Until about two years ago I used to be one of those hopeless romantics who believe in impossible oxymoron like unrequited love. In this modern era of one night stands and using app to find soulmate there is still a certain segment of people who is constantly seeking a solid purpose in everything. What is life without some good old purpose? We live in a weird world. We grow up being taught Romeo and Juliet or Shesher Kobita as ultimate relationship goals. And then when adulthood hits us in the face and we are suddenly thrown up in a world where casual sex, infidelity and divorce are talked about as haughtily as part of pop culture. Our confusion begins from there. Blessed are those who are quick to accept and become just another passing face in the crowd in no time. But what about us? We, the ones with rock solid faith bordering on being zealous to bloody end? Every single day of living becomes a struggle for us. What to choose? The easy way out or the right path? Not to mention there is a subset of more fucked up lot among us. The ones who got brainwashed at the early stage of life into believing it’s OK to stick to abusive, self-degrading, toxic relationships. Because sacrificing your own happiness is the most important prerequisite of love. That it’s OK to keep loving people who never treated you fairly. It is OK to lose sleep over some douchebags who gave you black eye or who cheated on you deliberately or who mindfucked you without any slightest sign of remorse. It is OK to put your own well-being on stake because honey, this is what love demands. I am sorry I didn’t know Love was the name of some obscure wrathful tribal deity who only revels on blood sacrifice from her devotees.

Love, of all the great things in the world, is the most abused one. The best way to cover all sins and give it a nice, forlorn look dipped in delicate sweetness of melancholy. 
That douchebag treated you despicably! Ah, but I loved him. 
Umm didn’t she manipulate the living shit out of you? Well bro, anything for love. 
WAKE UP. Believe it or not, love is the rarest and purest and the most primitive form of finding connection with the innermost part of your soul. It awakens the best in you and helps you believe in yourself when you have lost all hope. Love makes you happy. Love makes you a better person. Or it helps you believe that you can be the better version of you. It is that protective wall that guards you fiercely through the ugliest of shitstorms in life. And that love can be found anywhere if you keep your eyes open. It could be lover. It could be parent. It could be a dog. It could be your wanderlust. It could be a book or even an imaginary character. But love should NEVER give you pain or humiliation. Love should not lead you into doing something abominable. And above all, love should never make you hate yourself. If it is so then it is not love. People who treat you abhorrently never ever deserve your devotion. Stop romanticising toxic, narcissistic people who did nothing for you except hurting you. It is true that heartbreak sells more than happily ever afters. And subconsciously we get brainwashed into thinking that being part of abusive relationships is something very noble.

We are mere mortals. We were sent to the earth being the dazzlingly flawed creatures that we are. Don’t stress on the unconditional part so much. Love is something that doesn’t require any additional epithet to accessorise it further. Let it be flawed. Let it be real. And most importantly, keep it for the one who would take it and return it proliferated. Oh and by the way, Romeo and Juliet sucks.