The Compassion of Women

Women, whether they hold on or let go, it all boils down to compassion.

"Oh! "I'm so annoyed!" Sam yelled, dropping her phone and looking to me for comfort.

"Why?" I paused my clattering keyboard to listen to what Sam had to say.

"We broke up, but he insists that he still loves me." Texts and phone calls all day. Beseeching forgiveness and wishing to restart from the beginning. What type of man is he to be that tenacious?"

"Bothersome, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Annoying! Especially now that I've moved on."

I scowled. "He's like that, don't you feel sorry for him?"

"No! I no longer love him, let alone feel sorry for him."

"Oh!" I was taken aback. "Loving someone is one thing, feeling sorry is another."

She paused for a bit before responding, "Yeah! Perhaps I've exhausted my compassion."

The story came to a halt there. I resumed typing, then abruptly stopped. Lost in memories of things that have passed...

I've previously been in love. A lot. I was madly, passionately hoping to die and resurrect. I've suffered with my own romantic relationships. Not because I didn't have any other options, but because I, like many other women, have feelings for my boyfriend. It isn't love. Compassion is something more than love.

Because of this compassion, women frequently suffer a great deal of pain.

I used to have a boyfriend. Many girls' eyes will light up when they see him. He might have dozens of girlfriends without even trying. He adored me. Yes. He was the most in love with me. Maybe.

Love. Enough to, amid joyous occasions, rush back to touch my forehead when I texted him saying, "Hey! I'm sick." Meaning, besides love, he also had a tender feeling for me. He cared for me. It seemed so. But above all, I think, I cared for him.

I cared enough to never want myself to get sick again, so that the next time he could fully enjoy his own happiness. I cared enough that every time he played football and his arms and legs were covered in small scratches or bruises from collisions, I worried. Just afraid that he might be in pain.

I cared enough that just seeing him enjoy his meal during our dinner dates made me feel full, and I didn't need to eat anymore. He could finish a whole pizza, but just tearing off a small piece and handing it to me, showing a bit of concern and sharing a little, was enough for me to feel like I'd love him for a lifetime.

He loved me one, I loved him ten. I bet on it. Even though the affection came entirely from me and had no clear explanation.

Women are often deceived by those tiny details. But you know what, love is something hard to explain. And compassion, that's something that may never be fully understood.

However, love doesn't always come with compassion.

You can love someone. But sometimes, you love them just because you want to, because you like it. Like surprising them with a gift for no reason, or having a romantic dinner at a fancy restaurant, or going on a distant trip. You do all those romantic or sweet things not necessarily because you want the other person to be happy, but because you want them to appreciate what you do for them, and then they'll love you more, cherish you more. In some way, you do those things for yourself, to satisfy your ego. To then, later on, be loved more. At the core of the matter, it's because you care about yourself.

You can love someone. You don't mind doing the craziest, silliest things just to see the other person happy, satisfied. Just one of their smiles is enough to make you want to try. You feel that their happiness is what makes you happy. In this love, the motivation for you to sacrifice or endure is the compassion hidden deep within you. Because you're sure that just once they're upset or shed a tear, your heart will cry a river.

At the core of the matter, it's because you care about them.

"In love, whoever loves more suffers."

I don't think so.

I think in love, whoever cares more suffers.

My friend suddenly remembered something and turned to ask, "How many people have you loved and cared for?"

I smiled. I've loved a lot. Never stopped loving. But cared for very few. In fact, there were times when that compassion had nothing to do with love.

I've never easily given up on my relationships, even when I felt that the love had faded, and the emotions were too little. But I've walked away from the men in my life when I felt I couldn't sense compassion from them, or when I no longer placed my compassion in them.

One person giving like it's a given. One person receiving like it's a given. Such relationships, at some point, will no longer be happy. But whether to keep it or not is a completely different story for each person.

The weakness of women lies there. Few dare to break up, few dare to divorce, not necessarily because they fear that life will not be better afterwards, but because they still care for the other person, just wanting to hold on to them forever. Compassion - the emotional thing that cannot be explained as to where it comes from and why it's like that.

A university professor once said to me, "When you love someone, and you feel like, 'Oh my God! If I don't marry this guy, who will?' then that's the person you should marry."

In the end, women, whether holding on or letting go, it all comes down to compassion.