summer

At six in the morning, the temperature outside reaches already 28 Celsius. Is rainy season over? Hope not. I prefer rainy weather to that purgatorial heat in summer.
Come to think, I used to love summer. Without any conscious reasons the word "summer" stirred up something in me. When very young, summer vacation was the longest and I felt like it released hidden suppressed desires from the suffocating life in school. It was a sense of freedom to do whatever I liked.
In adolescence, I began to be aware that something was plussed to the mere relief from daily regimental life. It had a sexual hint in it. “Summer” began to mean beaches, swimming pools, or more directly, “near-nakedness”. Mostly broken romances with happy moments in between. How much I loved summer.
Now I know I didn’t like summer itself, not in the least. I just liked events relating to summer, the pleasure it gave me. I was just confused.
Then, here is a question. Is there any difference from it when we love someone? Are you sure you love her for herself? or do you love what she did/does for you? This is a deeper question when thrown in our mind than it first appears. We are upset at the mere fact of being asked, feeling our love is being tested and doubted, and desperately deny what is questioned.
We feel we have to take care of our parents. Is it out of love? or sense of obligation in return for what they did for you? Or to reduce some pain when they go? Or to get away from the sense of guilt? More likely all combined. And we blindly call it love. But often it’s not so much love as pain. We see our parents aging. That causes a great pain in us. We want to get out of the painful situation of ours rather than theirs. If this is the motive of caring about them, can we call it love? Pain is not love. Nor is fear. Perhaps the opposite. They just show how self-centered we are. The bigger the pain or fear, the more self-centered are we. If we can't face straight the pain and fear of ours without trying to get away from them how can we love people?