In the Farmers Market there is a woman from where I get my greens. That big Market is like a maze to me, but I always remember her. She fills my bag with the greens I ask for, gives me two hot peppers as a bonus and while handing me the bag she says “I love you”. You would say that with that inflation of declarations of love in the world, I shouldn’t be impressed by an “I love you” from a stranger in the market. She probably didn’t develop a sudden crush on me because I buy the dill and parsley she has for sale every Sunday, and it’s just as likely that I’m not the only one to whom she says “I love you.” She is always grumpy and apostrophizes a potential customer who declares himself dissatisfied with the size of the dill bundle unrelated, in his opinion, to the price. No matter how nice I am to her I can’t get her to look up from her parsley or to smile. But when she hands me the bag of greens she invariably says “I love you”. And her voice changes. It has a different inflection than the voice she has when answering my questions. It comes from another area of her being. And I believe her. I believe that she loves me, that she loves every man or woman around her, even the apostrophized client.
When I was once in the Mangalia Marina, gaping at seagulls and swans, a young man approached me, said: “good evening, you are very beautiful!”. I smiled at him, said “thank you” and he left. He made my day with just 6 words. It was like a declaration of unconditional love for a human he didn’t know, just like the woman’s in the market.
Why is it that we identify so easily with the pain and fear within us, but cannot identify with the love? Why can we get angry at strangers on the street, but we can’t feel love for them? Why can’t we love unconditionally people who are not our partners, parents, children, friends, with whom we have nothing in common except the species we belong to? It’s odd to hear “I love you” from a stranger, you think it’s some pervert, some crazy person, right? Or that he has some interest and brushes you off.
You can feel a fake “I love you”. You can also feel an unspoken “I love you”. You can feel the absence or presence of love. We don’t understand love. We believe that we should benefit from the one we love. That he should be in some way so we can love him. That we can stop loving him. That we can turn love into hate. That we can tie the loved one with our love. That love hurts.
People who can love people they don’t know, who understand the true essence of love, like the woman from the market and the young man at the Marina, exist. They are the hope of mankind. Maybe you’ve met them too, maybe you’ve given them a chance to express their love, maybe you haven’t hit them in the head with your bag, or maybe you haven’t snorted in disbelief. Maybe you can love the same.
