Languages Of Love ♡
Shopaholics, as the days get longer and the rain becomes louder, sometimes I feel that my only sanctuary is within your love for my Blog. The language of love is the only language in the world where every person speaks in a unique tongue. No person's love language is entirely identical to the next. Perhaps that is the most beautiful part about love, but perhaps that is the most woeful part, also. Just as we begin to learn of our personal needs and desires, we are faced with the conundrum of how to love another properly. My languages of love are still incomplete and though there is a novel written, many blank pages exist. I hope that this post will inspire pages in your book as you become enthralled with the love letter you write for yourself.
I don't believe that I have felt a warmer feeling than being held in the arms of someone whom I cherish. I contemplated choosing kissing but I couldn't. Kissing is passionate and intimate and magical. But an embrace is deeply personal on an emotional level. It is from somebody who knows you so truly and so wholly that they know their only purpose at that moment is to give you all of their love. I distinguish between the importance of a hug compared with a kiss by using this scenario... If the person you love was held hostage and you'd endured deep emotional anguish in anticipating their return. After many years would you greet their presence with a long-lasting kiss or an overwhelming embrace? For me, the answer is simple. A hug shows that you missed all of them, that you longed for their soul, not just their lips or physical attributes.
I also couldn't choose kissing because when you hug, it is not solely with a romantic lover. Recently, I felt sad... not the kind of sadness you feel when you and a friend disagree but the kind of sadness that crawls into your veins and bleeds through every cell of your body. It felt as though my sadness would be infinite. There were many things I needed to do but all that I wanted was to be safe in my mother's arms, hidden from the world. It wasn't because I wanted physical affection or to feel loved. I wanted her. I wanted to feel consumed by her radiant warmth for me and buried in the sound of her voice. It is in the moments of a hug that I feel the most connection. It feels purer than any other touch and more purposeful than words that endeavour to show their support.
Shopaholics, pink is not just a colour. Pink is a way of life. It isn't just a Bible verse, it's the Whole. Entire. Book. My obsession with the colour has matured like fine wine over the years and even more so in recent months. Every shade is significant to me on every surface and every object. Everything pink has to offer is truly magnificent, Dolls. I love how everything she touches looks more feminine, more sweet and more princess-esque. I wholeheartedly believe that pink should be a verb. Pink isn't simply an object. Pink is an experience. Anytime I see pink, I confess to you, Shopaholics, that my palms sweat, my cheeks blush and my heart beats faster out of sheer delight. It's incredibly difficult for me to sway from pink and when faced with a choice, I am usually left in a complete conundrum. Spoiler alert... the conundrum is nearly always resolved by pink winning my heart over... yet again.
Pink is the prettiest when she takes on fashion, though. Pink fashion is yet to disappoint me. I am completely besotted with pink and I'm not exaggerating in the slightest. Dainty pink bows centred on v-neck vintage camis, pink laced at the hem of babydoll dresses or high-heels decorated with pink jewels... whatever it is, it seems to always work.
I have a confession to make, Shopaholics... I was raised as an only child. My childhood was peaceful and I received complete attention from my parents. However, I also had the company of my best friend in the whole world: Indiana Jones. Although I certainly wouldn't have minded Harrison Ford's company, my mother named our Border Collie after the film. I would tell everybody at school that Indi (our nickname for him) was my brother. And we were siblings... everybody knew that. We were inseparable. I would suck my thumb, lie curled up next to his tummy and fall asleep watching a movie on most nights. The love he showed me was unconditional and neverending. And the love I had for him was reciprocated at the least. To this day, I have a piece of his fur that we cut from him when he first fell ill. It was in the shape of a love heart. Indi was my first experience of animal love and he was the first word I added to my love language vocabulary list. When he passed away I was only seven and I felt crushed. I had lost the only sibling I'd ever known. I didn't think I could ever love again after Indi. I just cried and cried and cried every night for a year. My mother wanted me to stop grieving and thought that if we bought a small animal I wouldn't get too attached. Let me tell you, Shopaholics, she had never been so wrong. The bunny that we bought became a close member of the family almost immediately. My mother couldn't believe how much love she had for Lollie. Spoiler alert, Dolls! I named him at age seven so although it's adorable, it's definitely a funny name. I spent the first two years encouraging him to love me. He used to hide from me and I'd have to crawl under the bed and pull him out. Unlike Indi, I really earnt Lollie's trust. And once he trusted me, everything fell into place and our adoring bond continued to strengthen with time. We had many kisses, he licked many tears from my cheeks and he ate lots of my yummy food. His favourites were potato chips, banana ice cream and peanut butter. I will never forget the moment that I found him lifeless and in an eternal slumber. He was Lollie but Lollie's soul wasn't there... It was simply his body. At that moment I knew what true heartbreak felt like. You see, Dolls, animal love is entirely different to human love. Considering there isn't verbal language to use as means of communication, the human and animal must understand each other's souls to fall in love with each other. The affection they kindle is endured through physical affection, patience and loyalty. Their only purpose in life is to love you. What could feel more sacred than a love like that?
Perhaps the most important part of language is not the words themselves but rather the sentences which we chose to form. It is an indescribable experience to be with a person who is entranced with every word you choose to say and when you are entranced in all that they say, also. But the most significant aspect of this experience is when you're so grateful for their time that with every word they speak, you open a lever in your heart that carefully accepts their words, delicately places them upon the lever and safely stores each syllable inside the repetitive beating. I recall many times like these with my two best friends, sitting on my balcony after school and lying awake in bed at each other's houses where hours felt like minutes and outside noise sounded silent. I fell in love with the tone of their laughter. I fell in love with the way their bodies sat so loosely, indicating their complete comfortability in my presence. I fell in love with the way we held each other's hands as we shared something that no other ears apart from ours had ever heard. I was in love with everything about our conversations because I'd never felt so secure in my place in the world. They accepted me for everything I was and I accepted them for everything they were.
I also recall many moments with my ex-boyfriend. I couldn't tell you what we were doing or where we were, all I know is that during our conversations he was my world and I was his. He would patiently sit with me as I confessed to him my most personal secrets. He never touched me in those moments. He respected my confessions and I loved that I felt willing to confess. Our talks were always securely sealed with a parting kiss and the feelings which lingered afterwards were simply perfect.
I have a confession to make, Shopaholics. I haven't always been in love with conversation. There was a time when I was petrified by the thought. I feared saying the wrong thing, I dreaded my words being manipulated and I hated anticipating anger. Everything about conversation made my tears swell in the crevices of my eyes, my head would throb against the pillow as I replayed the most painful conversations in my mind and I would freeze if anybody raised their voice as he could. Because of the way that he could. I confess this to you, sweet Dolls because despite the fear, I overcame my trepidations and reclaimed my past in anticipation of an extraordinary future. Spoiler alert! The future has lavished in the most considerate, the most magical and the most admirable conversations.
This week's Confessions Of A Shopaholic Blog Post is dedicated to my Mother & Father...
Their upcoming third wedding anniversary invites me to recall the love story they've composed together. With every disagreement, they chose to understand each other more. With every teardrop, laughter followed. With every broken heart, there was a will to mend. Every moment that they spent adoring each other, every destination they experienced for the first time together and every time they expressed their love, a new word was added to their vocabulary. In the end, although they are two individual people, their hearts are so in tune that the music which plays is from one united heart. I am inspired and in awe of the resilience, graciousness, mercifulness, devotedness and tenderness of such a love. Their love story grows as their love language develops and they will take turns holding the weight of the pen which writes their history until they hold hands for the very last time.
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