The Head Or The Heart?

I've always wondered what makes people love. Of course, having no real experience in the matter whatsoever, I'm still no closer to making any solid conclusions. But it seems that it's comprised of a dynamic diad between what's held on your shoulders and what's armoured by your ribcage. Well, for medical accuracy, it really just happens in your head. But nonetheless, contrary to associations usually linked to cerebral function, love makes people irrational. So it's no surprise that people needed to find a symbol for love that's distinct from the brain. After all, that grey slush with all those gyri and sulci is definitely not as attractive or marketable as a cutesy heart when it comes to designing cards for St. Valentine's day. But I digress. The bottom line is, thoughts and feelings both happen in the brain.

Cognition and emotion are the two fundamental element that makes us who we are. But how much does the action of one impinge on the action of the other? Love is definitely a case in which the struggle between head and the proverbial heart seems to be irreconcilable. Many poets personify this struggle in fables where the emotional impulses are so strong that it overrides all practical considerations. Romeo and Juliet, one of the most celebrated love stories, has always seemed to me a documentation of two young fools where, in the end, the heart wins. Beautifully poetic or not, I wonder what would happen if our two star-crossed lovers had given greater weight to their cerebral impulses. That leads me to the question: how much conscious control can we exert over our emotional impulses?

I have met the perfect man. He is a young Italian man with a light shadow of stubble framing his da Vinci-esque chiselled jaw. His frame is solidly athletic and anything draped over his body gives the impression that it was designed specifically to complement his physique. And his eyes shine the shade of sparklingly clear boyish mischief when he looks into the light. So, not surprisingly, when I first laid eyes on such a beautiful creature, I felt my ribs' structural properties challenged by an overly active heart. And that damned circulatory pump got the better of me.

After one year of crafting situations and opportunities to bask in his presence, dismissing other prospects as unworthy compared to this embodiment of masculinity, I ultimately learnt that it was not possible for me to induce the same engulfing emotional impulse in him that possessed me when I'm in his presence. Why? Because he isn't gay. When faced with such a devastating discovery, what's a poor smitten boy to do? At that stage, I still did not give priority to what my cerebral cortex told me was the best course of action: to forget him and move on. I stupidly languished in thoughts of him and continued to grasp voraciously at any chance to catch a glimpse of him for a further half-year.

But a friend frustrated and fed-up with hearing about my futile encounters with my perfect man simply told me (and very wisely so), "There comes a point when things lead to dead-ends and you simply have to make the decision to let go, then let go." I knew my friend was right. My infatuation with my man was completely insane, unproductive and detrimental to my person in more aspects than one. So one day, I simply got up, decided that I will no longer give in to my vain impulses and forget about him. And from that day, I slowly learned to let go. Since then I have not gone to see my man and have not thought of him nor felt any of those once-frequent warm feelings towards him.

That was one year ago. Since then, no other man may have been able to arouse that same intense joy in me but I have moved forward in my search for love. I am extremely proud of the little steps I have taken towards finding my happiness. And I have been able to do so because I refused to give-in to the irrational and instead listened to reason. But the other day, I happened by chance to glance upon my perfect man again. I felt that familiar stirring deep in my chest, and also in a region slightly lower, once again, although much attenuated in intensity compared to the previous occasions. Despite this, I have made allowances for these involuntary impulses. I am choosing to acknowledge them but since no amount of effort on my part would bring any real connection between my man and I, I am consciously choosing to dismiss these impulses and move on. So, while the eternal struggle continues, I know that the more worthy (albeit less poetic) contender will win in the end.