Who is the fictional character you relate to the most?
The two Dashwood sisters in the 1995 film Sense and Sensibility made a lasting impression on me, and I have always related to a combination of both—to their sense and their sensibility.
Elinor (Sense) was close to my age during those years, and her mind felt like my own: logically grounded, emotionally restrained, socially polite, deeply responsible, and quietly suffering. Yet Marianne (Sensibility) spoke just as loudly to my heart. Her intense passion, romantic idealism, and blunt honesty reflect the other half of my personality. It is not uncommon to identify with Elinor or with Marianne individually, but the two combined can seem impossibly whole—for no one is truly complete or perfect. Nevertheless, in my younger years, they were a mirror of who I was.
As the years have passed, I have become less concerned with my own image and more focused on the wellbeing of others—much like Maria von Trapp in “The Sound of Music”, which was based on a true story.
The film portrays Maria as a free-spirited postulant, a strong-willed and independent young woman who loves music and nature, and who is kind, caring, and enthusiastic. Above all, she is deeply devoted to children. Maria cared for Captain Georg von Trapp’s seven children more than she cared for her own becoming. The film left a deep impression on me: when you love, you will be loved; no love is greater than sacrificial love (John 3:16); and no fear is greater than the fear of losing eternal love.
Today, the character of Maria still lingers with me—a bridge from who I was to who I am becoming. She has convinced me that sense and sensibility can sit well together, as long as neither falls short of love. Beneath Maria’s playful exterior burns a quiet fire—one that longs for love to sound like what it truly is: eternal.
And in that spirit, I offer this poem. May the lines below illuminate your reflections on the one you relate to, and on becoming the one many others wish to relate to in return.
—
“Love or Lust”
In man’s first breath, his nature leans to good—
so conscience speaks in still, untainted blood.
Yet evil too in that same clay is spun—
and sin makes dim the light that once had shone.
But love can cover every trespass deep;
for God is Love, and He His pledge will keep.
Love pours itself as rain on thirsty ground;
lust only grasps, and hoards what it has found.
Love suffers long, and waits the weary hour;
lust cannot stay—it craves, devours.
Love seeks no gain, but gives its very all;
lust builds its throne on another’s fall.
Love raises up what trembles and would break;
lust leaves in dust whatever it could take.
Love has no end, nor fading, nor decay;
lust drinks its fill, then turns and slips away.
What springs from God partakes of love divine;
what springs from flesh is lust’s own fleeting sign.
The seven tides of passion drown the soul—
but love makes whole what death would yet control.
Whether in birth we lean to dark or light—
not ours to judge the first unspoken rite.
But when the music fades and lights grow dim—
life or loss, reward or wrath—
that choice, my friend, is left to you and him.
—
en yan hua fang 