Love is a word we throw around the most. Everyone claims to love someone. The world tries to create a universal definition, yet it always fails because love is far too complex to be confined to a few words. It has different languages, degrees and expressions, so how can we stick to one definition? How can we give it a uniform meaning when it means different things to different people.
To African parents, love means something entirely different. To them, love is provision. It sounds like “Have you eaten?” or “I will buy it for you.” Love to them is not measured by verbal confessions but by ensuring their children have a place to sleep, shoes on their feet and clothes on their backs. For them, there’s no greater show of love than sending their kids to the best schools and guiding them toward professional courses so they can become valuable members of society, bringing honour to them.
The language of love for older couples is also different from that of GenZ or young millennials. Unlike younger people who often define love by grand gestures such as expensive baecations, date nights and dramatic confessions, older couples do otherwise. They understand it in simpler ways. For many husbands, it stops at providing for their wives. The wives usually go a step further. They cook, clean and ensure their husbands have peace. Sex wasn’t always for pleasure but for procreation. They didn’t need to feel fireworks. Respect and submission was enough. It was enough for them.
One of my favorite forms of love which I talk about often, is secondary school love. I think it’s the purest and simplest definition. It was not demanding. All it required was attention and consistency. Thinking about my secondary school romance still makes me smile. All my boyfriend had to do was sit beside me, give me snacks during break and walk me to the bus after school. Nothing else mattered as long as he picked me as his partner for any game that should be played in pairs. It was the long love letters that mattered and the plans about the future. It was the arguments about children’s names and the stolen glances on the assembly ground. It was feeling sad whenever they missed school and feeling your heart beat quickly whenever they were in trouble. It was pretending to be annoyed when classmates teased you, even though your heart was bursting with excitement. Secondary school love was innocent. It was pure. It was fun. It carried a childlike wonder that doesn’t happen twice in a lifetime. It happens once, and that one time sets a standard for the rest of your life.
Love doesn’t have to be intense or feel like fireworks. It doesn’t have to be at first sight. It can grow and blossom at its own pace. It can begin as years of friendship that eventually becomes a lifelong commitment. It can be easy like Sunday mornings. In one of my first emails to my partner, I described our love like this: easy like Sunday morning. It is the best love I have ever experienced. A love that doesn’t demand performance from me. A love that moves at my pace, one that is patient and steady. A net I can fall into on bad days and sleep peacefully. It feels like being in a dark room as a child, scared out of your mind and then your mum suddenly comes in.
When you finally feel love, don’t look around comparing it with others. Speak the unique language of your love. Nurture it with the person you share it with. It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else. Just you. And pray it never changes because if it does, you will swear that love is the worst thing on earth. Interestingly, you will heal and love again because love is the sweetest feeling.
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Grace. Growth. Greatness. ✨