mom asked me to read this article last sunday.
what can i say?
*long pause*
hmmm.
*another long pause*
why do you think i'm posting this here..?
The awakening By Elvie Victonette B. Razon (taken from The Philippine Star, Sunday, December 2, 2007) Elvie Victonette B. Razon, 27, is a physician (at the Philippine General Hospital) by profession and a writer by heart. “I met the love of my life (the subject of the essay), my answered prayer, at a time when I was resigned to the fact that I should just be settling for, rather than settling down with, the man I truly love.”
I long for you, though you remain nameless, faceless: a mist in my consciousness, a shadow of my dreams.
I long for you, though I have never known you and though I might have had, in some chance encounter: along the corridors of a building I habitually pass, along the dark alleys of the city, in a crowded mall, in a stuffy elevator, in a noisy classroom, in a coffee shop one lazy afternoon, on a hospital bed (God forbid), in a bookstore plopped down on the floor engrossed in Philip Roth, on a bus when I was sound asleep after a long tiring day and I let my head fall on your shoulders unknowingly, in a church pew as I was down on my knees and praying for some miracle, and you were two seats behind, praying for the same thing.
Five years ago, I wrote this love letter to my future husband whom I had yet to meet. My tired heart cried out in silent despair as my relationships failed and my hopes dashed. I vowed to let him read this letter when the time would finally come.
I just know it: that when I see you, I’ll know you at once. The one I have been looking for all my life — my soul companion in this lifetime. The one whom God intended me to be with. The other half of me. My life partner. My kindred spirit. The one whose path parallels my cosmic trajectory.
I am getting married in two weeks. Though 10 months is a relatively short time to get to know each other fully well, I never had the slightest doubt that he was my answered prayer. Ten months, 10 years, 10 days: isn’t time but a fraction of an infinitesimal whole?
I picture the two of us hanging out at coffee shops, talking about anything under the moon between sips of Frappuccino with an extra shot of espresso just for the kick: about books, about our dreams and philosophies, about our families, about the latest movies, about our careers. The profane and profound and everything between. We would have conversations about the future: where we would live, who would watch over our children, who would wash the dishes and other trivial details of domesticity that would seal our permanent attachment. We would go on talking about a future we both would know was a matter of time. We wouldn’t think them far-out and far too much because we’d know with certainty that we’d end up together.
A writer once wrote that we marry for all the wrong reasons, and often we marry the wrong person as well. We marry to grow up, to escape our parents and to inherit our share of the world, not knowing who we are and who we will become. I used to think that love was reason enough to substantiate this sacred institution. Just like almost every girl, I have always dreamt of being a wife, with all the trappings that come with it: the joy of the wedding ceremony in the midst of your loved ones, the promise of a new home, dreams of domestic bliss, having a husband’s eternal adoration and having babies.
We would go out often to gatherings together. Not because we could not stand not being together but because we want to share the most important events of our lives with each other. We would hold hands as we arrived but we would mingle separately and talk to our respective sets of friends because we recognize the importance of maintaining our separate identities.
One of my fears is losing my sense of identity. The marriage of true minds is life itself, as Pearl Buck once said. But I certainly abhor the thought that I would be abolishing my old self to be replaced by what our couple-hood shall be. Kate Chopin puts it perfectly in her book, The Awakening, when the main protagonist Edna Pontellier declares, “I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn’t give myself.”
You wouldn’t be perfect, of course. You would have occasional crushes and attractions like I would but you would never ever act on them. You would know what a good catch I am and, as such, be afraid you’d lose me the moment I catch you stray. You would think I’m beautiful, a goddess despite my imperfections and inadequacies. Sometimes, I would get enraged by your simple acts of negligence. I would get mad, of course, and would not talk to you for hours but in the end I would not be able to resist you and your peace offerings (by the way, I like my coffee black and sweet).
I am not blind to the fact that our marriage will have its rough times. We will encounter temptations, disagreements and periods of silences that represent boredom or, at worst, apathy.
We would always exchange text messages, e-mails, handwritten notes and letters. And I would never get tired of them because we would always think of new things to say or old lines in a different way. Our love would bring out our creative side that we never imagined was there.
What will help sustain us is the romantic passion with which we shall fill all our days.
Maybe you were present in past relationships, your characters evident in different persons at different times and different places. Maybe you were a person, real or imagined. You’ll love me, of course. I know you will. And I will you, too. But until such time comes, I’ll be hoping and keeping the faith. That you exist, not merely in my dreams.
“That night she was like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child, who all of a sudden realizes its powers and walks for the first time alone, boldly and with overconfidence. She could have shouted for joy. She did shout for joy, as with a sweeping stroke or two she lifted her body to the surface of the water. A feeling of exultation overtook her, as if some power of significant import had been given her to control the workings of her body and her soul,” says Kate Chopin in The Awakening.
After a long, dormant existence, I am finally awake.
instead of feeling "alien-ish," today i feel more.. er.. "ghost-like" :(
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