When my 28-year old jaded self first experienced a snow flurry a few days ago, the first thing I did was to send my husband a text message saying, “It’s snowing! (hashtagging; first timer).” Then I spent the next ten seconds being excited and all before getting back to whatever it was I was doing.
That made me realize yet again that in most things, great or small, there’s this instinctive act to share it first with my better half. It made me recall those countless times that I did the same thing; always seeking to share whatever instantaneous feeling or event there was with him.
Like that time in Dubai when a perv grabbed my butt and sped off with his bicycle (yes batsh*t crazy, miscreants like those exist). After being momentarily stunned for a good few seconds, the first thing I did was to make a long distance call and rant to him about the incident. No expectations for him to come charging with a cape and go off after the scumbag but somehow I knew hearing his voice would somehow make things feel better. Or that time I got so hammered in Baguio but my drunk self sobered up enough to call him just to recant my crazy night and that I got home safe.
And those little triumphs like A+ grades, making an impression in an interview, a bus that I triumphantly caught even with my heels on, a perfectly-baked cake–he was always the first to know. Even those petty woes of mine–that day’s rude client, the bus that was ten minutes late, having an extra rice short off a meal, a burnt cake.
I’ve said goodbye to my hermetic self when I welcomed my then boyfriend (now husband) into my life. I was used to having evening conversations with just my dogs and keeping most things to myself. The daily grind was often met with indifference but now I have someone to deafen with my rants. The small victories before were celebrated with solo dinners at Volante’s, but now I have a partner who indulges with my random cravings.
I acknowledge his enthusiasm may seem obligatory at times, or that he’ll even get tired at certain points. But that’s alright. I’ve found myself a life-long partner who I believe can put up with my outlandish ways…and stories–nonsensical or otherwise.
I look forward to sharing more stories with you, love. Happy 2nd! 🙂
These last days of summer have afforded me ample time to be idle and dawdle with just about everything I do. I don’t have any valid excuse for this sluggishness other than it’s part of the big adjustment phase I am currently undergoing. With that said, there shouldn’t be a reason why I won’t end my blogging hiatus as I have the luxury of time (for say, a few more lethargic summer days). So thankfully today, I feel like tapping on my seasoned keyboard and see if I still have the juices to write one more sappy article. Just one more.
We haven’t been coy about sharing our love story ( Sunstar: A Love Story; Sunstar: A Love Story (Part II ). It was truly heartwarming that we were able to tug a few heart strings here and there as we braved a long distance relationship through the years, ended up being married, then finally being together, happily, ever after. Or so we wish.
So once again, allow me to indulge (as I also indulge my husband). You see, he believes that the ultimate reason we were so lucky with the quick processing of our ticket to forevermore (or my immigration documents) was that the assessing officer who got to handle our papers is a sappy romantic who loved our story so much that this kindhearted human made no qualms about giving the approval for our application. The embassy requires all these evidence to prove that couples do have a rock solid relationship when a spouse is being sponsored under the family class visa. And boy what a pile we had! Screencaps of our chats, tons of photos, mails, cards, and name all those proof of correspondence we had over the years. We also included those published articles that painted a vivid picture of two souls being so in love despite the distance, time and disastrous interventions that might have had made either of us give up on the relationship. So now my husband thinks I should write one last thing about this, with a shot in the dark thought that this particular immigration officer might know that our story now continues and that we owe it to him or her that we’re now physically together so much sooner than expected.
So yes, after years of being apart and making do with a few days of togetherness each year, I am now getting used to waking up with another person beside me aside from my bears and my dogs. I have now joined him in his shores and now in an entirely different world that is at the same time exciting and scary.
It’s been three months already. And these past few weeks had not been enough for both of us to totally grasp the reality that we’re actually together. A lot of times, my husband asks me if I am really here–taking most of his space (closet, drawer top, shelves and the bed) and I have to keep on reminding him that I’m not an apparition. We’re in a state of bliss but I wish I could say that’s the end of the illusive “happily ever after” that we’re all chasing. It’s not. Back when we were struggling through the long distance set-up, the ultimate goal was to find the means to end the virtual togetherness. And now that we have surpassed that, the more difficult part of the dance has to be learned and mastered.
We could say we’re still in that honeymoon phase and we’ve got the time to be careless, silly and idle. Yet we also know that the bigger responsibilities are just around the corner. Back then, our only worries were how to make the most of our stolen moments that were spanning different time zones. Happiness then was cheap and superficial. Now comes the more serious and more responsible stuff where relationship goals are on an entirely different level.
Clouded in the generic and safe term of ‘settling down’, there’s work to speak of, finances, rebuilding a career, being able to have our own home soon, kids in the not-so-distant future and the scary yet otherwise doable responsibilities that all these entail. I guess the end of our love story is the beginning of another one, but this time with bigger and more serious roles to fill.
For now though, we’re beyond ecstatic chasing the last days of summer, very content with the fact that all the summers after this will be spent together. Thank you to the higher powers…and yes, to that immigration officer. 😉
There are a few things I can vividly remember during that momentous day when we decided to tie the knot of eternity (you in your quickly-pressed polo and slacks and I in my 60-dirham dress, haha). You said that when you first saw my picture wearing that pink top, you somehow knew I was the one you were going to marry. I was a complete stranger then but you knew. Well, your gut feel didn’t fail you. That day was the first time I ever tied someone’s necktie. It took 26 years for me to finally do that. I also remember spending the evening dinner with you in Mama’s kitchen as we frantically washed all those plates, thinking about the same things. Not to mention that we experienced two blackouts. I mean two blackouts on your wedding night? Who gets to experience that? And how we ended the day giggling like teenagers because it felt surreal that we were actually married.
Remember how we literally roller-coastered the highways just so we could file our papers on time. We were both having jet lags from our flights but there was no time to catch up on sleep and rest as we had to reach home the soonest before the offices we had to visit close. To make matters worse, our ride got stuck in the middle of nowhere and so we had no choice but to wait for the next passing bus that will take us home–with those countless luggage that still had airport tags on them.
Upon reaching home, there was no time to refresh or even wash our faces as we marathoned our seminars with all those mandatory offices. It was really tiring and a bit frustrating but we managed to do all those with the meager time we had while holding hands all the time.
And you remember this seminar where we unashamedly answered how we understood copulation? Who knew there were supposedly five stages of the act. *blush, blush*
It’s just a year ago but somehow it feels like it’s been eons already.
We already have a list of all these cool, kick-ass names that we’re supposed to give to our thick-haired future kids. We’ve argued over them time and time again as we ticked off names from A-Z (Aaliyah to Zyx; Hahaha!) . We have also decided on what dog to get. I insisted on these humongous breeds but you’re hesitant about keeping a saliva-dripping St. Bernard or Great Dane in that dream little cabin of ours. You wanted a pug or English Bulldog and so we settled on the latter (and a St. Bernard, we have to love!). We’ve also made sleeping arrangements as you don’t like sharing a bed with Byte, or Bark, or Bolt, or Max (and all those other furry love that we’re going to have); you on the couch, me and the furry babies on the bed.
We plan to travel and get lost in the world before parenthood will rob us off these carefree thoughts and plans and as to date, we’re still working our butts off for this to happen. We have these gazillion plans that we draw in the air and which we mull over for endless hours.
It’s just a year but I feel like I can recognize all the sounds and octaves of your farts. Same way that you could always predict whenever a tantrum from me is about to erupt. We don’t finish each other’s sentences as is presumably ideal for soul mates but instead, we perpetually disagree over the most minute of details. We’ve seen each other at our worst and yet we always, always manage to end the day with the comforting thought that our hearts will always beat beside each other.
We’re like two kids, learning and growing with each day spent together. I learn so much from you as I hope you do the same with me. I could not wait for the time to come when I could start learning and mastering my kitchen skills as I prepare 3-minute to 1-hour dishes for you. Same way that I’m excited for the time when we’ll have to take turns dropping the kids off to school. Me in my bad-ass, fiery, yellow Wrangler and you in your puny little jeep. (Haha! Ambitious me.) But seriously, I look very much forward to getting fat with you.
The most wonderful thing is that we were able to do these even though we’re still challenged by this distance. It was not at all easy. We both know we’ve braved a lot of tough times. But we did it together and we continue to hold on like we did since day one. We continue to pray that this frustrating separation will finally end. By then, we both know it won’t just be building sandcastles in the air anymore. We could actually do everything together as what a man and wife should do.
Cheers to a wonderful year! Here’s to many more!
P.S. Thank you dear husband for being very patient with my drama, my tantrums, my quirks and flaws. Thank you for always telling me that I’m beautiful. (Well you should! Ha!) I promise to love you even when all your hairs will fall and you’re toothless and wrinkly and even when you keep the remote control all to yourself. I love you garud. ^_^