So it is indeed after a weekend of bombarding myself with romance novel after romance novel that has left a bad taste in my mouth. Is it too cynical of me to be disgusted by the way characters in the books seem to meet with lovers with nothing more than trifle obstacles to stop them? Mind you, I'm not trying to come off as a lonely old maid who has lost her faith in love. Far be it from that, as I've never experienced true love. Yet so far, my observations of other people in their relationships seem to bring more pain then pleasure most of the time. Is it that humans are naturally inclined to be masochists in the face of love?
What is it about love that makes us so crazy from the moment we've reached puberty? It seems as if life is nothing but one huge mating ritual, getting jobs, making money, working on your appearance to attract the opposite sex (or the same sex in some cases). Doesn't it feel a bit wasteful? Nonetheless, I know I am being a bit hypocritical as I would like nothing more to join the craze.
Those characters in the novels, I wish them the best of luck, but I can't help but think of what befalls them in the future. A month from now, a year from now in the fictional world, would their relationships fall apart as fast as the ones in our harsh reality? If only life could pause at the happiest moment in one's life, there wouldn't be any need for war or hatred would there?
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