Now and then I ask myself the reasons of the things I do. I started this blog with a dream of adventure and that dream vanished from the bottom of the sea. I don’t regret it because I’ll always have many other dreams to keep me focused and entertained. Since my initial purpose is no longer there, one of the questions I ask myself frequently is why I keep writing Tales From the Sea. The answer I come up with is always along the lines: this is a sort of diary and also a place where I’ve been writing no matter what, from poetry to culinary recipes.
I am not sure if I can call TFTS a blog, since a truly blogger seems to post a lot more often than once a week. As for other possible ingredients, sometimes I miss them but most of the time I don’t because my life is too busy to be the fast and attentive blogger in the picture.
There’s also the language question. Colloquial English, very much in demand when commenting or replying, is a serious problem for someone who doesn’t speak that language on a daily basis. Still, I keep writing the best way I can for very simple reasons: 1) Learning more. 2) Not forgetting what I’ve learned so far. 3) A small part of my very small family talks English and I hope to be able to talk with them. 4) The English blogging universe is far more important in terms of quantity and quality than any other out there.
Even though I could present a few more explanations, I believe the above four are more than enough. I would never regard someone who speaks English (or any other language) as superior or inferior only because of that. Having taught Portuguese as a second language, I am very comprehensive towards mistakes derived from structural interferences of different languages. Adding to those natural difficulties, I have always the question of time keeping me away from being the perfect blogger.
When I look back, there is very little that I haven’t do, from editing a newspaper to writing bestsellers to local and international standards. Up to now I’ve been telling the stories of others but I know I can write my own stuff. I would never regard myself as superior just because I sold millions of copies more than most writers and I consider any writer who thinks so as someone pretentious.
Having said all that, I am not very good at following the rules. Part is temperamental and part is educational. You know, some good schools out there teach not to follow the rules. So guess what? Even though I am frequently penalized because of that, following the rules is not my primal concern in terms of blogging.
I write this blog because I have dreams and those dreams correspond to quests I undertake. Be it in Portuguese or English, writing blogs, books or poetry is one of them. Some of my attempts fail and some are satisfactory completed.
I don’t believe in love and I don’t regret the way I feel. I have never seen or heard of someone in love long enough for me to believe in it. I am married with someone who doesn’t believe in love either. For him, marriage is a contract to be respected. It is very liberating for me, as a writer, to be in such position because there is nothing more interesting and fulfilling than faking and exploring feelings without the bondages of those same feelings.
Maybe because I am not a believer, I always wanted to describe love. I searched and searched for the perfect word capable of saying what love is and, probably, at the same time, proving that love is redundant as a word and as a feeling.
We like things and people at different degrees and that should be enough. Love is a special form of liking. What makes it special then? Intensity? Quality? I thought I had discovered the meaning of love in admiration and up to recently I lived happy with my simple equation.
I love = I admire.
I admire = I love.
And even though I don’t believe in love, at least the kind of love I would like very much to believe, I already suspected my conclusion was too simplistic. Love (un homme et une femme kind of love) is hard to describe, not because it’s magical but because it’s instable like people are. It is different from one case to the other, just like people are different from one another.
That is when I read one of those quotes circulating on the internet. It said: “When you love someone for his appearance, it is not love but attraction. When you love someone for his intelligence, it is not love but admiration. When you love someone for money, it is not love but profit. When you love someone without knowing why, that is love.”
That explains a lot about what love is and the way we love. Some people love more with their eyes and some love more with their hearts. I love with my mind, that part of the mind that would rather care about inner qualities than money. As it is more than evident, what I love (like) more in someone is his intelligence and that explains my previous conclusion. I wasn’t explaining what love is but the way I love. The verb, not the essence of the word.
According to the above quote, love is pure insanity. Loving someone without knowing why is nothing but that. My take on love is precisely the opposite: I love someone if I know him well and still love him. The why is not accessory or absent. The why is essential. No wonder love for me is rare and precious and impossible. Feeling the opposite. Living outside the rules. By definition love is “not knowing”. For me, love is “knowing”.
Love doesn’t conquer all. Love is susceptible to knowledge. “Love is blind” is only true in the sense that you have to be blind to love. In this context, blindness is ignorance (insanity). You love because, for a short or long period of time, you choose to ignore this or that aspect. In the end, reason (knowledge) always wins. Love is a lost battle where the contenders are not you and your loved one, but insanity and reason, and once the reason wins (it always wins) love is no longer there. At least most of the time it is not there because of the gap between reality and your (insane) expectations.
I am happy with the conclusions I reached. I am not the first and only one. In good company and for the time being, I feel confident to have found my non-believer niche.