I had second thoughts on whether to write the final episode of my sardine stories. My soul will now be stripped naked but I want to write it down nonetheless since this is the only gift (?) I can afford to give Roland this year.
Our relationship had major bumps and nurturing. It rocked and mellowed of imaginary and real secret affairs. We had a balanced share of ups and downs. We withstood distance apart from each other and distance even in tight proximity to each other. We tried a lot of things together and not all of them was a success. But we continue to try.
He calls me Gang (a term of endearment coined from pinangga). I call him Yang (the way I would call his real name if I still had a lisp). He is a social butterfly while I am always in a cocoon . He used to be a soccer football and basketball varsity while I was never into sports. He cooks, I eat. He explodes and then comes regret and apology. I retreat and then comes retaliation and punishment. He nags, I listen. He forgives wrong, I never forget wrong. He wishes for grand birthdays, I wish for simple birthday dinners. He is erratic impulsive, I am immutable and practical in comparison. He snores wildly, I sleep soundly. He is never serious, I am super serious. He wants the details, I want the summary. He likes cold, I like warm weather. He remembers faces, I remember names. He loves burgers and dried fish, I love sardines.
He is a major challenge to live with. He snores in bed, he is impatient, he shops more than I do, he is picky with his food, he nags, he does not follow our plan for the day, he confuses the house help with his orders, he brings friends over to the house with their annoying karaoke singing, he forgets a lot, he loses things a lot, he brings extra shirts and changes outfits at work (so vain indeed), he snores even while driving, he drives with wreckless abandon, he does not understand the real meaning behind the letters I send him (makes me cry after all the effort to make him understand), he doesn’t go to the doctor, he has false pride, he spoil the kids and insensitive most of the time. I could go on with this list but it would be too unfair because this is my blog.
In our 21 years as a couple, I have mouthed a frugal “I love you” that is limited to a digit I can count with the fingers on my hand. But he loves me nonetheless. Despite my queer, always calculated moves, he understands me. He gives me my space. He religiously prays with me. He laughs at my jokes even if it is not as good as how he would have delivered it. He gladly accepted a role as ” ina-tay” (mother-dad) when I was sent on long trips to the US for work. He posed as a hand model when I did photography assignments at Multiply. He shopped pots with me when I got turned on to gardening. He knows when to cook sardines.
Thank you for loving me. Thank you for covering my shoulders with a blanket when my knees fold to a shiver and I’m too sleepy to get up. I know you watch me when I sleep. I lied when I told you that I did not notice your gentle kiss when you come home late.
Thank you for giving me a chance to try my wings in New Zealand. Please follow ASAP and bring lots of sardines. =)
Happy Valentines Day, Yang!
