How do you know?

I'm one of those people who use the term "love" quite loosely, and I feel quite justified to do so. We don't have a standardized definition of love anyway, so nobody can really criticize me for being contextually wrong.

So I realized that I tend to use the word on something I get really excited about. That can be just about anything, and I don't even need to have a constant excitement about it, but whenever I feel that emotional jump, the word just comes out. When a bowl of spectacularly hearty pasta with chicken & mushroom was put in front of me, accompanied with heavenly-soft bread, which I ate with succulent tomatoes from the dish, I exclaimed that I love Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf (I should note here that I've been disappointed by it - their waiter once insisted that sushi should be served at 18 degrees Celcius. Probably my fault for ordering sushi in a coffee place).
The thing is, that pasta looks and tastes so good that during those moments, I forgot about the sushi incident, or how they don't take my debit card because they made an arrogantly exclusive deal with another bank, or how they don't have electrical plugs for my laptop in the non-smoking section. That pasta made me forget about all that, and for a brief period, I love the restaurant.

Another thing about "love" - by my definition at least - is that as it excites you so, you normally can't keep it to yourself. You just want the whole world to know...although that probably have something to do with me being a girl : expressing emotions through words. That's how I often find myself in outrageously excited conversations, larger intensity if I found more people in love with the same thing, but still quite intense even if it's just me blatantly describing affectionate things to anyone who's listening.

The last odd thing about my definition of "love" is this : as much as you want to be out spoken about your feelings, sometimes the only subject unaware of it may be the object of your affection (linguistics, linguistics...). This remains to be a mystery to me, but my best guess so far (as I've found from my muses) is we don't proclaim it in front of them because, of all people, we fear the reaction from those we love.

So I guess for me, that rush I get when I encounter something wonderful, so amazing that I'm willing to set aside everything else, deserve to be labeled "love". I may be on a limb here, but it's probably because my normal self is so obsessively analytic (can't stop thinking about every little thing and how they're intertwined) that I enjoy moments when I'm allowed (in fact, I'm disallowed to counter) to think about just one thing. That's when the world is wondrously simple, because it's just about a single thing that's making you happy. Nothing else matters.

And so even though I'm terribly furious at him, even though I hated him for abruptly tossing me to the side, blatantly disregarding what he himself has built up in three weeks - just like what his ex did to him, only it's seven years - and as I've built an immense dislike for him for the simple reason of making me feel bad about myself,

I forgot about all that when I'm in front of him.

You know when you're so mad at someone that you plan to say all these mean horrible insults to them, and you think about how good it would feel to be able to hurt them as much as they've hurt you? You always think "I'm not going to forgive them, no matter how they ask for it!"

And yet, magically, it all disappears at a sudden. They don't even need to do anything. When they're right there in your face - bowl of gorgeous pasta, romance interest, a wonderful performer - the only thing you can think about is that they're in front of you.

I'm furious at him, but I can't be furious when I see him.
And that's how I know.

So now I'm hearing that he doesn't have an answer, which I find odd since it really seems like he does have an answer - he just can't bring himself to say it out loud. But even if he really is confused, and if he is wondering if he's currently doing the right thing, then it's actually quite simple, because you almost don't need to think on this. The whole thing controls you - it controls your mind. And I guess just as my mind is controlled forcibly to think only about him, what should happen is whenever he sees her, anything about me (and everything else) should completely disappear. If it doesn't, then he's going the wrong way.

And that's how he'd know.

It's a bit of a mess, which incidentally is what I'm stuck in.

One of the most interesting thing about my childhood is that I spent most of it in hospitals. See, both my parents are doctors.

Thankfully, or perhaps consequently, I've never been afraid of those long dim hallways, that sterile smell or gloomy rooms with sterile colors. I actually find them quite comforting, in fact, in the manner of a small child who recognizes the environment where her parents are nearby. And as I grow up, I had quite a bit of fun watching other people coming to hospitals feeling very vulnerable, and how they associate hospitals with pain because, well, pain is either the reason you came in or something you undergo while you're in.

Anyway, having spent a lot of time in hospitals and clinics, I had to grew interested in this whole process of treatment, healing, medication, etc. And it is pretty interesting, actually, looking at how people heal. The way people change gradually, physically and mentally (just playing with languages here) is quite heartening.

One subject I'm particularly fascinated about is the whole "self-healing" theory of the body. This, I'm guessing, came from the simple question of "how did people survive before modern medicine was found?" and from this you conclude that man may just in fact be perfectly capable of healing one's self without any external assistance. We don't really know how, but tales of survivals and miraculous recoveries have shown us that the human body may be more self-sustaining than we thought. Take the placebo effect. Your mind, apparently, can treat your illness just as effectively as a "real" drug can. Physically, there are more amazing feats - broken bones are naturally mended, a liver completely able to regenerate up to 50% of its damaged parts, etc.

I marvel at this because not only do these prove just how well we are designed, it also kind of made you wonder: so why do we bother with modern medicine, then? (Mind you, I probably shouldn't question this too much, as modern medicine is where my parents found their bread & butter)
I guess like any other inventions, modern medicine was made for convenience - shorter time, tangible progress, credibility, etc. So we sort of understand that the body can look after itself independently, but we still like some extra help. Just because feeling rotten is such an unpleasant feeling, such that we would like to get rid of it as soon as we can. Our loss here, as we've yet to realize, is that as our diagnosed illnesses are conveniently and swiftly treated, our tolerance for the undiagnosed ones diminishes. We understand, physiologically, that all of our pains - physically and, yes, mentally - can naturally be healed, but we're not accustomed to letting nature to do its work. We don't want to wait. It's too painful.

And so when they tell me, quite frequently, recently, that time heals everything, I actually believed them. But as I struggled through my aches, I'm left wondering why we can't find an easier way.