Journal Entry 6

Its always been said to me that I'm to young to be in love. Even the questions of how this person can benefit you.In my culture your suppose to get married or think about a relationship after you graduate from college with a degree. You can't even speak about a boyfriend when your in your teens because it said to lose your focus.If you have a boyfriend or fall in love you some magically have a baby. These things happen if you let it or worse if your parents don't allow to experience these things.Well if you don't try things out or just don't love anyone at all, how will you love and appreciate life. Things like this can make you unhappy and very lonely.Perfect examples are some of those rich celebrities. You would think that with all that money in the world they would be happy.Wrong! Internally and mentally their suffering, lonely, miserable, and very unhappy. Why, because money can't buy you true happiness and true love.I bet they would trade anything just to be in love truly.The article below shows the exact reason. The main character was giving up hope on love at such an old age should i say. She tryed but it seem as if She was not getting antwhere. Untill the last person she could meet a person ends up at the end being a happy soul mate for her.In my opinion, love is a journey that shows no end.

The following article shows some of my reasons:

"It Was Love at 48th Sight"
By Jenny Rough
Here's how it all started: My friend Sara wanted to set me up with a Southern boy — Louisiana by way of Crossett, Arkansas, currently living in Los Angeles — but I balked at the idea. I grew up in Cleveland and Chicago and wasn't interested in dating a guy whose hobbies likely included hunting and fishing. Maybe it's wrong to base dating decisions on geographical preferences, but when it comes to love, people have funny expectations. I have one girlfriend who's convinced (thanks to her psychic aunt) that her future husband lives in Colorado and drives a white truck. I know another who refuses to date any man who's shorter than her when she's wearing Jimmy Choos

Another reason I was leery of a setup was that my history of blind dates had been awful. There was the hippie guy who was obsessed with his ex-girlfriend (she was a stewardess who had an affair with a pilot), the underwear guy whose boxer shorts bugged him (in the middle of our date, he unzipped his fly and yanked everything into position), and finally the dinner with a wannabe actor, arranged by my grandmother (enough said). Despite all this, I agreed to let Sara arrange a group outing with Ron. My parents met on a blind date 37 years ago, and they're still going strong. It can work. But when I saw Ron, it wasn't love at first sight. He had a scratchy voice, so I presumed he smoked. He was twelve years my senior — much too old. Also, he called me Ginny. "Not Ginny as in Virginia," I corrected. "Jenny as in Jennifer." "That's what I said. Ginny." He smiled, and I realized he was saying Jenny, but with his accent it sounded so, well, Southern. We went to an outdoor concert with Sara and her date. Sara gave me eyebrows when Ron wasn't looking. "No sparks," I whispered. As the evening wrapped up, Ron and I gave each other an awkward hug and called it a night. I doubted I'd ever see him again. A couple weeks later, I was squeezing my way through a crowded yoga studio looking for a spot when I heard, "Ginny?" Ron was sitting on a blue yoga mat, his legs stretched in front of him, and he scooted over to make room. He was cuter than I remembered. After class we grabbed a bite to eat. That night I learned an important lesson: My snap judgments can be way off. It turns out Ron's never touched a cigarette, let alone smoked one. He's a long-distance biker and in better shape than most guys my age. And in addition to yoga, we had a number of other similar interests (so much for my theory that he spent his weekends in camouflage). When we left the restaurant, Ron opened the door for me, and I remember thinking: I could dig this Southern chivalry stuff.

Two weeks later I found myself sitting across from him at a seafood restaurant on the Santa Monica pier. Somewhere in between salmon, salads, and a meaningful discussion about insomnia, I was beginning to feel a little chemistry, when suddenly Ron ordered carrot cake for dessert, casually suggesting he didn't like my favorite sweet treat — chocolate. I felt the weight of disappointment sink inside me as the waiter brought over his orange cake. When Ron prodded me to try a bite, I wrinkled my nose and planned to gulp, but there was something about the cream-cheese frosting and array of spices that surprised me. Carrot cake is delicious. Walking back to the car, Ron swiped my leg. "I like your pants," he said. They were purple pleather. He admitted that he thought the flowered skirt and matching green top I wore on our blind date was too conservative for his taste. "Hey, I can be wild," I said, shaking a pant leg at him. He pulled me close and kissed me. Even then, I wasn't sure we were a good match. The kiss felt nice but didn't exactly seal the deal. But still, I reasoned, it couldn't hurt to explore a new relationship. Dinner turned into dating. As our relationship continued our friendship deepened, and as our friendship deepened our attraction grew. Even though we had opposite tastes in music, we enjoyed taking dance lessons together. And although he loved to talk politics while I'd preferred debating the literary merits of the latest New York Times bestseller, I appreciated the intelligence and wit he brought to our conversations. We respected each other's differences and were willing to try new things. It eventually became clear that it didn't matter if Ron was from the south, the north, or the planet Neptune. It made no difference that he was Catholic and I was Protestant or that he would likely go bald by age 55. It did matter that he was thoughtful enough to call his mom each Sunday and that he always remembered to rinse off his dirty dishes. I found it endearing that he refused to kill any animal (instead, he would scoop spiders from my ceiling and set them free in the hills behind my apartment), and I was moved that when we were at a party he would seek out a lonely person and try to put them at ease. One day we were paddling a sea kayak across Kealakekua Bay. We'd been dating a little over four months and were taking our first vacation in Hawaii (we traveled together nicely, another huge plus), when suddenly it hit me: I'd fallen for him. It didn't happen in a Cloud Nine, exploding fireworks type of way, but it happened nonetheless. It was love at 48th sight.