Friday, January 02, 2009  6:42 PM
My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room
It's funny how the first few conversations I had when dawn broke on New Year's Day was about love. We were at east coast park after a night's worth of jumping in and out of the pool and stunting up and down the monkey bars at 4am. The five of us sat like drifters on red plastic chairs perched on the edge of the sand and stared at the sunrise beckoning beneath the clouds. It was a beautiful morning, taking in the fresh sea breeze and the smell of barbecued pork and I sat lost in my thoughts and dazed state and watched a young couple ran to the shore and cuddled as they watched the sunrise.
"They won't last the next two months," said either Paul or Martin.
Such cynicism coming from 24-year-olds. I've felt the same way for a long time, for the most part of last year, that perhaps love wasn't meant to last, maybe love wasn't for me. I've ignored that feeling, pushed it away and denied it. I believe it exists, and my favourite picture testament to love is seeing elderly couples together, walking in parks or helping each other on public transportation. But when I think about love, the sad reality of rejection, breakups and imperfection hits me more than the fuzzy, warm, fireplace feeling which I've somehow lost along the way.
Maybe I need to embrace it again, the belief that there can be love for all in this world. We're not talking romantic love yet, I need to love others stemming from within myself. Selfless love for my family, friends and those around me. As I step into my graduating year, I've been thinking of a career path the opposite direction of what I've always dreamed of, which frightens yet excites me. If I do, I'm moving away from the exhilirating, fast-paced journalism world into one where I'm going to feel real emotions and love others before myself. That's what makes me happy for now, knowing that I'm making a difference in this place which lacks love.
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