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[W h a t  i s  l o v e  w i t h o u t  h e a r t b r e a k ?]
...
I love you.
“I love you” is a weird phrase; what perplexes me most about humans is the effect words have on us. Three mere syllables can change our life and shape our future; eight letters can break us, yet mold us, sculpting our brain and piecing together the very glass which shattered us.
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In my language, there is no word for “love.” We simply don’t speak of it. My culture unveiled the subjective belief that love can only be expressed through action; I honestly disagree. Embracing the new culture of America means to accept its love. Mental health here is much more defined, and one will seek for validation of affection, despite the other person’s actions. Regardless of my fond displays, my love will perpetually be questioned if not stated clearly.
But is that bad?
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I grew up, my standpoint being that expressing adoration through tongue was weird and to not be said. I was unsettled when my friends told me that they love me, when others confessed to me, or expressed deep emotion through words. I had a hard time doing the same thing, and would resort to things like acting in the name of solidifying love, though it made others confused and no one knew whether I actually liked them or not.
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Though overtime, I adapted to it; it felt good to exhibit raw emotion and pure love to those who I would fight for. While I kept doing things which would show my affection, being able to utter that phrase validated what I stood for, and why I fought for that very person. So I am ready to accept my emotions, and break free through my mind, entangled within my culture, who is repulsed with me. But I don’t care; I would fight for them, I live for them, so I say with no hesitation.
I love you.

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