Imagine you see two people holding hands. Beautiful, isn’t it? Imagine they would look at each other intensively, smile and kiss. What do you think? Is this love?
Now imagine one of them was you. The other one was your partner, your soul mate, your best friend.
For simplicity, I refer to a male partner here. When you are into girls, just replace the pronouns in your head accordingly.
Imagine there is just you and him. How do you feel? Happy? Fulfilled? Do you feel like you are the luckiest person on the entire planet? You want to share this awesome news. You found love, and he loves you back. Winning the lottery is nothing compared to finding true love. You want to go to the movies with him, get to know him better at dinner, and you want to show everyone how happy you are. You cannot believe that you are sweeping off your feet. Before you met him, you did not even know that you could feel this way.
Now imagine someone you have never met before comes to you, telling you that you were making a huge mistake. He is telling you, your partner was wrong for you. What do you say? “What makes you think that? Does he hurt me? You know neither him nor me. And besides, it is none of your business.”
He might say he feels offended by your behavior. Will you tell him, that you are offended by his? He continues to say that you are wrong, that what you feel is not real, that this is no true love. You ask: “Do you want me to judge you for how you love? Do you want me to tell you how you can be happy? I dare to assume, you do not.”
Imagine you live in a beautiful house, and other people keep trying to come in, trying to drag you out. “You live in the wrong house”, they say. “But this is my home”, you answer. “This is where I am happy. This is my place to be. I am not hurting anyone by living here.” However, the other people are more than just one person, so they manage sooner or later that you leave. You live in another house now, but you miss your home. Home is where your heart is. Have you ever heard that? I am here, but my heart is over there. It is still in the other house.
Home is not a building. It is a feeling.
Why do people think they know me better than I know myself? Why do they keep telling me what is the only way to be happy, how I can be happy? We are all different. Imagine a world full of yous. There was no room for your partner. He would not exist in this world, because he is not you. Would you be happy? Some like dogs, and some like cats. Some prefer the beach and some the forest. Some love sunshine, and some the rain. There is nothing wrong loving any of these.
The man I love probably does not make you happy. But what if I would tell you, that you are loving wrong? Do you want to hear that? And do not say that it is different. Do you think you are better than me? You pretend to be interested in my happiness, when you are only interested in your own. I might be the tiny black spot that sticks out on your white paper of harmony. When you love cooking, do it. When you love singing, do it. When you love sports, go for it. Do what makes you happy. I might like different things, but that does not make me a bad person.
I hope we agree that when two people holding hands, looking at each other, smiling, and kissing, that this is love. You do not need any further details, do you? One might be white, and the other black. One might be a Jew, and the other a Christian. Maybe it was two men, or two women, or a man and a woman. Details seem to divide us, but on the inside, we are all the same. Look at these x-rays. You can say it is a human being. That is all that matters.
Yes, I do love a man. Even if I was a man or said I loved a woman, this should not make any difference. Do you want me to become a man? Should he become a woman? Would that make you feel better? Would that make you happy? Do not pretend to know me. Love equally also means that I love myself as well. It can be hard sometimes listening to the one voice within me, when too many others on the outside make such a noise. What matters is the only voice that actually knows me. I listen to my heart. And guess what: it knows what makes me happy. Happiness is a feeling. You do not learn it. You feel it. How can anyone think I do not deserve happiness? Why can other people be happy, but not me?
The other people have more voices than my heart, as I only have one, but it’s the only one that truly counts. How can it make others happy, if I was with someone they want me to be? Have you ever experienced love? Do you know how it feels? Or have you just learned the definition? I am not you, and you are not me. I do not know what makes you happy. You do not know what makes me happy. Why can you not be happy for me?
When someone tries to tell you that you are loving wrong, tell them the only wrong way to do is to not love at all. Tell this person: I know we are different. Unlike you, I would never tell anyone how to love. You think it makes you happy, when you would see me with someone else, but you do not. You do not care. You have focused on the details that you have learned. My definition is to follow my heart. I love being happy, and I do not allow you, a random stranger, to take this feeling away from me. Stealing is bad. Judging is too – unless you work and are in a court while judging.
I love myself. And I allow myself to love who makes me happy, not who others think make me happy. He is my heart, he is my home, he is my happy place. I do not know you, but I know two things: you learned about love and follow that definition like it was a math equation with only one right solution. You like different things than I do, but on the inside we are the same. I dare to say that you want to be loved; truly, madly, deeply. I dare to say you want to be happy. Please let me be happy, too.