Lufu

Recently,  I overhead a young student voice his opinion on the subject of love.
He said, "Love doesn't really exist."
The student beside me quietly said, "He's right.  Love isn't real."

At first,  I found their youthful cynicism surprising, but soon, I began to wonder if they might have a point.  Their words have haunted me since and today, during my Just 10, I decided to give love some thought.  More specifically, what does love mean to me?

Before I faced deep personal reflection, I decided to look up the definition.    Dictionary.com had so many definitions of the word, "love" I didn't want to cut and paste them all.  I did cut and paste the first few.  I also came away with the knowledge that our current word, "love" used to be "lufu" in Middle English. 

–noun 

1.

a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

2.

a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.

3.

sexual passion or desire.

4.

a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart

This four-letter word has a lot of baggage.  Today, as I pondered the complexities of love, and the cynicism of the young, I confronted  my own feelings about love. Like happiness, love isn't always a feeling.  It doesn't always feel warm and fuzzy.  In fact, that warm and fuzzy feeling might not correlate with real love at all. 

Over the years, I have often questioned the love I feel for others.  There are times when what I feel toward them isn't a good feeling.  When the flames of conflict, die down and the heat of passionate intensity has cooled, I discover anew that love doesn't always feel good.  Human love is never perfect.  It is forever flawed.  Love is picking up the pieces and deciding to work it out.  Love is not "never having to say your sorry."  Sometimes it's all about being sorry and saying so.  It's about gritting one's teeth and getting down to business.  Love really isn't roses and chocolates.  It's weeds and oatmeal with an occasional rose and bonbon tossed into the mix.  Love is often messy, complicated,  and a real nuisance.

Despite my years of life experience, I can still be lulled into a false sense of what love is, by the corporate world, popular fiction, TV and film.  Romantic love sells.  It baits me and reels me in.  I am entranced by the promise of it.   Waking up next to the same person for years with morning breath and ratty flannel pajamas does not capture my attention the way a smarmy movie like  An Affair to Remember or From Here to Eternity can.   Yet, slowly over time, the appeal of romantic love has waned.  Inside a greater appreciation for the courage, perseverance and strength of character necessary to commit to years of partner's sharing halitosis has grown. 

Maybe this type of love should be described with the word, "lufu".  It dances across my tongue with all the awkwardness of an elderly couple learning the polka for the first time.  Always slightly out of step, their movement more like lurching than dancing, they look at each other.
"I lufu you," their eyes shout.
Lines of amusement draw smiles on their faces.  The others' face has become more familiar than their own and just as much a part of them. 
"Lufu",  they say to each other as each year folds into another.
"Lufu", they say through the arguments, the disappointments and the heartache.
"Lufu", they say to each other when there is nothing left to say.  
This "lufu" is the love to which I now aspire.   Wish me well as I wish for you a life blessed with "lufu".