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Love
In a world obsessed with the possession of things, it is ironic to see that all people seek one thing that is completely intangible, love. Love cannot be held, bought, manipulated, traded, forgotten, or stolen. Love is pure, honest, true, fulfilling, and most valuable. Love is not limited either. There is love for family, friends, pride, work, and oneself. An unknown author once wrote, Trying to bring pleasure to someone, because of the pleasure you feel to see that persons pleasure, is perhaps the most beautiful demonstration of love.
Amazingly, something so powerful can be found in the simplest of things. In my life I have felt love in many aspects of my life. I love, in return my family, my friends, my country, my life, and myself. Not surprising, these are the things I hold dear to me in all the choices and plans I make. To lose them is to lose everything. My family is not like most American families. In fact, we are not even American, only Americanized. We come from a large family in Vienna, Austria, but we are the only part of it that has branched out to the United States. This makes love indirect than the hugs and kisses most people take for granted everyday. When I was younger I saw my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends a few months every year. With the demands of school, sports, and life in general my time with them has been limited to one month every two years.
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My grandparents visit periodically, and we speak on the phone often, it still is not the same. I miss lunch together as a family, huge Christmas parties, and bowling with my uncle. Thankfully, my immediate family is the closest, most affectionate family I have ever seen, and it compensates for those who can only love me from afar. Within my family I also receive love from the past generations. My Great-grandmother knitted blankets, sweaters, and baby clothes for my two sisters and me before we were born. Though I never met her, I received her love through these gifts from the day I was born. Like a cycle, my family also gives love to the past by visiting graves and attending funerals. Within my family love is not a word; it is a way of life and a wonderful one at that.
Like an extended family, my friends are a tireless ear, a wise voice, and helping hand if ever I need one. They are not casual acquaintances and are not limited by race, sex, religion, language, or distance. I love them not for what they are, but what they choose to make of themselves. They hold me to the highest moral standards and never say, You cannot. They love me unconditionally, that is why we are friends. They refuse to love me for any stupidity, lack of heart, cruelty, or laps in judgment. They know me better than to accept that as who I am, and remind me when the fog gets too thick, and I cannot see past myself. In return I love them for who they are, and the good I see inside of them. I would like to travel around the world, put my life on hold, and find them if they needed me. And the beauty of true friendship is that I believe they would do the same, without thinking twice, for me. We take advantage of the talks we have late into
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the night after everyone is asleep, laughing and talking. Unfortunately they are not as often as we wish. It is truly a small word and through mail, e-mail, fax, phone, car, and plane we talk each other over the hurdles that we are faced with growing up in the fast-paced, demanding, rush we call the teen years. We share problems, triumphs, jokes, and stories. We, as a generation, have experienced much more than our parents did as sixteen. The world is smaller and we have been bombarded with violence, sex, suffering, and truths that were taboo in the past at a very young age. Growing up with this media extravaganza has led to much confusion as to whom we are and where we are going. The love between my friends and I helps us cope with the changes that we see in ourselves as a group and we are a comfort to each other that we can find in no other generation. Though we may be separated by distance, we are very close. We suffer, we cry, we share pain making it bearable and happiness that making it worthwhile.
Love for my country is not as clear as that of my family or friends, I have the joy of loving the United States for the opportunities it has given my family and me. I love it for the democracy it holds as a first priority. The United States is full of people that were looking for home and found it here. In the United States I love the acceptance of all people, and the ability to question unfairness. I love the many traditions brought from around the world to this stew pot of peoples called America. America gives everyone a chance. I have seen few countries that are as open to new ideas and innovation regardless of who they are coming from. In a different way, through my roots, I love Austria. I love Austria for my
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family, which it holds. I love it for the importance of family and kindnesses that I find there, people are open and free; they love life. I love the simplicity and the ability to lean on family. The closeness within life long friends and the trust extended to those people are virtues that I find very easily there. For there reason I find love in Austria. Both, the USA and Austria, are a part of me and I love them for what they bring to my life.
I consider my self very lucky to have the opportunities life has given me. I have never staved, been truly cold, lonely, or poor. But, these are not the reasons why I love my life. My love for life is built on the things I have been a part of that have taught me and helped me. I love the two summers I spent as a teachers aid at a preschool. I love singing childish songs, and playing tag, duck-duck-goose, and preparing for mid-morning snack. I love the trials and tribulations of three-year-olds and the feeling of knowing all the answers to questions like, Does blue and red make purple? The simple happiness I have found reading stories at circle time, and teaching about triangles is part of my life. Watching a teacher bend down over and over to a child's need warmed my heart then as it does now. I love the early mornings, on hot August days when my soccer team can be seen running down the field in one single file line. Working as a unit, one no faster or slower than the rest. Our captains urge us to keep going and never let up, laughing and joking all the way we grow as a team. To stride over the wet grass pushes me to achieve our goal, be better. Once the run is over we all collapse with a sense of satisfaction. At that point we are one and I
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love that moment. In all the little activities I spend my days on and the things I learn I find something I love. For this I consider myself very lucky.
For me, there is so much more to love than I can put on paper. Love seems so much bigger than words. I have tried to explain the heat in my heart as I feel it. My family, friends, country, and life are all a love experience; yet, I know they do not explain what love is. Love seems so vast and through that I find what I can explain in writing incomplete. Perhaps, that is why love is often found in the hands of poets.
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