When you asked me if there was still something there, I wonder if you heard the hesitation in my voice before I said, "No." Did you hear the wistfulness overflowing? You laughed and joked around, asking me once more. I said it again, this time without hesitation. And yet . . . why do I smile when I see you calling? Did you ever once ask why I still take your midnight calls?
In a few weeks I get to see you again. I wonder what that will be like. Will it be the same as always? I see you, I smile, we laugh together. Everything is easy; it always is. I settle into a familiar contentness, only you. You're with someone else. Bad timing. It always was. I was too late and you were too early. I didn't notice, until the moment had passed by. I wonder if we would have stood a chance? Probably not, but there's always that "what if?" I wonder if you know the questions I ask myself now and then.
Why do we wish for the things we can never have? Why is it all so complicated and yet so simple? A million and one questions, yet the same answer to each one.
Because we were once and always have been . . . friends.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Friday, December 7, 2012
Not All That Glitters is Gold
There comes a time in some relationships where you finally give up trying. You don’t stop caring about the person, you just become indifferent to the things they do. There comes a point in time where you dread every phone call, wondering what you’ll fight about this time. You’re worn out, tired, exhausted. You can only try for so long before you want to give up right?
There’s not really any one person you can blame for this. If you tried, the blame would be on both sides, saying things that hurt the other, twisting the proverbial knife in the heart. Say it once, it’s a mistake. Say it twice, it becomes intentional. Yet, at the end of each fight, you make up. Somewhere along the way, the pain turns into smiles and laughter. But it’s not long before it all falls apart in just a matter of time.
That relationship finally faded away. Sometimes, I call but it usually never ends well. Not surprising, I guess. In the end, you’re left wondering why it happened in the first place. What did I learn? Why was it ever worth it? If I ever do put that story up, will it be clouded by the pain and sadness that came after? This is not a reverse Cinderella story. Although those never ended well, they didn’t have a darkness to them. Frustration, sure. Annoying? Definitely. But dark? Never.
In the end, it left a bitter aftertaste in my heart. It makes it harder to trust, to trust that someone won’t break your heart. You see the world just a little bit differently, a little colder. The one saving grace is the friends that stood by me through it all. The friendships that last, the ones that made me laugh again. The friends that pushed me to go out with them and pulled me out of the darkness. Cheers to the friendships that lift us up in dark times, that remind us to smile again, and the ones that teach you how to dance.
So I end this random gloomy piece with a little quote that I so love:
“This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life.”
There’s not really any one person you can blame for this. If you tried, the blame would be on both sides, saying things that hurt the other, twisting the proverbial knife in the heart. Say it once, it’s a mistake. Say it twice, it becomes intentional. Yet, at the end of each fight, you make up. Somewhere along the way, the pain turns into smiles and laughter. But it’s not long before it all falls apart in just a matter of time.
That relationship finally faded away. Sometimes, I call but it usually never ends well. Not surprising, I guess. In the end, you’re left wondering why it happened in the first place. What did I learn? Why was it ever worth it? If I ever do put that story up, will it be clouded by the pain and sadness that came after? This is not a reverse Cinderella story. Although those never ended well, they didn’t have a darkness to them. Frustration, sure. Annoying? Definitely. But dark? Never.
In the end, it left a bitter aftertaste in my heart. It makes it harder to trust, to trust that someone won’t break your heart. You see the world just a little bit differently, a little colder. The one saving grace is the friends that stood by me through it all. The friendships that last, the ones that made me laugh again. The friends that pushed me to go out with them and pulled me out of the darkness. Cheers to the friendships that lift us up in dark times, that remind us to smile again, and the ones that teach you how to dance.
So I end this random gloomy piece with a little quote that I so love:
“This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life.”
Monday, December 3, 2012
We met, we talked, it was epic . . .
“We met, we talked, it was epic. But the sun came up and reality set it.”
The last night of freshman year, my friends and I had just finished our last final on Saturday and decided to celebrate. I had finally convinced my friend, Kayla, to go out with me that night. That night, Kayla, George (a friend of hers), and I went out downtown. First stop, a bar called the Rookery which at the time was THE place to go out to. We left a little late so by the time we got there, it was pretty jam-packed. We stood in our little circle by the bar talking. About six feet away I see a relatively attractive guy. Me being me, I give him a once over. While I’m doing that, however, he catches me checking him out.
All the girls out there, you know what I’m talking about when I say flirting with the eyes. If there was one thing I was trying to avoid, it was that. You make eye contact with a guy, you can get an idea of whether or not he’s interested. Hold eye contact long enough he will come over, which was what I was trying to avoid that night. I must have looked too long because he headed over with his friend.
“Hi”
“Hi”
“What’s your name?”
. . .
You can imagine the rest of that conversation. Turns out though, his friend is a news broadcaster for a local network. George, at this point, was at the bar trying to get a drink, amid the thirty other people trying to get a drink that night. When he finally got his drink, he saw Kayla and I talking to these two guys. I must look like I needed help. The next thing I know, George has his arm around me and starts talking to the two guys. The two guys got the picture and moved off towards other prey. I felt bad for them.
Approaching a person of the opposite sex takes quite a bit of courage. For all the guys out there, don’t stop trying! It is better to have tried and failed than never have tried at all. Take it from a girl who still waits for the guy to make a move. One piece of advice though: come up with better pickup lines or smoother ways of approaching a girl! The whole come up from behind and try grinding or the “Hey . . .” gets tiring real quick.
A little later, we see a friend of ours, Nebila, head over to the bar. Bubbly, charming, a great dancer, and a social butterfly, she looked out of breathe and definitely intoxicated. When she saw us, she bounced right on over. I asked,
“Hey, how’s your night going?”
“Terrible! I came out with the guys and Juan won’t leave me alone. He keeps trying to dance with me. Do me a favor, save me next time!”
As timing would have it, Juan came over less than a minute after she said that and grabbed her for a dance. Kayla and I looked at each other.
“Wanna be the knights in shining armor tonight?”
“Sure, why not.”
So we headed towards the dance floor and do the classic “save” i.e. grabbed Nebila and started dancing with her. That pretty much summed up the remainder of our night at the Rookery. At closing time, the bar started shutting down and people milled towards the doors. Even then, you can’t end a night without standing outside talking to people for another ten, fifteen minutes.
This is the part where my memory turns a bit fuzzy. Somehow, I went from talking to Nebila and Kayla to talking to a guy, Andre. I think and this is a big IF, Nebila introduced me to him. I had seen him multiple times on campus before this and every time, he had this intimidating scowl on his face. Needless to say, I always considered him unapproachable. As we talked, we discovered we had a lot of friends in common. We had been to most of the same parties. At this point, he asked, “How have we not met before?”
“I don’t know. By the way, are you Hispanic?”
“No, I’m half black and half Swedish. You got a problem with that?”
I laugh and reply, “Nope, not at all.”
That was the moment I knew that this would be a rather interesting friendship.
“We’re having a party at back at my house. You’re welcome to come over.”
I turn to look at Kayla, the DD for the night. She shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
That became the theme of our friendship, but that’s another couple of stories.
All I knew that night was I did not want to stop talking to him, so I asked for his address. We headed out and ironically, we were the first to get there. Not going to lie, it felt a little shady in general. The neighborhood was a little run down. As soon as Nebila and my friend John showed up, I felt a little better at ease. Pretty soon, even more people showed up, people I knew. The way the house is set up, it is where you have the road, some steps leading up, the walkway leading up to the steps of the house, porch, and finally, the door. Kayla being tired wanted to leave after a while, so I asked John and Nebila to drop me back home. They agreed and she left.
There was something in the air that night, something that words can't capture completely. Whatever it was, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It felt as though I had gone back six years in time. Growing up, my parents would throw parties at our house in New York. When we were kids, we would sit or stand around outside on the front porch, talking, joking around on those random summer nights. Sometimes, it feels like a lifetime ago. This night, however, felt like one of those Indian summer nights.
I wished the night wouldn’t end, that we would be transfixed in this little block of time. Yet, nothing ever lasts forever. People eventually began to leave. Andre and I went back inside the house, where he gave me a tour of his place. When we got to his room, we sat down on his couch and talked. That is when I notice he has a wooden rosary hanging on one of the walls. I turn to him, surprised.
“Wait, you’re Catholic?”
“Yup, how’d you know?”
“Well, last time I checked it’s usually only Catholics that have rosaries. Plus, I’m Catholic.”
This launches a whole conversation on how an Indian girl and her entire family could possibly be Catholic, which lead into a little history splurge on my family’s background. He says, “You know, I have been mistaken for Indian before.”
Hispanic, mixed, and maybe Egyptian I could I understand, but definitely not Indian. I said as much. Then, he launched into a story. Earlier in undergrad, he became friends with this Indian guy, who presume Andre was Indian. Andre being Andre, never denied nor confirmed this. He just went with it. One day, the guy asked him if he was going to the temple for some religious holiday or another, or something like that. Andre said he wasn’t since he isn’t Hindu but Catholic instead. The guy was surprised. Eventually, the truth comes out. The Indian guy more or less stopped talking to him afterwards. Hearing that story, I got mad on his behalf and told him as much. He laughed. I told him, “Not all of us are like that.”
“This coming from the girl who looked disappointed when I said I wasn’t Hispanic?”
“It’s not my fault you can get mistaken for Hispanic.”
This launched us into a discussion of all the different things we had been mistaken for. For me, that list included Middle Easter, Hispanic, Indian, and Pakistani. His was pretty close in nature, whereupon I told him the most ridiculous assumption I had heard.
“Someone once told me that I looked Mexican, if it weren’t for the fact that I looked too tall to be Mexican.”
That got a laugh out of him. Time flew by as we talked on that couch. Eventually, John and Nebila found us, telling me it was time to leave. But, I didn’t want to leave this stranger, this surprisingly charismatic man that I ran into on a random night out. Andre turned to me and asked, “Do you want to leave right now? I can take you home later if you want.”
Some people may call this foolish and others dangerous, but I trusted him, a guy I had met only a few hours ago. I nodded and turned to John and Nebila, “Is it ok if he takes me home?”
John simply shrugged. Nebila laughed and said, “Ok but Andre, you better get our girl home safe!” We hugged and said our goodbyes. I watched them leave before turning back to Andre. He suggested that we move outside, since the porch swing was now available. So, we went outside and continued our talks there.
I told him about my family, my parents, my brothers, and my large extended family. He told me his back-story. His mother was black, while his father was Swedish. They had gotten divorced when he was young. His father moved back to Sweden, remarried, and had a new family. My new friend never really had a relationship with his dad. When he was in elementary school, his mother had a heart attack. It meant growing up for him and having to take care of her instead of the other way around.
It made me look at him a little differently after hearing that. Not necessarily pity him for the hardships he went through, but rather I admired him for not coming out fucked up, for turning out better than most would expect. They say that what does not kill you only makes you stronger. I guess that was the case for him, especially considering he had gone to a Catholic school growing up. Especially that.
Our conversation was as random as our meeting and just as sarcastic at times. It was a very discombobulated conversation. Being half Swedish and half black, I was surprised he was only 5”9 and said as much. So how did a guy who should have been 6” plus end up being 5”9? He launched into another story.
When he was younger, the doctor had said he would probably grow to be at least six feet tall. Growing up he had played many sports, soccer being his favorite. It also meant he had started weight lifting rather young. This in turn stunted his growth, leaving him at 5”9.
Somewhere along the course of that story, I had started snuggling into his shoulder. In my defense, it was a little chilly outside, as chilly as it gets at 4 or 5 a.m. in May. Of course, he noticed and being him, commented on that in the midst of our conversation.
“Look at you trying to leech the warmth out of me!”
I made a mock cry of protest. Before I could start arguing, he went back inside, got his sweater (or maybe it was a jacket) and threw it over me. Quite the gentleman, a rough version but a gentleman nevertheless.
We sat there talking for what seemed like forever. We saw the sunrise together and even had a little argument about what constitutes as sunrise. I said it was the moment you saw the sun. He argued it was the minute the darkness lifted. We kept at it for a good ten minutes. The entire time I could not stop smiling. We talked through the night and into the morning. Around 7 a.m. his friends came outside, asking us if we wanted to go get some food. I had to leave in another hour. Checkout time from the dorm was 8:30 a.m. so I asked Andre to drop me back.
As he dropped me off in front of my building, I turned and gave him a big hug. I couldn’t help but think, it was a hug I didn’t want to leave. I went back to my room, took a nap, woke up a hour later to pack, and left. That was the end of my freshman year and it was a pretty great ending to a pretty amazing year.
We met, we talked, and it was epic. The sun rose and reality set in. I left for home and he left for Europe. We went our separate ways. But that was never the end of our story.
Reality, it seems, is still the here and now.
The last night of freshman year, my friends and I had just finished our last final on Saturday and decided to celebrate. I had finally convinced my friend, Kayla, to go out with me that night. That night, Kayla, George (a friend of hers), and I went out downtown. First stop, a bar called the Rookery which at the time was THE place to go out to. We left a little late so by the time we got there, it was pretty jam-packed. We stood in our little circle by the bar talking. About six feet away I see a relatively attractive guy. Me being me, I give him a once over. While I’m doing that, however, he catches me checking him out.
All the girls out there, you know what I’m talking about when I say flirting with the eyes. If there was one thing I was trying to avoid, it was that. You make eye contact with a guy, you can get an idea of whether or not he’s interested. Hold eye contact long enough he will come over, which was what I was trying to avoid that night. I must have looked too long because he headed over with his friend.
“Hi”
“Hi”
“What’s your name?”
. . .
You can imagine the rest of that conversation. Turns out though, his friend is a news broadcaster for a local network. George, at this point, was at the bar trying to get a drink, amid the thirty other people trying to get a drink that night. When he finally got his drink, he saw Kayla and I talking to these two guys. I must look like I needed help. The next thing I know, George has his arm around me and starts talking to the two guys. The two guys got the picture and moved off towards other prey. I felt bad for them.
Approaching a person of the opposite sex takes quite a bit of courage. For all the guys out there, don’t stop trying! It is better to have tried and failed than never have tried at all. Take it from a girl who still waits for the guy to make a move. One piece of advice though: come up with better pickup lines or smoother ways of approaching a girl! The whole come up from behind and try grinding or the “Hey . . .” gets tiring real quick.
A little later, we see a friend of ours, Nebila, head over to the bar. Bubbly, charming, a great dancer, and a social butterfly, she looked out of breathe and definitely intoxicated. When she saw us, she bounced right on over. I asked,
“Hey, how’s your night going?”
“Terrible! I came out with the guys and Juan won’t leave me alone. He keeps trying to dance with me. Do me a favor, save me next time!”
As timing would have it, Juan came over less than a minute after she said that and grabbed her for a dance. Kayla and I looked at each other.
“Wanna be the knights in shining armor tonight?”
“Sure, why not.”
So we headed towards the dance floor and do the classic “save” i.e. grabbed Nebila and started dancing with her. That pretty much summed up the remainder of our night at the Rookery. At closing time, the bar started shutting down and people milled towards the doors. Even then, you can’t end a night without standing outside talking to people for another ten, fifteen minutes.
This is the part where my memory turns a bit fuzzy. Somehow, I went from talking to Nebila and Kayla to talking to a guy, Andre. I think and this is a big IF, Nebila introduced me to him. I had seen him multiple times on campus before this and every time, he had this intimidating scowl on his face. Needless to say, I always considered him unapproachable. As we talked, we discovered we had a lot of friends in common. We had been to most of the same parties. At this point, he asked, “How have we not met before?”
“I don’t know. By the way, are you Hispanic?”
“No, I’m half black and half Swedish. You got a problem with that?”
I laugh and reply, “Nope, not at all.”
That was the moment I knew that this would be a rather interesting friendship.
“We’re having a party at back at my house. You’re welcome to come over.”
I turn to look at Kayla, the DD for the night. She shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
That became the theme of our friendship, but that’s another couple of stories.
All I knew that night was I did not want to stop talking to him, so I asked for his address. We headed out and ironically, we were the first to get there. Not going to lie, it felt a little shady in general. The neighborhood was a little run down. As soon as Nebila and my friend John showed up, I felt a little better at ease. Pretty soon, even more people showed up, people I knew. The way the house is set up, it is where you have the road, some steps leading up, the walkway leading up to the steps of the house, porch, and finally, the door. Kayla being tired wanted to leave after a while, so I asked John and Nebila to drop me back home. They agreed and she left.
There was something in the air that night, something that words can't capture completely. Whatever it was, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It felt as though I had gone back six years in time. Growing up, my parents would throw parties at our house in New York. When we were kids, we would sit or stand around outside on the front porch, talking, joking around on those random summer nights. Sometimes, it feels like a lifetime ago. This night, however, felt like one of those Indian summer nights.
I wished the night wouldn’t end, that we would be transfixed in this little block of time. Yet, nothing ever lasts forever. People eventually began to leave. Andre and I went back inside the house, where he gave me a tour of his place. When we got to his room, we sat down on his couch and talked. That is when I notice he has a wooden rosary hanging on one of the walls. I turn to him, surprised.
“Wait, you’re Catholic?”
“Yup, how’d you know?”
“Well, last time I checked it’s usually only Catholics that have rosaries. Plus, I’m Catholic.”
This launches a whole conversation on how an Indian girl and her entire family could possibly be Catholic, which lead into a little history splurge on my family’s background. He says, “You know, I have been mistaken for Indian before.”
Hispanic, mixed, and maybe Egyptian I could I understand, but definitely not Indian. I said as much. Then, he launched into a story. Earlier in undergrad, he became friends with this Indian guy, who presume Andre was Indian. Andre being Andre, never denied nor confirmed this. He just went with it. One day, the guy asked him if he was going to the temple for some religious holiday or another, or something like that. Andre said he wasn’t since he isn’t Hindu but Catholic instead. The guy was surprised. Eventually, the truth comes out. The Indian guy more or less stopped talking to him afterwards. Hearing that story, I got mad on his behalf and told him as much. He laughed. I told him, “Not all of us are like that.”
“This coming from the girl who looked disappointed when I said I wasn’t Hispanic?”
“It’s not my fault you can get mistaken for Hispanic.”
This launched us into a discussion of all the different things we had been mistaken for. For me, that list included Middle Easter, Hispanic, Indian, and Pakistani. His was pretty close in nature, whereupon I told him the most ridiculous assumption I had heard.
“Someone once told me that I looked Mexican, if it weren’t for the fact that I looked too tall to be Mexican.”
That got a laugh out of him. Time flew by as we talked on that couch. Eventually, John and Nebila found us, telling me it was time to leave. But, I didn’t want to leave this stranger, this surprisingly charismatic man that I ran into on a random night out. Andre turned to me and asked, “Do you want to leave right now? I can take you home later if you want.”
Some people may call this foolish and others dangerous, but I trusted him, a guy I had met only a few hours ago. I nodded and turned to John and Nebila, “Is it ok if he takes me home?”
John simply shrugged. Nebila laughed and said, “Ok but Andre, you better get our girl home safe!” We hugged and said our goodbyes. I watched them leave before turning back to Andre. He suggested that we move outside, since the porch swing was now available. So, we went outside and continued our talks there.
I told him about my family, my parents, my brothers, and my large extended family. He told me his back-story. His mother was black, while his father was Swedish. They had gotten divorced when he was young. His father moved back to Sweden, remarried, and had a new family. My new friend never really had a relationship with his dad. When he was in elementary school, his mother had a heart attack. It meant growing up for him and having to take care of her instead of the other way around.
It made me look at him a little differently after hearing that. Not necessarily pity him for the hardships he went through, but rather I admired him for not coming out fucked up, for turning out better than most would expect. They say that what does not kill you only makes you stronger. I guess that was the case for him, especially considering he had gone to a Catholic school growing up. Especially that.
Our conversation was as random as our meeting and just as sarcastic at times. It was a very discombobulated conversation. Being half Swedish and half black, I was surprised he was only 5”9 and said as much. So how did a guy who should have been 6” plus end up being 5”9? He launched into another story.
When he was younger, the doctor had said he would probably grow to be at least six feet tall. Growing up he had played many sports, soccer being his favorite. It also meant he had started weight lifting rather young. This in turn stunted his growth, leaving him at 5”9.
Somewhere along the course of that story, I had started snuggling into his shoulder. In my defense, it was a little chilly outside, as chilly as it gets at 4 or 5 a.m. in May. Of course, he noticed and being him, commented on that in the midst of our conversation.
“Look at you trying to leech the warmth out of me!”
I made a mock cry of protest. Before I could start arguing, he went back inside, got his sweater (or maybe it was a jacket) and threw it over me. Quite the gentleman, a rough version but a gentleman nevertheless.
We sat there talking for what seemed like forever. We saw the sunrise together and even had a little argument about what constitutes as sunrise. I said it was the moment you saw the sun. He argued it was the minute the darkness lifted. We kept at it for a good ten minutes. The entire time I could not stop smiling. We talked through the night and into the morning. Around 7 a.m. his friends came outside, asking us if we wanted to go get some food. I had to leave in another hour. Checkout time from the dorm was 8:30 a.m. so I asked Andre to drop me back.
As he dropped me off in front of my building, I turned and gave him a big hug. I couldn’t help but think, it was a hug I didn’t want to leave. I went back to my room, took a nap, woke up a hour later to pack, and left. That was the end of my freshman year and it was a pretty great ending to a pretty amazing year.
We met, we talked, and it was epic. The sun rose and reality set in. I left for home and he left for Europe. We went our separate ways. But that was never the end of our story.
Reality, it seems, is still the here and now.
Quote of the Day
I still have four unfinished stories on the back burner. Now, I have an addition to the four. I think I'll finish the new addition before I go back to working on the others. In the meantime, here's a short compilation of some of the funnier compliments/comments/conversations I've gotten over the years. Some of these are taken out of context.
"You do have some straight shoulders. You would have been a good Egyptian slave with those shoulders."
When I told my parents to get a dog after we leave, mom said, "Why would i do that? I already have three at home."
Once while discussing the prospect of setting up a friend with a certain girl . . .
Friend: "Tell her a fair, tall doctor who once dated a princess is interested in her."
While at a friend's house . . .
Friend's Mom: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: No . . .
Friend's Mom: What's wrong with the two of you?
"Do I know you cause I'm sure if we met I would have remembered you."
This being a relative I added on facebook (one I hadn't seen in years) who probably was hoping I was a potential prospect.
On a random note, does anyone else think it's quite painful to read AIM/FB messages/FB chat conversation from when you were younger? Maybe it's me but I wince every time I read a bad spelling or naive/laughable ideas from my younger self.
Some compliments I've gotten from different guys, made weird/funny by the fact that it was a man saying those things. The out of context rule applies here as well.
"I like how you do your eyeliner."
"You [your hips] were made to deliver babies."
"You would make adorable babies. You'll have a charming family someday."
"Does she fear God?"
"If you had a kid with a white guy, that baby would probably look like Tiger Wood." There really is no appropriate response for that.
"Let's see some more pics of women."
"I like your earrings. You always have such nice earrings."
"I like the emo hair to the side look."
"You would make an amazing matriarch. You would make beautiful babies."
Regarding the last one, never discuss kids with a woman who clearly has no intention of having one any time soon. Second, who uses the word matriarch???
Friday, November 30, 2012
A tribute to my parents' marriage
I hope that I’m not jinxing anything by writing this, but I couldn’t wait all the way til December to write this. This is my tribute to my parents’ marriage, which turns yet another year older on December 21st. I am currently in the midst of planning a surprise wedding anniversary party for them the day after. Due to a short catastrophic crisis, they found out that my brothers and I are planning something. Before that they were completely in the dark. I just hope they don’t realize the scale of what we’re planning.
Ten years ago if you had told me that one day I would be hoping for a marriage, a relationship as solid and good as theirs, I would tell you that you were batshit crazy. Yes, that is exactly what I would have told you. But there’s something about growing up, having relationships of your own, and learning to understand your parents not as your parents but as people that makes you realize that a great marriage isn’t fireworks and epic storylines. Rather, it lies in the small things.
The way his arm cradles her shoulder and the way she fits perfectly into his hold, the comfortable silences where they just sit together doing nothing, her absurd humor that no one else gets but him, they way they always come to each other’s defense when one of us starts criticizing. How he would always kiss her before going off to work in the evenings, they way they poke fun at each other, their fierce love for the three lives they brought into this world, and the commitment and love that brought them through more than two decades of a marriage. (they haven’t quite hit the thirty year mark yet).
These are the things you only realize when you’re older, the insight and clarity that comes with age. Or, while you’re sitting there writing an anniversary speech for a public speaking class in college. I guess in my case, it’s a little bit of both.
My parents were not a love marriage in the traditional sense; it was arranged and thank God for that! My brothers and I wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for that. Two completely opposite people would never have gotten together, if it weren’t for fate.
If this was high school, she’d be the head cheerleader: funny, cute, beautiful, the perfect social butterfly. He on the other hand would be the complete wallflower: quiet, completely random at times, actually the exact opposite of her really. They say marriages are made in heaven and I’ve spent my entire life watching their marriage to know there must be some truth to it.
When my dad had his stroke, she spent a year not sleeping right. Every time he skipped a breathe, she woke up and wouldn’t sleep again until he was breathing became normal again. As for him, he wouldn’t even know what clothes to wear in the morning if it isn’t for her. If he has any sense of color coordination, it’s all thanks to her. He’s her rock when anything goes wrong, especially with us three, their troublesome kids.
Together they make the perfect person. Every day I see them together and I know they were meant for one another. I see the love in her eyes in the things that she does for him. Although, he’s not always good at showing it, his love is ever present in the little things he does for her.
“The development of a really good marriage is not a natural process. It is an achievement.”
Ten years ago if you had told me that one day I would be hoping for a marriage, a relationship as solid and good as theirs, I would tell you that you were batshit crazy. Yes, that is exactly what I would have told you. But there’s something about growing up, having relationships of your own, and learning to understand your parents not as your parents but as people that makes you realize that a great marriage isn’t fireworks and epic storylines. Rather, it lies in the small things.
The way his arm cradles her shoulder and the way she fits perfectly into his hold, the comfortable silences where they just sit together doing nothing, her absurd humor that no one else gets but him, they way they always come to each other’s defense when one of us starts criticizing. How he would always kiss her before going off to work in the evenings, they way they poke fun at each other, their fierce love for the three lives they brought into this world, and the commitment and love that brought them through more than two decades of a marriage. (they haven’t quite hit the thirty year mark yet).
These are the things you only realize when you’re older, the insight and clarity that comes with age. Or, while you’re sitting there writing an anniversary speech for a public speaking class in college. I guess in my case, it’s a little bit of both.
My parents were not a love marriage in the traditional sense; it was arranged and thank God for that! My brothers and I wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for that. Two completely opposite people would never have gotten together, if it weren’t for fate.
If this was high school, she’d be the head cheerleader: funny, cute, beautiful, the perfect social butterfly. He on the other hand would be the complete wallflower: quiet, completely random at times, actually the exact opposite of her really. They say marriages are made in heaven and I’ve spent my entire life watching their marriage to know there must be some truth to it.
When my dad had his stroke, she spent a year not sleeping right. Every time he skipped a breathe, she woke up and wouldn’t sleep again until he was breathing became normal again. As for him, he wouldn’t even know what clothes to wear in the morning if it isn’t for her. If he has any sense of color coordination, it’s all thanks to her. He’s her rock when anything goes wrong, especially with us three, their troublesome kids.
Together they make the perfect person. Every day I see them together and I know they were meant for one another. I see the love in her eyes in the things that she does for him. Although, he’s not always good at showing it, his love is ever present in the little things he does for her.
“The development of a really good marriage is not a natural process. It is an achievement.”
Life and Its Friends
I read somewhere once that you should never forget the things or the people that made you smile, just learn from the tears that followed. Sometimes, I'm not a 100% sure I've learned my lesson as well as I should have, but hey, it's a learning process. What I do know is that I try to remember the good memories. It is always easier to remember the bad. I'm not sure why that is, but I guess it's our mistakes that end up haunting us through the rest of our lives.
This blog is also a way for me to remember the times and the people that made me smile, laugh, and take a chance on life. It's always a pretty amazing thing when two absolute strangers become the best of friends. It's also equally sad when they fade out of each other's lives and go back to being strangers. Every story I write makes me think about those people and just how much they've impacted my life, transforming my life. A part of me will always wonder if I impacted you the way your life as you have mine.
Without these people, I would not be the person I am today. So this is my tribute to those who made my life the crazy, half-hazard, wonderful thing that it has been, even if they may not still be in it. Thanks
This blog is also a way for me to remember the times and the people that made me smile, laugh, and take a chance on life. It's always a pretty amazing thing when two absolute strangers become the best of friends. It's also equally sad when they fade out of each other's lives and go back to being strangers. Every story I write makes me think about those people and just how much they've impacted my life, transforming my life. A part of me will always wonder if I impacted you the way your life as you have mine.
Without these people, I would not be the person I am today. So this is my tribute to those who made my life the crazy, half-hazard, wonderful thing that it has been, even if they may not still be in it. Thanks
Monday, November 12, 2012
Something Borrowed
I ran across this on facebook and thought it was pretty amazing. There are lessons in there that we could all use as a reminder. If not anything else, it's a pretty thorough prayer.
Forgive those who have misled you
May you cherish those who tell you the truth about yourself
May you never know the lonely bed of wasted time
May your personality never attempt suicide by lowering its standards
May you never succumb to the death wish of vapid companionship
May you find your future self in every lover
May you always remain ready to leave
May your improvement and self-mastery come before all else
May you never obligate yourself to another’s validation
May you never worship your partner, may your love and your religion never betray each other,
may you take pride in your company,
may you remain willing to put your pride aside for your company,
may your connections be a result of your pre-existing fulfillment and not a source,
may your company and solitude enrich each other,
may each lover introduce you to new methods of creation,
may you recognize when you are being groomed for abuse,
may you remember to provide everything you seek,
may you never be seduced by politicians who seek your validation before considering your emotional welfare, may you never breach respectful distances before allowing another to make an informed decision, may your experiences improve your language and vice versa
may you never take it personally when another person’s requirements do not involve you,
may you never apologize for your distances,
may you seek gratification in the rarity of a person and not in the title they assign us,
may you transcend the need for reciprocity,
may you forge invincibility by effectively communicating your pain,
may you nurture yourself through nurturing others who know what they have when they have you, may you commit yourself to the magic of union by granting your lover’s wishes,
may you remain free from shame by embracing the truth in all experiences,
may your freedom set your lovers free,
may your love for each person make them special and unique,
may your lovers never retrospectively resemble each other in their patterns of disappointment,
may you submit yourself to the paradoxical spontaneity of contradictory feelings,
may you find liberation in complete submission,
may you always choose wisely and find a teacher and friend in every lover,
may you never overdraft your emotional account to fall for poetic advertisements for ego-stroking,
may you go all out for the sake of romance and let the chip fall where they may,
may you never expire for unrequited love,
may nothing ever be too good to be true,
may your truth be best possible thing, may you never compromise your vulnerabilities to protect another’s guilt,
may you never insult your own intelligence with meaningless and convenient sex,
may you embrace your urges as a divine jolt of the senses,
may you never be demonized for your arousal,
may you never apply masks lest you attract more masks,
may your connections be evidence of your revolutionary drive for self-autonomy,
may your heart be the compass, may you find comfort and thrill in both home and vacation,
May you never know a place where love is not, may you never know a place where love is not, may you never know a place where love is not . . .
Discovered on http://brownitapplebum.com/
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