I used to joke my mom about what took her and my dad so long before they tied the knot. You see, they both got married in their early forties, and every time I'd ask her about it, she's just simply smile at me, as if saying, "You would understand in due time."
Certainly, that time has come.
Ever since I opened myself up to the world, I was always swept away by other people's tales of romance. Stories of love and passion allowed me to become a fountain of affection, despite my personal experiences of failure when it came to matters of the heart. I must admit I was never lucky in love, and sometimes, I would be on the brink of becoming numb to the emotion, in the attempt to escape the harshness of hearbreak. However, amidst the numerous times of having my heart broken, I still find it in me to give love another chance. I have come to realize that nothing could ever measure up to the happiness and contentment that showers of affection brought. Pains and heartaches were mere tools used by fate to make each of us stronger and wiser, less naive and gullible.
Night after night, I kept on pondering about what love was really all about. I tried to give it a concrete definition, but LOVE cannot be defined, this I am sure of now. It is an experience, not just an action or a verb nor just an emotion. Sometimes love may just be love...but its effects are boundless, and to characterize IT would limit these effects.
Since I was a child, my mom would stay up late as she waited for my dad to come home from work at midnight. At the sound of my dad's car, she would quietly open the gate for him, help him with his attache case and lead him to the dining room, where a perfectly cooked meal has been prepared. She would sit with him while he ate, and they would exchange stories of how their days went. After my dad finished eating, she would tell him to take his shower while she cleaned up. Almost every night, they slept at the same time. Then, 5 hours later, my mom wakes up ahead of my dad so she could prepare his bath and breakfast. My mom took good care of my dad. She understood the sacrifices my dad did in order to provide for his family.
For two decades, I was witness to this testimonial of love. My mom never complained, never gave my dad a headache. She always made sure that he had a home to return to when he left his office.
I never heard them say they loved each other, though. Nevertheless, their actions definitely spoke louder.
My dad never failed to remember important dates. Every year on Valentine's Day, he would come home with roses for my mom. On her birthday, he would bring her her favorite food. My mom loved pizza, and every time he sensed her exhaustion, he would surprise her with one.
There was a certain understanding between them, and they had their own ways of showing affection...
I never really knew my dad until he retired. To me, he was the figure of discipline and superiority, incapable of expressing feelings. However, time changed my view towards him. He was no longer seen just as the provider, but THE father...THE husband.
Whenever my mom got sick, he was there to give relief. I saw the look of worry on his face, that same look my mom had when my dad got a heart operation. I never quite looked into it then, but now I am sure they both felt they couldn't live without each other. They are growing old together, and there is no sweeter love story than this.
The most interesting fact about their love story is this: they were schoolmates in high school, with my mom being just a year ahead of my dad, but they never met until a decade after. It took them quite a long time to find a piece of heaven when they found each other, but destiny took its course and brought them together. They never searched, but they both found the most wonderful blessing.
Now, I understand what my mom always told me: Never haste yourself into falling in love. Whoever he is, he would come in the proper time and love will take it from there.
You know what, I believe her. ;-)
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Yesterday was my parent's 23rd Anniversary...
And yes, we all enjoyed the pizza.
