It’s a madness no one can escape;
it’s an illness no one can be cured of…. Yes, I’m infected; I know I can’t be
cured. But why does my heart feel at ease knowing that it can lead me to death?
My dear reader let me tell you about the disease I suffer, let me tell you
about the illness called love.
Dessen (2004), stressed out in
her book The Truth About Forever, that there is never a time or place for true love, that it happens
accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment. And she’s right. You don’t have a say on who
you’ll be falling in love, you don’t have a say when your heart will be ripped
apart. No one knows when, no one knows what, no one knows why, it just happens
in an instant.
Loving someone is the moment that
Heinlein (1991) described as the condition in which the happiness of the other
person is essential to your own. Yes, I know right, and it is also the moment
you hand him the power to put you up and break you down.
Love according to
Oliver (2012) in the novel Delirium, Amor deliria nervosa (love) is the
deadliest of all deadly things, and I can’t help but agree, it’s the most
accurate description after all. It’s the deadliest because only the people you
love has the power to break you apart. And as Clare (2011) had coined in her
novel City of fallen Angels, I think even when
you heal, you're never what you were before. You can put the pieces back
together, but it’ll never be the same. And Stephen King (2001) was definitely
right when he wrote ‘Hearts can break. Yes, hearts can break. Sometimes I think
it would be better if we died when they did, but we don't.’ We definitely
don’t.
I believe I’m already misleading you people but
I’m not talking about love with someone of the opposite sex, but I’m talking
about love for the people who’s with you since then till now: our family. I
lost my father not more than five months ago, I was there beside him as he
gasped his final breaths, and lived his final moments. Yes, I was beside him
all throughout the end. I can elaborate how I witness blood coming out of his
lips and how the wires and tubes snaked towards his body. And I tell you it’s
the most painful thing ever, that I cried nonstop and wished for someone up
there to just take my life instead of my father’s, but that’s not possible. I
swear I was already on Phase Three or the critical phase of Amor Deliria
Nervosa, as stated by Lauren Oliver, difficulty in breathing, pain in the chest,
difficulty in swallowing; refusal to eat, complete breakdown and delusions. As Oliver (2012) stated it
affects your mind so that you cannot think clearly, or make rational decisions
about your own well-being. Well, believe it or not I already had a razor on my
wrist that night.
Call me idiotic, call me whatever you want but until now I’m still grieving, until now I’m still crying every 26th of the month. This disease had really struck me hard and the silliest thing was I don’t want the cure. Maybe, we are better off without love but as Coelho (2006) said “love is a disease no one wants to get rid of. Those who catch it never try to get better, and those who suffer do not wish to be cured.” Why? Because as I, Fabros (2015) had pointed out in my novel How to be Dead? “Love is a fleeting moment that doesn’t need to be forgotten, love will always be kept inside a chest buried deep within my heart,” maybe within our hearts.
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