Love

Love is a game of diplomacy, where every move is carefully evaluated with scepticism. Nowhere is one judged more than in love. To be able to stay resilient in the game through thick and thin, central to the game is one's skill to be able to keep oneself at an elevated position of internal fullness derived from self-love.

To be able to securely love ourselves and others, and to look past our conceptions of self-hatred and lack of faith in our own species, we seek the assurance of our lovability through the love of someone who chooses to be kind to us despite our flaws. Such kindness can either be received from someone who isn't yet aware of our flaws: a stranger who gifts us a bar of chocolate for no apparent interest, a dog who always cuddles us the same and gives us a sense of a timeless connection, or, far more assuringly, from someone who is very intimate to us and aware of all our evils, yet, surprisingly, is not disgusted with us.

Bitterness and hatred, at some point, result from the clash of egos. Cynicism becomes the mask for an insecure conception of self when the hurt seems embarrassing to be admitted or to be properly shown and explained. Through our unbending behaviour, we pretend to affirm our devotion to ourselves and to our ego, never realising that self-love remains incomplete without loving those who already are part of our extended selves.

Love is not a feeling, it's a skill.