Song: It was the third day into my Buddhist meditation retreat, and I didn't expect to be asked to give a Dharma sharing on my experience with Thích Nhất Hạnh's third precept of 'True Love'. But there I was, seated in front of an audience, every seat filled and eager to witness my lived experience under the same shared sky. My eyes nervously shifted to the window panes above, filtering a deep blue that greeted the tinted clouds hanging above the temple.
No one said there was a right answer, but the 50 pairs of innocent eyes fixated onto me like there was. Their attention made my heartbeat speak louder into the microphone than my voice, but stage fright was the least of my issues.
What would I even know about love when my last text to her was courtesy of wine the colour of claret?
Past experiences only taught me what love isn't, and yet, the unfiltered words stumbled out my parting lips. All I had were fragments — no insight, no helpful truths. Just small, daily rituals in my life that somehow survived heartbreak.
"I eat my avocados with honey because my mom likes to eat it like that. I water my plants everyday because my dad never forgot to. I have crossfade on my Spotify because my friend turned it on years ago and I never turned it off. I still wear the thrifted watch my ex chose for me because I like the style.
I carry forward all these people as a way to express my fondness, my love, for others, with whom I am today. These small rituals tether me to their love and positive influences, but the negative experiences clung to me too. Just like needing to feel the weight of sadness to understand the joys of happiness, we must also acknowledge the other half rather than distract ourselves and suppress it."
A pair of eyes caught my train of thought. I paused. Maybe they had already found the answer to true love, but were hiding it behind their quiet gaze, as if the microphone tightly gripped in my palm gave me the stage to teach anything. So I searched and searched. But each gaze that held me captive offered nothing to work with.
As the clouds parted ways for the sunlight to shine down on me, it gifted an answer that might not be the truth, but was something I needed to believe in. An encouraging nod from a friend in the crowd gave me the comfort to let the words slip out.
"It's a privilege to be able to love and grieve so deeply for someone, whether it's familial, romantic, or platonic — not many people in the world get the chance to experience that.
I kept coming back to the same question, constantly asking myself: would I rather have fully loved and lost, knowing it won't last... or not at all? I'll never regret loving so wholeheartedly, even if all I have left now is the pause of a song that reminds me of them. So I let it play anyway."