I have recently been forcefully introduced to the all-encompassing sensation of melancholy. It’s a pensive sort of sadness, triggered by a feeling abandonment, which may or may not be rooted in my on-brand need for love and attention. So that’s what I want to talk about this month- not melancholy, which is merely a side effect- but instead love and all that comes with it.

I definitely wouldn’t have considered myself qualified to speak on the subject until recently, which sucks. I wish I was stuck trying to find something to say which aligned with what I’ll be asking my editors and writers to focus on for this month; that I had to sit here and guess what love means and where it comes from; that I was lying and speaking in lofty, curious tones which touched on everything and landed squarely on nothing. I think that would be a lot less painful, maybe even fun, but it’s not. I mean, that’s not where I am, and so you get the long, disastrous spiel of what I think of love. That, and why I want the Mag to focus on it during the most cliché time of the year.

I don’t just mean romantic love, I want all of it. Platonic, egocentric, empathetic, familial-  if it can bring your heart into the back of your throat for whatever reason- I mean that sort of love. It’s crazy, the way it makes you both want to fling yourself out of your dorm room window and simultaneously smile so hard your teeth shatter. It can’t be either or, they exist in tandem with one another, both energies feeding off of the other, creating an impermeable bond between happiness and complete devastation- the border of which you must learn to balance upon without plummeting to your death.

I feel like so much of my life thus far has been saturated in the prospect of finding the sort of love that blinds and inspires. And sure, we’re expected to deal with some of the bad parts, but that’s only supposed to last for a 2 1/2 minute montage of sad faces and slow, tear-jerking music. Think High School Musical 2: Troy and Gabriella are going their own ways. It’s pretty sad, but it only lasts long enough for the eleven-year-old version of myself to shed a singular, Disney-induced tear, before it gets good again. So yeah, that’s what heartbreak looked like to me.

And love? Love looked like driving around in a pickup truck (thanks, Taylor Swift), with some blonde guy who could be seventeen but is probably twenty-five. He looks eerily familiar but only because he also starred in the Hannah Montana movie and also was on that one episode of Wizards of Waverly Place. For so long, I knew what love was, I knew what it looked like and what the soundtrack was. And suddenly, I was wrong and now I’m wondering how I could’ve been so totally off track. That’s where the Mag comes in.

We’re gonna spend the next month looking at what this thing really is; what it does to you, where it comes from, where it goes and why it really hurts sometimes. But also why it’s so great, spectacular, life-changing- whatever it is that makes it so worth wanting and waiting for. Answeres my vary, but I’m dead set on figuring it out.

Hope you la-la-love it!

– Jamaica Ponder

Editor in Chief of Multi Magazine


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