without the pressures of this what I call social divide. Simply put, I could just recall Pinoy “telenobelas”, love stories of simple people in the provinces and barrios. Never anything complicated.
I’d see guy and girl around and just the sight of this lovely pair was enough to produce and reproduce good vibes. It wasn’t like they were, or one of them was popular. But I thought they had a fan club, count me in.
It was indeed a love story told by love itself. They had years. Not two. Not three. Now, I’m kind of talking length.
One day, that I didn’t know when, a decision was made. And now, I should be talking size. How big must love be to keep the years running, to keep the love alive? If I thought that story was beautiful, that affair was perfect, what more did it need? What slipped through it?
Six years was long but it had nothing to say to please love or to give love a good name. Six years all over in one quick decision. It was quick, so, it might have been a small decision. But it was about this abstract whatever called love. And how people supposed love to be, it should have been something big.
But every decision, big or small, finds its own time to grow, grow bigger. And a decision’s chance to grow is always embedded in its making. Until it is killed by another decision, or by a change of mind. Or by fate, if you believe in it.
We, people, always seek the right decision. But the thing is, every decision becomes right at the moment it is passed. Wrong ones come out later. Because it is only during its growth, when a decision can be judged. And when judgment is passed, it’s either you have to come fighting against the dreaded word – regret, or you’re safe and then you go on.
With all that, best wishes to guy and girl.
(*whistles*) Hey! Big fan (over here).