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Weddings are one of those times when love, in all its forms, is put on full display. But what does love mean? There’s this line from “The Half of It” that I often recall: “When one half finds its other, there is an unspoken understanding, a unity — and each would know no greater joy than this.”
It’s the kind of half-corny quote that would make excellent calligraphy on a wedding invitation or caption on an Instagram post of two people gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes at sunset, faces bright in golden hour lighting and the glow of mutual self-actualization. Beautiful, right?
In the quest for love, we grapple with choices that shape our entire lives. The search for our “other half” can consume years or happen in an instant. Some of us spend decades building a relationship, learning its rhythms, challenges and rewards. Others face the painful realization that what they thought was lasting love was temporary. These universal struggles with love’s impermanence and uncertainty only reinforce Camus’ theory that life is irrational and meaningless. Like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the mountain, we keep searching for love, knowing it will slip away at any moment.
This summer, these thoughts simmered in my mind as I attended a family friend’s wedding. It was a traditional Indian wedding, full of vibrant colors, elaborate rituals and a dance floor that was somehow popping until 2 a.m. Indian weddings weave a tapestry of traditions — carefully preserved and gently revised from one generation to the next. And as I watched, I found myself reflecting on more than just the ceremony.
Returning home from college and reconnecting with the local Marathi community after a year felt like stepping back into a familiar dance — one where I knew the steps but had somehow forgotten the rhythm. I found myself relearning customs I’d half-forgotten, donning warm-toned, bejeweled gowns and meeting childhood friends navigating similar crossroads as myself. In the midst of revisiting my community events and coming to terms with time’s dizzying speed, I was asked the age-old question by the aunties making their rounds … “Do you have a boyfriend yet?” Unfortunately, turning 20 doesn’t give you the same privileges the teenage years gave: permanently residing in the Kids’ Corner, being exempt from relationship questions (as studies took precedence, of course).
Entering my 20s also means I’m grappling with the dilemma of intimacy versus isolation, although I am rather loath to pick the former, be it by chance or circumstance. My mind is tangled in thoughts of the eight-plus years of school awaiting me on my pre-med journey and whether I’ll last long enough to reach the phase of ego integrity versus everlasting despair.
Despite the constant weight of those thoughts, I let them drift away, refocusing on the wedding unfolding before me. What struck me most about this particular wedding was how it broke from tradition in beautiful ways. The bride wasn’t Indian, and both she and the groom were well into their careers before tying the knot. It was a quiet yet powerful reminder that our generation is rewriting the rules as we find our paths between tradition and modernity. I felt a wave of emotion overcome me as I watched the couple exchange vows among the many Indian rituals. Friends and family put on (un)coordinated flash mobs with awkward, clunky yet full-of-life speeches about the newlyweds. Most of it was the joy and hopeful anticipation that came with being a mere audience member spectating the wedding but, eventually, a bit of fear about when my turn may come — if it ever would — started to settle in, despite my lack of enthusiasm for love.
The truth is I have exactly zero dating experience — which is totally OK — but I am “perpetually single,” and my friends know it …
I shed no fear when my well-meaning relatives ask my parents about my relationship history simply because I have none. I have downloaded and deleted Hinge more times than I can count and haven’t progressed past the whole sending people likes part because being perceived romantically scares me.
That is not to say that I lack a bone of romance within me. I would say the crushes I’ve had are like a fleeting storm — quick, unprecedented and soon to go, leaving nothing but the aftermath of a damp morning where you can feel the sun’s rays peeking through any cloudy remnants. They’ve culminated in mere “delusionships” and the occasional Wattpad-esque moments I can detail to my friends when they eagerly look to me for non-school life updates.
The first crush I had at the University of Michigan was a boy I met in my freshman-year organic chemistry lab. I remember liking him because he was tall, handsome, smart and matched my wit and humor when it came to joking around in lab class. The crush lasted no more than a few weeks, perhaps due to my fleeting feelings or the fact that organic chemistry had a way of making everything seem temporary and slightly toxic. Yet, I still remember a moment when we sat together at the Alice Lloyd Residence Hall piano, and he played me a song called “Mariage d’Amour”. The song was written by two French composers, and the title translates to “Marriage of Love.” I still listen to this song, whether I’m studying for a STEM class or writing an article like this one, but I think it’s fascinating how romantic the most seemingly simple things I encounter in my non-romantic life are.
While I may be perpetually single, I’ve found my own kind of love story in the bonds I share with my friends. With my single friends we find shared solidarity in the joint Hinge downloads and lack of events in our romantic lives — as misery does love company. Sometimes, when the weight of expectations feels a bit too heavy, I’ll even pull out the infamous 36 Questions That Lead to Love to bond with friends. Not to fall in love with each other, but perhaps to practice the vulnerability that love requires. Between moments of laughter and careful consideration of hypothetical scenarios, I realize that while I may not be ready for romance, I’m already fluent in the language of intimacy.
However, I’ve also become the go-to relationship advisor for my friends in relationships, doling out wisdom I’ve somehow accumulated from the common sense gathered over 20 years of living and somehow, my lack of romantic entanglements. There’s a certain irony in being a perpetually single relationship guru, but maybe that’s just another beautiful absurdity to embrace.
As I watched the newlyweds take their first dance, I realized that despite the reservations I held about everything that leads up to weddings, they’ve taught me something unexpected: We’re all going at our own pace. Love, like life, doesn’t follow a predetermined timeline. Some find their person in organic chemistry, others after establishing careers and some of us are still perfecting the art of dodging romantic relationship questions. Because while I might not fully believe in romantic love (yet!), I believe in the love I have for my friends, in the excitement of possibility and in the comfort of going at my own pace.
Because maybe the real absurdity isn’t in looking for love or avoiding it — it’s in thinking we have any control over the matter at all.
MiC Contributor Arya Kamat can be reached at agkamat@umich.edu.
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