Summer was fading and all that remained were warm rays from the sun that no longer stung or scorched. It was morning. Amber light from the sunrise glossed over trees which danced over a breeze, making its leaves look like a million pieces of shining emerald. I walked down a road that separated these trees, leading to a view of a flagpole and a wide green soccer field that was tinted with the orange from the sunrise.
Next to me were two soldiers. One was carrying a wooden rectangular box which contained South Korea's national flag and the other was strutting down the road with graceful, but respectful steps. The three of us formed a straight line perpendicular to the road with the flag-carrier in the middle and the other two by the sides.
We were performing a ritual which was repeated everyday in the Korean army, the raising of the national flag. This must have been my thirtieth time performing this ritual of marching down to the flagpole, raising the flag, and coming back up to the base. Coming down the road, I was met with the beautiful scenery of nature which peacefully coexisted with the military buildings.
This was when I was divided between appreciating this gift of a view and worrying that I would eventually get sick of the view. To remind the reader, this was my thirtieth time performing this ritual and I would have to do the same thing at least a hundred more times. The same visual explosion which was occurring over my eyes was also a source of anxiety as I was not sure when I would start to lose my appreciation for this beautiful experience. No matter how attractive, I figured that if I saw this same sunrise happening over the same road over and over again, I would eventually run out of love for this precious scenery. In fact, I was worried that I might have already depleted half of my love tank at that point in time.
But how different was my perspective on love when it came to people and relationships? Looking at the face of a potential lover, I fear that I will not be able to love this person for as long as time exists. Sure, I may be able to gaze upon a beautiful face and admire its features, desire it, lust over it. But when I see it for the hundredth time, the thousandth time, will I still hold that same feeling of admiration? Will I be able to hold on to the feelings that I felt when I first fell in love with this person's aroma?
In essence, I am afraid of boredom. I am scared that no matter how adorable a potential lover is just like the view from the flag ritual, I would eventually become tired from the repeated exposure. By the time I've felt the touch of a lover for the hundredth time, it would be too late to confess my boredom without causing irretrievable destruction.
But I know that I am wrong. Every time that I perform the flag ritual, I still look down to the field and the unchanged scenery with deep gratitude and wonder. The fear of boredom remains but so does the gratitude. I can't help but sense the feeling of potential destruction yet the feeling of admiration stays no matter what. That is why although I might question whether I will be able to love this person forever while looking at her beautiful face, I must answer "yes" without the guarantee that I will be able to do so. For loving her in the present is all that I can do.
Even if it is my thousandth time waking up to a familiar face and the same repeated sounds of breathing, I will love every moment of it. Love is being able to say this confidently without the reassurance of its truth. As cliché as it might sound, love is a leap of faith.
That is why love is a painfully boring thing. I must keep repeating this same sentiment over and over again, killing the part of me that doubts my ability to continue loving. I must constantly commit and battle uncertainty with this repeated conviction. Within this endless, tiresome ritual, I find true love. Love hides under boredom and repetitions and habits and everyday mundaneness. I will not find love where I cannot stop and battle my fear of boredom.
So I must keep walking down that road, admiring the glorious view, telling myself that it will be the same next time.