I haven't had time to cook this week, and as a result I've been thawing "backstock" from the freezer and just eating that. This is stuff I've made previously, in quantities big enough that I can freeze a container or two to eat later, for times such as now, when I'm too busy or too tired to make anything.
So on the menu for these few days has been buckwheat sauteed with spinach and onions. I can't remember when I made it; must have been at least a month ago. By now it's by force of habit that I set aside food to be frozen - if only for variety's sake, to intersperse with more recently made food - but the foresight of it struck me. It's like a past version of me taking care of the current version of me. Love, carried over through time.
I'm not saying it's a better kind of love, but it's a special kind of love that involves foresight - seeds of affection sown with care, to blossom only later in life. Parental love is very much like this. My father, despite all of his faults, foresaw that I would one day appreciate the long-suffered and hard-won habits such as posture correctiveness, Mandarin ability, piano skills. Everything the slouchily undisciplined (and unrewarded) child hated at the time.
Which is not to say that I agreed with his methods, but.
It is hard to find people other than parents who will love you like that. It's not even in the stuff of romantic love stories (except maybe this). Because stories tend to be woven over shorter time scales so continuity is easier to see. And besides, don't we all love instant gratification nowadays.
So it is selfless, loving someone on this longer trajectory, where you may no longer be around to reap the so-called rewards. Maybe it requires some moralism. I've tried to do it, in bits and pieces. Pushing someone to pursue their childhood dream. To quit smoking. To further their education. I don't know if they're better off for it now. But maybe it was selfish too. So I could imagine them happy. Happier at least.