100 Ways To Love

June 20, 2009
( 2:00am PHL/11:30 pm IND)



We’ve been married six years.

“100 Ways to Show a Woman You Love Her”. This was a booklet that caught my eyes in the shelves of National Bookstore in Iloilo. As I flipped through this little pink booklet, I started getting weak on my knees and my heart was melting just reading all the possible ways that could make a woman happy. I thought that I’d be swept of my feet all over again if my husband starts doing any of those things again, because for a good few years, he did so, until the masculine responsibilities took over. I quickly scanned through the other titles hoping to find the other version for a man, like, “100 Ways to Show a Man You Love Him”. I could not find it in that shelf. And because I gave my word to my husband that I’ll be by the bookstore entrance at exactly that time, I gave up the search and waited by the door, only to find it in the bestseller list at the entrance. I quickly grabbed the book, and instead of feeling weak on my knees, I felt pangs of guilt, sharp pangs of guilt and remorse. Not only that I felt I committed the sins of omission, but I committed the sins of doing totally the opposite. My narcissism dissolved faster than an ice cube under the sun, and my ego of being just a good person was flushed down the toilet. I was none of those things.

Now let me start with the things my husband used to do a lot and still does every now and then. He used to never skip a day without whispering in my ear “I Love You” and/or “You’re beautiful and sexy” even after we got married. He used to write thick love letters expressing his vulnerabilities to me before we got married. He used to often give me daily aroma oil whole body massages and he still does today at times. He gives me a shower and shampoos and conditions my hair. He shops with me when I need lingeries. He is extremely gracious to my parents. He talks to all my close friends, makes friends of them and let me have girls’ night outs. He patiently reads a page of a book when I ask him to, even if he never cared about books. He makes me and my daughter breakfast every morning. He makes me tea when I am studying late at night. He rarely, if ever raises his voice. He never talks about old flames, unless I force him to. Of course, marriage doesn’t end here, but wait until you read my side of the coin. It won’t be a paragraph this thick.

Here it is. These are the things I haven’t done. Daily whisper in his ear, you love him. Show interest in his hobbies. Respect his male ego. Make him coffee/breakfast in the morning. Let him feel he is the provider etc. etc. Unfortunately, I could only see the self my father intended and raised me to be. That is, independent, gender- equal, assertive and politically correct and strong not to mention opinionated and talkative.

However, true deep relationships require maturity, respect, strength of character, gratitude, generosity, deeply rooted values, sensitivity and compassion, quiet confidence, breathing space, forgiveness, excellent communication and loads of tender touches - AND not a political debate nor a power struggle in gender and finance. It has nothing to do with rightness or the wrongness of things and people. It has everything to do with making your partner feel loved, valued, understood and supported that s/he may blossom and feel grateful in your company in this lifetime and perhaps look forward to the next. It’s sharing the love you nurtured within to nurture another, and grow beautifully in nurturing each other.

He waved in the glass wall signaling “I’m here, let’s go”. I signaled back, “ let me just finish this booklet”. He smiled, knowing I was in my space ( around books). I took my time ( reading the booklet on how to love him better), and I thought he went in to look around and entertain himself while waiting for me, but when I went out, he was there carrying the shopping bags waiting patiently at the door.

I was determined to redeem myself. It didn’t appease my decision when I saw him with the bags just staring at the wall blankly waiting for me ( for sometime, in fact). I walked towards him, looked at him in the eyes, with love and apologies in my heart - kissed him right there and then. He smiled and kissed me back ( this is in the midst of a shopping mall, by the way). Then I asked him, “what did you get?” It was his usual techie thing, he got a Sony DVD player, and I told him “good for you!” “ I’m glad you got something for yourself that you really liked”. He said, “ I’d really like to have this, but this is for a friend”. I replied, “go take another one for yourself, it’s on me”. In fact, he asked me earlier to come and choose with him and I quickly snapped, “ you know I don’t care about those things, I’ll be in the bookstore and meet me at this time”. He quietly nodded his head and went off to his techno shop and I went the other way, to my little haven – National Bookstore.

My husband understands the word “togetherness” while I understand “freedom and independence.” In fact, to pick up my plummeting self-esteem, he once told me, “ I’m happy how free I am in this marriage”. I learned “how to be with another”, and he learned “how to be with be with himself”.

All in the same day and henceforth; when we reached home, we quickly had our shower and tucked ourselves tired to bed and I whispered in his ear “ I love you..”. He closed his eyes and slept. Again, the next day, I woke him up with a back rub and whispered “ I love you” and he continued sleeping while I arose to prepare his tea. He remained quiet for the next 3 days as I continued on my quest to work on loving better. Then I broke the ice and said, “ don’t you like it? All these loving gestures that I do, don’t you like it?” He replied – “ but you do it only sometimes”. I replied, “Well, give me some credit, it’s been 3 consecutive days!”. He just shrugged his shoulders. I was determined never to give up. I scratched his head gently to put him to sleep that 3rd night and decided it was time to sleep. He moved to my direction, put his lips to my ear and whispered “ I love you..”. I opened my eyes in surprise, facing the other way, I smiled, no, I grinned, and slept. I believe in practice makes perfect.

Today, something peaceful, unprepared, unplanned happened. While we were taking our afternoon nap, I faced his way and asked – “ Where are you?”. This, in front of me, is not the man I married. He got what I meant right away and said “ I’ve been eaten by the demands of family financial responsibilities, of building a career and raising a child”. This is not why we got married, is it? I asked back. I reminisced with him our time in Cambodia, when we were broke, but still found peace and never let go of our freely expressed love.

And then, I don’t where I found the quiet courage to do this, but without thinking it just came out of my mouth. Here it is. I told him, I was aware that in the beginning, he was a rebound. I did not accept him nor his love. I knew I hurt him deeply several times. I knew I did not give back nor loved back. But he was insistent, that, here are the exact words -- “ just let me rain on your broken desert, just give me the chance not to give up in making an ocean out of it, by loving you with all of me”. I took his offer out of my selfish desire to heal from his love. As I healed, I broke him into pieces. I dried him up while I slowly blossomed into life again.

One day, he had no more love to give. He was ready, waiting, hoping and praying to receive love back even just a drop of it, but I drank it all. I squeezed him dry. I felt sorry for him. I did not only hold back, I lashed back my pains on him occasionally. The pains he had nothing to do with at all. My closest friends blamed me for using him and being so cold not to give an ounce of love back. We had our first child. We moved to another country. We found jobs for ourselves. Many of times, I woke up panting and in shock wondering who I was waking up with. I would sometimes stare at his face and see a stranger. I would ask myself – “what have I done?”. Years passed and he was still with me.

One fine day, I woke up. I saw a face so familiar sleeping beside me. My heart was beating again. He did not only feel familiar, he felt one with me. He opened his eyes that morning, he gazed back at me and I saw in his eyes, a gaze, of someone looking at a stranger – me. I felt I deserved that gaze. I painfully deserved it.

Hundreds of days passed since.

This afternoon, in bed, I said to him in a quiet voice that came from a place of peace and conviction. “ I will wait, just as you waited for me. But I thank you, for giving me a life without regrets. That is, having married someone, I truly love. I know I’ve hurt you and you did not deserve any of those. I did not mean it intentionally, but those came from a place of pain and resentment of someone else’s actions that weren’t even yours. I am happy because I could love again. Unfortunately, in many occasions, it was at the expense of your heart being wounded. But today, I love you not because you loved me once or because I hope you could love me again just as you did before, but today, I love you because I am capable of loving again. And I will wait, just as you have waited for me”.

He was quiet the entire time. I was talking in almost a whispering voice beside him, while our daughter comes in and out just checking on us. He smiled when I said, “ I will wait for you, no matter how long it takes, just as you did for me. I know I will have you back again”. And for the first time, in his long silence, I saw those familiar eyes again. Those soft glazed surrendered eyes. His face turned soft like a child. He remained in his space, still quiet, as if thinking and smiling sheepishly every now and then. After a long quiet, he leaned over and did not give his usual kiss, he gave the kind of kiss he used to give me once - a soft baby kiss on the cheek and on the forehead. He eventually slowly stood up and said, “get ready, will be late for the party”. My aunt was throwing a “despedida” party for my cousin and I, and we were really late. I rose to hit the shower and we all arrived at the party.

I saw another face in there. This time it was a face more familiar. It was a face I once saw long ago. The very face I considered then, a stranger.

There was a glowing, gentle, quiet and peaceful gaze in his eyes. The fear was gone. I wanted to believe he has started to forgive me. But more than that, I felt the stillness and quiet in those eyes. Those are the very same eyes I saw when he first held our child; the very same one when I met him first at the airport when he left his country, his family, his friends, his culture to seek expression for his love for me. But even if that brief moment is all I’m going to have, I am no longer taking it for granted.

I hope to still see it when I wake up in the morning tomorrow. I hope to still see it when work begins back at the school. But honestly, deep inside I do not require to see it. I hope to, though, but I don’t require it. I can wait, and even if it will never come again, at least, I have loved again.