Before We Begin
This is the opening of a long series of reflections on love.
Each week (on Sunday), I’ll explore one facet of love (relationships) — not to define it, but to observe it. Alongside each reflection, there will be a poem every Friday: an echo, sometimes mine, sometimes a collaborator’s.
This is not a place for answers or rules.
It’s a space to pause, to reflect, and to meet your own way of loving — through mirrors, not instructions.
Welcome to The Reflections on LOVE.
Introduction — Reflections on Love
To love.
It’s a word we hear often. A word that has existed since the dawn of time. It describes so many forms of connection: the love of parents, of siblings, of friends… and of course, romantic relationships.
How beautiful love seems.
As children, we watch people love each other, kiss, swim in happiness. And often, that awakens in us a desire to grow up quickly — to experience that joy ourselves.
If only we knew…
Then comes the age when adults decide we are old enough to be initiated into this mysterious world. They tell us we must love, that we must find someone kind, someone who makes our heart beat faster, someone who loves us and makes us happy. But at the same time, they warn us: don’t let yourself be carried away by pleasure — especially sexual desire — because it can have serious consequences. And they’re not wrong.
Parents want us to experience love while trying to protect us. They know that at a certain age, they can no longer truly prevent us from loving. Trying to control us then would only make things worse. So they allow us a measure of freedom, while still watching over us as best they can — because they know this journey is far from easy.
But that’s for the fortunate ones.
Others don’t have the privilege of parents who are present to guide them through this crucial stage of life. Some parents, out of fear or excessive caution, forbid their children from any romantic relationship. Their intention is good — to protect. But adolescents hear only what they want to hear. At that age, they believe they know everything about life. And trying to stop them from loving often does the opposite: it fuels the desire, like pouring oil on a fire.
And then there are those who have no one at all. No one to advise them, no one to guide them, not even someone to slow them down. For them, love is learned the old-fashioned way: they’re thrown into the water and told to move their arms and legs if they don’t want to drown. So they dive in, hoping to survive the waves.
There are truths about love that no one ever tells us. Perhaps because we wouldn’t listen anyway. Perhaps because they’re difficult to put into words. And yet, I believe there are essential things we should know before we love.
I’ve asked myself that question many times. I’ve reflected on it deeply. I’ve revisited the few romantic relationships I’ve lived, and I’ve quietly observed those of others around me. For a long time, I saw myself as a mere spectator — someone who watches without truly daring to live. And it was during those long hours of distance and reflection that I began to see love differently.
I believe love is unique to each person.
When I was a child, I often heard — at home, at school:
“Never argue about other people’s tastes, religion, or political opinions.”
No matter how strange someone’s preferences may seem, we have no right to judge them. I believe the same applies to love. Every way of loving, and every way of being loved, deserves respect.
Love can be simple.
I’m not saying love is free of suffering — anything worthwhile demands sacrifice. And the suffering that comes with love takes many forms. But I believe it can also be pleasant, gentle, light — like we sometimes see in films — even if reality is often more nuanced.
In order to share my vision — and above all, to invite everyone to discover their own — I wrote a novel. It isn’t a conventional novel. The story is presented as the intimate journal of Bastien — a man recounting his past romantic relationships, what he once believed love to be, the pain he endured, and the pain he inflicted out of fear and ignorance. There is also karma — inevitable — that eventually catches up with him.
Where Love Is Lost and Reborn is not a happy-ending story, at least not in the usual sense. Unlike classic romantic narratives, I didn’t choose to end with reconciliation or a finally stable relationship. No. I chose to end with reflection — with an essay-like meditation. It’s a risky choice, I know. Some readers may not appreciate that ending. But Bastien wasn’t created to entertain. He exists to serve as a reference point — a mirror, perhaps even a trigger.
What I hope to offer through this story is an invitation to reflect, to question one’s own way of loving.
Because too often, we let ourselves be carried by other people’s visions. Some love simply because they believe it’s the right time, or because everyone around them is in a relationship. Others commit without knowing what they truly want — sometimes just to please those around them. The reasons are many. But at the core, I believe we must love for ourselves.
Love, to me, is like a liquid.
In elementary school, we were taught that liquids have no fixed shape — they take the shape of the container that holds them. Love is exactly like that. It has no rigid structure, no universal rules. It can be whatever we want it to be. But just as the properties of a liquid remain unchanged despite its shape, the principles of love remain constant: respect, attention, and the sincere wish to make the other person happy.
We can all recognize love when it appears — when we see it or hear it. When a friend talks about someone they’ve just met, it often takes only a few words to understand how they feel. There’s something in the voice, in the chosen words, in the eyes. Even if it seems strange, even if it defies logic, we can often say:
Yes, this one is in love.
Love has no fixed form, but it has an essence.
It isn’t always easy to define — nor easy to recognize. But it can be felt.
What do you truly want in a relationship?
How do you want to live your love?
I know these are difficult questions, especially at the beginning. I can’t expect a teenager to have all the answers at their first steps. Even adults, very often, still don’t know what they truly want. Experience takes care of teaching us.
It reminds me of a line by the Franco-Congolese rapper Youssoupha:
“My father told me that sometimes, it’s by getting lost that we finally find ourselves.”
It’s true. But getting lost in love is often painful. And many give up before they ever find themselves again. We can’t blame them.
As Will Smith says in the film Hitch:
“Falling in love is the journey of a true fighter.”
This series is not a theory of love. Nor is it a guide on how to love better or be loved. It is a mirror. Each observation is born from experience, from observation, sometimes from error — and later, from understanding. Through these posts, I’m not trying to say what love should be, but to understand what it is — in its beauty, its complexity, and its contradictions. Some observations will be gentle; others unsettling. Because love is not just a feeling — it is a responsibility, an energy, a force that must be recognized and learned to be channeled.
My only wish in sharing these thoughts is that each reader might find an echo, a truth, or simply a space to rethink their own way of loving.
What You Will Find in This Series
In this series of reflections, you will find no universal rules, no miracle recipes, no fixed definitions of love. You will not find an idealized or romanticized vision of relationships — nor a moral imposed upon you.
You will find reflections drawn from observation, from experience, sometimes from mistakes, often from distance and hindsight. Observations built from real situations — lived or witnessed — not from abstract theories.
You will find questions about emotional responsibility, boundaries, freedom, sacrifice, fear of loss, and the balance between giving and preserving oneself. Reflections on what it means to love without betraying yourself, to love without possessing, to love without erasing yourself.
You will find observations on communication, conflict, habits, silent expectations, unspoken reproaches, simple gestures, principles, reciprocity, and the illusions that often surround the very idea of love.
You will also find uncomfortable zones. Ideas that may disturb. Reflections that don’t seek to reassure, but to illuminate. Because understanding love sometimes requires questioning what we once thought was obvious.
But above all, you will find a mirror.
A space to reflect on your own way of loving.
On what you accept.
On what you refuse.
On what you give.
And on what you expect — consciously or not.
This series does not aim to tell you how to love.
It exists to help you see how you love.
A last breathe
Love cannot be reduced to definitions.
It only reveals itself through how we live it.
So before moving on, take a moment and ask yourself:
🪞 How do I actually love — not how I believe love should look, but how I live it when no one is watching?
Next week, we’ll begin the first reflection of this series with a difficult but essential truth:
To love is to accept suffering.
Not as punishment.
Not as sacrifice for its own sake.
But as an inevitable part of opening the heart.
Until then, stay gentle with what you discover.
🪞 No absolute truths. Only mirrors.
Welcome to Reflections on Love.
Warmly,
Odel A.
“no rules. no formulas. only mirrors.”
okay that’s unfairly good. you just set the mirror down and walked away like your move. gentle, brave, and a little dangerous~ the kind of reading that keeps staring back at you after you close the tab.