I’m afraid that through this so-called ‘self-exploration,’ I’ve drawn up short on love. Mr. Cupid has already shot all his arrows and missed. Perhaps my early exposure to Cameron Crowe’s cult classic, ‘Say Anything…,’ has given me and all Lloyd Dobler aficionados a skewed version of the boy-who-stands-outside-your-window-under-the-pouring-rain-holding-a-boombox. Tragic, really.

But what is it about love that has gotten all of us either head over heels, bitter, or just plain old confused? Even Chilean poet Pablo Neruda blatantly confronts the futility of love by writing, ‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way.’ It’s the topic that has made the macho-est of men prance around their dorms like 14-year-old girls, huddling over their phone deciphering a simple text. Ladies, you know we’re not any better. Let’s not try to deny the fact that after seeing ‘The Notebook,’ we all were subconsciously wishing, hoping, praying that every guy on campus would grow to become Ryan Gosling or his alter ego in the movie, Noah.

I believe (and these are only my generalizations) that there are three types of ‘lovers.’ Not in the sense of puppy love or platonic love, but to put it simply, the love that I hope to imagine is passionate, heartbreaking, but most importantly, endearing. Here’s what I’ve concluded:

Observation #1: The Pro-actives. Look around, these ‘lovers’ are all around you. They are the ones whom, having understood the power and essence of what love could be, are either subconsciously or consciously searching for this unknown entity. They really are happy and content with what life has given them. Sure there are rough times, but when given lemons, they make some pretty sweet lemonade.

Observation #2: The Miss-understood. These ‘lovers’ have been duped, discouraged and even spat on by the nasty sucker. They were lucky enough to experience the ephemeral existence of love, but sadly those feelings did not last. They become unsure whether they want to go through the pain again, and inevitably are misunderstood by society as people who do not welcome love. Wrong. Despite the sad acoustic ballads and incoherent haikus, perhaps they desire it.

Observation #3: The Confused. They are not sure how they feel about love. ‘Lovers’ like these occasionally discuss this mysterious emotion while sipping lattes around the coffee table with Kerouac in tow. They are certainly open to the idea, but don’t know if they’ll ever find love.

Sometimes they brood and write vociferously in their journals but make no actual attempts for the search. This black hole may overwhelm them. But they are lovers, indefinitely.

Of course we all wish we could say we were one of the pro-actives, basking under the glow of this utopian fantasy. But who am I kidding? Love has gotten all of us totally perplexed and just somehow…dumbfounded. I’ve unknowingly grown numb – a concept that has almost become a petty word my suitemates and I throw around over dining hall takeout like a bunch of ‘Sex and the City’ wannabes.

Putting all chick flicks, rom-coms and clichés aside, this idea has potentially warped our judgments and has questioned our definition of how this vacuum has nonchalantly consumed us.

Nevertheless, maybe we all fall into one of these categories…or none at all. My very sensible friend Andrew contemplates the possibility we’ve become a hybrid of my three hypotheses. Open to love, tricked by love, befuddled by love. As Andrew said, and to which I rightfully agree, ‘Love is a fickle thing.’

Perhaps my morbid conclusion with this topic has put a rainstorm over our sunlit chi, but maybe the mystery isn’t all bad news bears. We never know when another arrow will strike.

Angela Hu is a sophomore public relations major. Her columns appear weekly and she can be reached at ajhu@syr.edu.

Published on September 9, 2009 at 12:00 pm