Like all of you reading this blog, I was born to this world from the womb of my beloved mother, as a result from my parents’ act of love.
Throughout the years of my upbringing, I felt blessed that I grew up in what you may consider a perfectly normal, if not ordinary, household, where me and my sisters experienced what it was like to have our own jackfruit tree we were so very proud of, and that old red ‘80s Honda Civic taking us to our late grandmother’s place in other province.
Those were the days when we were often encouraged by our parents to show the world what we had. Shamelessly and tirelessly, both of them always stood by my side whenever I turned up in any talent contests, be them from singing or modeling ones. You are reading the words of an ex-model now!
Little would I know that behind the supportive acts, they had personal problems on their own, like any normal married couples do. It took me a while to understand that my mother often felt frustrated not to meet her husband who was away for work in a long time, or the times when my dad went out for fresh air to clearly avoid heated debates at home which I never heard directly on the first place.
But look what he brought home a few hours later? A packet of martabak for all of us!
The phone did not ring, no words were spoken, and it was hardly the time mobile phones existed. Yet, in what seemed like a silent agreement, they made up. He washed his hands in our small kitchen, she set the table, and we had supper. Life has gone on.
And a good 32 years later from the day they exchanged vows, they continued to love each other, setting an example for me to follow.
Or so they wish me to.
For almost 27 years of my existence in this world, I always yearn for having a companion by my side, simply longing to love and be loved in return, like anyone would wish to.
When I could no longer deny my likings on different kind of love to embark on, I could not find any proper guidance or direction telling me how I should behave and place myself in this kind of relationship. Except one.
I have the example as set by my parents.
Thus, despite the difference, all I know about love and relationship is mirrored what my parents have done for a good three decades. They love each other without asking much, or telling much. They love each other in silence, they love each other in unspoken rages that fades quickly. They love each other in sharing a common space without complaining much, or praising much. They love each other by sticking to each other, be it on the lowest level of degradation, or at the highest euphoria.
My relationship with twinnie has somewhat become static recently. Gone are the days of exchanging mushy entries in both our blogs, and if you happen to see any in mine, well, what can I say? My blog is my home where I have all the endless privileges to decorate it any way I want.
I cannot stop lamenting through some thoughtful process often filled with temptation to lure myself to others. After all, it is not easy to pass through the time without intimacy to satisfy my ego being a lustful human. Yet, what constantly slips through mind telling me of something else.
I want to stick with twinnie for good.
The hard and harsh times may be tough to get through, and writing this entry against the rain in the wee hours of the morning leaving me shedding some good tears. The tears that I often saw when I sit next to my mum who missed her man when she had not met him for months. The tears that I am now having because I miss him.
I know I do.