I think there’s always a moment when you realize you don’t believe in something anymore.  Everyone has a story say, about the moment they stopped believing in Santa Claus.  That time you saw your mom fill your stocking out of the corner of your eye, felt disillusioned, and didn’t want to reveal the secret to anyone because you felt a shallow kind of shame, you felt duped.  That moment stands out as a moment of acceptance; you have accepted that something you thought was real, is not.

I learned as another example, on New Years, that love is dead for me.  Love is non-existent anymore.  I spent all my university life believing that there are soulmates and they step into your life accidentally and by happenstance, you fall hopelessly in love with just that ONE person, and there will never be anyone else that would ever fit into your jigsaw puzzle heart except for the illustrious, special them; because they belong to you.  I believed I would never want to kiss anyone except for that person, I believed that I would never want to date anyone except them, and I believed I would know them when I see them.  There was a time I saw them – I did! And I knew!  And I was wrong.  I went through that whole ‘shame’ thing I mentioned earlier, of not saying anything, not spoiling the secret, not wanting to vocalize that embarassing moment.  And then gradually I got over it.  As we all do.  But… as I got over it, I really realized that I was wrong.  About love. About kissing that ‘one’ person.  I went around that world and back again, and learned that the kind of love I wanted, thought about, dreamed about, is at its fundamental basis, a dream, a thought, an illusion.  The ultimate illusion.


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