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Apparently in the current trend in the Philippines, puppy love is only for children below age twelve.
Baby-making love is apparently the newest trend for any age older.
And therefore, with that notion, I could not suppress my subsequent feeling that love is indeed elusive, if not nonexistent.
When you really think about it, believing in true love really is quite ridiculous. Love at first sight, love being blind, love conquering all -- every single one of them rubbish. Lower your guard at a stranger who you THINK you’ve really fallen in love with, who you THINK is quite harmless, who you THINK is your life and your soul and all that gibberish, and you’ll lose a lot more than your heart in an instant.
True love may not be inexistent, but where it can thrive, no human is there.
No non-fictional human, that is.
Ironic as it seems, one of this cynical writer’s favorite books centers on the very thing I do not believe in -- true love, that is, if you’ve still not noticed. Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight saga absorbs me into Bella and Edward’s impossible world, and to some extent, makes me believe that what they have could be plausible. Except for the fact that Edward is a vampire, which brings me back to the thought that the only possibility that true love can be restored into the human heart is if a vampire bites us.
Which brings us back to absolutely nowhere. Vampires do not exist, and apparently so does true love.
Everywhere you look, people crave only for one thing -- survival. We are born either by accident or merely to feed our parents in the distant future; we study to work, we work to earn, we earn to feed, we marry to use, we die to give way to another expected cycle.
Humanity no longer cares for anything besides physical persistence, and has thus ended the already past reality of compassion.
How many cases of marriages have we heard of take place only because a spouse needs the other? And how many have we not heard of?
Our souls really are rotting. And nobody is concerned, for the soul has nothing to do with the struggle for survival. With that instilled, we have lost our humanity.
Bella wanted her soul taken for love, as Edward implies. Ironic isn’t it?
The Twilight saga truly is fictional.
But sometimes, no matter how I feel the world has become quite impossible to mend, comfort can come in the most unexpected way. Whenever I feel life has become too unjust (in times when my parents won’t give me a quadrotrillion bundles of cash, for instance), comfort comes when I read something so unrealistic, that I find it quite a source of hope. When Bella finds salvation from the world by entering Edward’s fictitious one, I find a new, miniscule possibility of healing.
Until I put down the book, that is.
Of course, fiction remains fiction. What is unreal remains there within the confinements of the book. But how the novels can absolutely suck me into them, how they enclose me into another world, even for a few hours is what I can consider escape from the clutches of what lies ahead in a distantly hopeful world.
And therefore, as Edward is to Bella, good books are to me.
Stephenie Meyer’s masterpieces are my sanctuary to an unruly world, where there is no such thing as true love.
But my life is quite far from the tragic world that lies ahead. I am still quite secured within the confinements of my parent’s protection -- not something that everyone has, or still has at sixteen, but nonetheless, the protection keeps me away from it.
What worries me is what lies ahead, just as Bella worried about her aging, about her future. I don’t have forever to have these fictional books suck me into their world, just so I can escape ours.
Nonetheless, as Bella’s story has ended, I realized how big a part of my world has moved on along with her. She has survived countless unimaginable obstructions, and as have I. One thing I can truly say about life in general, is that it moves on. It doesn’t wait for us to move on, and so we do our best to catch up.
And so even if the world may seem hopeless, or our lives may seem stuck in an unending cycle of hardship, these little times of bliss can pave way for us to make ourselves aware of just how hopelessness leaves us in that cycle.
The Twilight saga is hardly the personification of hopelessness; it embodies what wonderful world we could have lived in.
Or rather, what kind of world we will live in.