Concepts I Misunderstood

 There are countless words that everyone understands differently. Take the word dog, for example. When someone mentions it, each person pictures a dog—real or imagined, doesn’t matter. Everyone’s image will be different, even though a dog is something tangible with specific traits. Now imagine words like faith, friendship, love, or beauty. These concepts are usually muddied with impurities for most people. It’s probably due to a mix of factors—contradictions, desires, fears, psychological wounds, and so on. We grow up in different environments, at different times, with different people, and that’s just part of the diversity that taints simple concepts and leads to misunderstandings between us.

I once had a conversation with an acquaintance about friendship. He thought I was a bit odd, probably why he assumed I had few friends and boasted that he had tons. When he said that, I asked what the word friend meant to him. He said it’s someone he fully trusts. I asked what trust meant to him. He struggled to explain, so I gave an example: “You’ve got a million dollars in your bank account. Would you give your friends access to it, make it a joint account?” To my surprise, he immediately said he wouldn’t, because he doesn’t trust anyone financially. I asked what he’d do if he did trust someone and they spent the money on their own needs. He said that person would become his enemy. I pointed out that our ideas of trust differ here. In his view, trust can be conditional, but I’m increasingly convinced that’s impossible. Trust doesn’t depend on the other person; my trust in anything depends only on me. So, if I trust someone with my money, I trust any decision they make with it—otherwise, it’d be foolish. I used to think trust was giving someone access to my money and hoping they wouldn’t spend it or use it in ways I didn’t imagine. But that’s no longer trust to me; it’s just expectations, and those rarely hold up. When expectations you’ve poured effort and personal life into shatter, it can hurt deeply. Not to mention the constant fear of losing what you’re so desperate to keep. So, I think any trust short of complete acceptance of any outcome for the thing I trust is meaningless.
When I was little, in the early school years, I had an unpleasant experience. It was winter. My walk to school was short, about ten minutes. Roughly a third of the way, on the left side of the road, there was a house with a yard where two big dogs lived. I think the owner usually kept them chained, but I can’t recall for sure. I grew up in a village, so the houses around were private, small, with yards—not apartment buildings. This house was the second on the left. The first was empty, and the third was a bit farther due to each having a fenced yard. There were no houses on the right side of the road, just a fenced plot with a garden and trees. As I passed the second house on my left, the dogs started barking. One climbed onto something in the yard to peek over the fence and see who was on the street. It’s hard to recall what happened next; I only see fragments. I remember the dogs jumping over the fence, barking at me, baring their teeth. One was a shepherd, the other I don’t recall, but it was just as big. I was still small, only slightly taller than them. I remember backing away, but they lunged, cutting off all escape routes, herding me like true predators toward the fence across the street. I was terrified, screaming. No one was around; the dogs’ owners and neighbors didn’t come out—probably no one was home. The dogs cornered me completely; there was nowhere left to retreat. They kept barking, growling, and baring their teeth. They pretended to snap at me to make me press against the fence as much as possible, and when I did, I realized real bites were next, and they’d tear me apart. I think that was the first time I thought I’d die. My life even started flashing before my eyes. At that moment, I wasn’t even focused on the dogs, and fear somehow felt unimportant. I just don’t remember what flashed before me. A shout snapped me back to reality. Someone was running toward me from the left, yelling at the dogs, coming to save me. The dogs got scared and backed off; I ran to him. Strangely, I barely remember anything else from that day—not even who saved me. After that, even though I was rescued, my trust in the world plummeted. To this day, I fear any creature that could injure, maim, or kill me. I think most people have trust issues in some areas, to varying degrees. That’s why people perceive this word differently, just like other irreducible words tied to feelings.

I’m starting to realize words don’t matter, and there’s no point in loading them with personal meanings. Words are just a way to describe; they don’t exist apart from people. To understand someone’s feelings, you can’t rely solely on their situation’s description—you need to grasp the essence. For example, let’s take three different scenarios. In the first, a man built a family. He worked hard to meet their needs, nurtured relationships with his wife and kids. He was a good husband and father, caring for his wife’s comfort and his children’s future. You could say he poured his soul and life into creating and sustaining this family. His kids are in college, and his wife always greets him warmly after work. His plans are to grow old with his beloved and take pride in his children’s achievements. In the second scenario, a man devoted his life to gaining wealth and power. As a teenager, he never missed a chance to earn and save money for his dream of starting a business. He sacrificed free time, took extra shifts, and moonlighted, with no time for friends or family, all to chase his dream. Finally, he launched his company with a large staff. He invested all his savings, experience, and knowledge into it. His plan is to grow and develop it. In the third scenario, a man loved playing video games. For years, he played one online game, collecting unique gear, leveling up his character’s skills, amassing wealth, buying grand in-game mansions, and founding a guild that became one of the strongest and most popular in that world. He has no life outside the game—no friends, family, pet, or plant.

These three scenarios are set, and at first glance, these men have nothing in common. They’re completely different people who probably wouldn’t become friends if they met, as their paths seem so divergent. But there’s something that unites them. Each poured his life into something. Now, I’ll add a problem to bring them together. The first lost his family in a car accident and is alone. The second went bankrupt, losing all his savings and even his home. The third had his account hacked, his items stolen, and his character deleted beyond recovery. After this, all three faced a pit of despair that led them to a high bridge to end their lives. There, they met and shared their stories. At their core, their situations are the same, but due to different descriptions, they couldn’t understand each other. Society exalts family values and emphasizes material wealth, so the third was mocked and called an idiot. The first tried to cheer up the second, saying not all was lost. The second tried to sympathize with the first. None saw they were the same. It doesn’t matter what someone lost—if they invested tons of effort and years of their life, it’s a profound loss.
To understand someone, you don’t need to cling to words. Words are just an attempt to describe what can’t be conveyed directly. If people could transmit and perceive feelings directly, words wouldn’t be needed.
Next, I want to reflect on love. Love. Just one word, but so many meanings and feelings packed into it. Beyond the fact that love comes in different forms—familial, friendly, romantic, or toward an object, animal, plant, element, or things like books, music, painting, or any art—each of us pours our own meaning into the feelings we call love. But let’s not forget: those feelings are within us. We can accept or reject them, but their existence can’t be denied. I want to unpack this single word, love, to see if it’s truly so multifaceted. When I think about it, it feels like I’d need to touch nearly every part of my life, and even then, I might not confidently say what love is to me.

From childhood to now, almost everyone who said they loved me caused me pain. Pain always went hand in hand with love, and that was normal—not because it was right, but because people, not understanding what love really is, told themselves and others it was normal. We even have a saying: “If he hits you, he loves you.” It sounds like a bad joke, but people find meaning in it. I believed it once too. Though I never hit girls, I thought if a guy hit his girlfriend, either she deserved it or he was fiercely jealous, thus loved her. I didn’t realize love and jealousy aren’t connected. What’s often called love is usually just a search for qualities we lack in another person. Looking back, I see I never truly loved any of the girls I dated. I just saw qualities in them that I lacked and didn’t even realize it. Those qualities always nudged me toward some freedom. I fell for girls when I saw they were freer than me in some aspects of life. It’s always palpable; I always saw people freer than me, and I craved that. So, I liked girls with those qualities. But back then, I didn’t understand this and, instead of learning from them, tried to tie them to me. I believed in soulmates, but that’s only in fake fairy tales. It’s like everyone’s gone mad, thinking being a soulmate is great, and “I’ll die without you” means boundless love, not dangerous dependency. Fine if they believe it themselves, but why preach it to others? There are so many “love” stories, novels, songs, and movies with pure dependency instead of love that I grew up on them, thinking it was right and how it should be. I sincerely believed it, never questioning anything—I had no questions. Others—older, more experienced people, TV, songs, and other trusted sources—had already explained it all, so I made many mistakes. Only now do I see that living by someone else’s compass, not your own, is as hard as swimming across a deep, fast river with a hundred-kilo anchor tied to your leg. That kind of love I definitely don’t need. So, I decided to figure out what love means to me.
First, I wondered what united the girls I “loved.” I realized they were all simpler and freer than me. Some were smarter, some funnier, some more talented, but they weren’t just better at something—they knew what they wanted better than I did. I didn’t understand it then, but I felt it. I think I always fell in love for myself, just didn’t see all the reasons. Instead of learning from them and cultivating what I admired, I tried to bind them to me. So where does love fit in? It doesn’t, really… So what is love? I used to see love as something complex because I was convinced it could be different. But if love is different, why is there just one word? Maternal love is care, friendly love is trust. But where’s the love in that? Or rather, where’s pure love, without impurities? I think it’s everywhere. It’s where it all starts. For me, love and freedom are closely tied. Maybe because you can love anything, even what society condemns, and love can be unconditional, which is also unpopular. So, true love must be free from stereotypes and others’ opinions. Before, I had too much clutter and others’ thoughts in my head that I mistook for mine, so I couldn’t isolate pure love and just accept it. Now, I don’t need conditions to love someone—not even reciprocation. I just love, and that’s it. That feeling alone is enough for me.

I’ve only unpacked a few concepts, but there’s no point in continuing this way—these examples are enough to tackle the rest.