What is love?

By sillicondale

March 2, 2015

Category: Uncategorized

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Answer by Surabhi Grover:

I am 21. I have a little brother who is 7 years of age. Our father passed away when he was 1. We have a huge age gap between us. I have been living away from home since he was 3 and ever since I stepped out of the home, I've had this constant fear that since I'm not there with him, he'll grow out of love for me and that I wouldn't get to live all his stories with him.

Now, this happened a few days back. He called me up late at night. He sounded really scared; he was sobbing. I asked him what was wrong. He told me that a lady had invaded his computer. "She keeps calling. I tried to close the window but she just doesn't go. She says she'll come to our home." andhe started crying. Then he passed the phone to my mother. She told me that he's been very worried about it for the last 3 days. He hadn't even been able to sleep or concentrate in his school work. I never really saw how the lady looked like and I know it wouldn't have been any close, but in his description, it was something like this:

Being a computer immature herself, my mother didn't know much about computer viruses and so wasn't very assuring in her condolences to him that nothing was wrong. Therefore, to save the family from the stranger internet lady, my little brother had heroically shut down the computer and boxed it up in a carton.
Before he called me to tell this, I was having one of the other normal days of my life. But while I was listening to the both of them, I felt something different. A feeling like you want a kangroo pocket to keep him in, always close to yourself. I felt that I can go on listening to his silly stories for even another lifetime after this.

Every time I go home, we go for a drive and God would know that there isn't one person on this planet whom I'd like more on the front seat while I drive than I want him there! I've caught myself making a hundred excuses to not meet the rest of the world when I'm home just so I'd have more time with him. We cook together. We go to the library. We play Ludo.

He has tiny arms. When he is sleeping besides me, sometimes, he holds me from the neck to get a good grip and sleeps, leaving me in the most uncomfortable position, but as I'm struggling to breathe air into my lungs, I'm infinitely more thankful than I am uncomfortable. I can't imagine a life without him and his little stories. His little voice on the other side of the phone makes me go gaga like no one else's does.

This must be love. If you tell me that it's not, I literally don't have anyone else in the line for quite a distance. And if you tell me that it's not love, you're paying for the therapy that I'll obviously require.

What is love?