Love and Hate?

Isn't it such a paradox that we don't love to be hated, but we love to hate? We live in a strange world. We hate to be hated, but we love to hate. Love and hate. Such polar opposites. It intrigues me. The Universe; this unending expanse of unfathomable glory that burst forth was created in such a way that each thing had an opposite.

Light had darkness. Hell had heaven. Man had woman. Bitter had sweet. Superman had Lex Luthor and Harry Potter had Voldemort. We live in a world of opposites. And like all opposites, one becomes redundant when the other ceases to exist. The is no good without bad. No heaven without hell. No thin without fat.

Likewise, no love without hate. Without hate, love cannot exist. Without love, hate cannot exist. Isn't it strange?
We can hate a person with a passion and yet we humans are capable of loving a person just as much. We are supposed to spread love, not hate. That is the good thing to do. But without hate, what would happen to each personal definition of love? How would we know what love is if we didn't know what hate felt like?

Similarly, how would we know what hate is if love didn't exist? How would we know? How would we know what light is if darkness didn't exist? It works both ways. One end of an opposite cannot exist alone, just like you can't clap with one hand. It truly is a strange world. There will surely be no balance.

This is why utopia cannot exist. Because what's happiness without sorrow? How would we recognize happiness if we haven't felt sorrow? How would we identify sorrow if we haven't experienced happiness? This is true to all paradoxes. This is the simple rule of opposites. One cannot exist without the other. It's a fact.


There should always be some hate to understand love and some love to understand hate.

Love and hate are an old married couple without a divorce policy and share inextricable ties. Each time you say that you love a person, you have hated someone or is still hating someone to know that you love the other person. And the deeper your love, the stronger the hate.

We learn to hate from love and we learn to love from hate.

Love and hate: They cannot exist without each other

Reflections

From a cracked old mirror, what I see
Is my old tired face, smiling at me

The frame is tarnished, the glass is cracked
As I go to my past, reminiscing back

From a new shiny mirror, on the wall
In the hands of a lady, young and tall

Was my baby self, with fat little feet
Covered in a soft, white, cotton sheet

From a mirror that hung for eight long years
I see a child with so many fears

The beautiful smile still etched upon
From the mirror that hung since I was born

From a mirror with a slightly aged frame
I see my young face, and it's not the same

A rebellious teenager stares at me
Black hair, brown eyes, a pout, I see

An older mirror, but yet the same one
Reflects the rays of the golden sun

As I stand in front, wedded in white
I see myself in a whole new light

The mirror gets older, as I too age
My life book opens at a brand new page

I see my baby son in my arms
From the mirror that reflects all the calm

The mirror with the glass, beginning to crack
Reflects my children with large back packs

Going out to the world, far away
The mirror seems to preserve each day

The age old mirror, since I was born
Hangs in its gilded frame, all alone

As my little grandchildren crowd around
And makes such a racket! Oh what a sound!

The time is passing, it has nearly gone out
The mirror reflected all, without a doubt

As life passed by, the mirror so clear
Reflected my smiles, my laughs and tears

And from a cracked old mirror, now I see
Is a life well spent, smiling at me

The Little Things

"The little things you do to me are taking me over".

Muted and far off, Colbie Caillat sings in the background. A softly strumming guitar. The line itself conveys these unexplainable things. Yes, it's all made up of little things, some good, some bad, but together makes something so beautiful.

Maybe it's one text message beeping its heart out. Or maybe it's the sweet words in the text message itself. Or maybe it's those little arguments. You know, the petty little fights. The jealous insecurities. Or maybe it's the reassurance to those insecurities. Maybe it's the kisses. Or maybe it's when we hold hands. Or maybe it's the hugs. It could be the stupid jokes we make. It could be something. It could be anything. It could be everything.

I am lucky. I am blessed. I am happy. I am loved. I am dreaming. I am smiling. Slowly, traveling to those three happy hours. Those golden three hours. The one hundred and eighty minutes of happiness. The ten thousand eight hundred seconds of wordless, priceless, expressive, pure love. The soft kisses on my forehead and neck that carried so much of love. The hugs that conveyed so much of joy and the deep connection of hearts and souls. The wondrous utter bliss of every minute, second and millisecond we were together.

Or maybe it's just the way you looked at me.

Every little action, every everyday word magnified a thousand million times. The splendid golden rays of the sun streaming in through the open window, highlighting our hands and faces like a pools of molten gold dancing in a bubbling brook. Like being trapped in an encasement full of enchanted magic fairy dust.

Maybe it's the way you held my hand the whole time. Maybe it was the way you kept giving those secret smiles of yours. Maybe it was how your hands wrapped around me with room to spare. Or was it the way you said I smelt like strawberries?

The perfect time, the perfect place. The rich smell of brewing coffee. The warmth of your skin against mine. All our favorite songs playing in the background. The feel of soft kisses on my forehead and lips. The overwhelming sense of strange exhilaration. The breaths we drew together in contented sighs.

Yes, it was all made up of little things. A hundred million different little things, like puzzle pieces, glued together in amazing balance that make the perfect moment so imperfectly beautiful and complete. Was it the way you said that you love me? Maybe it was the way you whispered in my ear. Or maybe it was the way our eyes found each other, our hands fit together perfectly with each other and our hearts beat in a timeless, perfect rhythm.

"The little things you do to me are taking me over"