Golden Anniversary

We stood behind the doors, waiting and anticipating.

My heart was beating fast in anticipation and nervousness of what was to come, and of what may c*ck up. One of my hands, fingers icy cold, was held warm and firm in yours, while my other was tucked between the folds of my gown.

We shared a nervous smile and moments later, as if on cue, the doors opened wide. We began our walk down the red carpet in slow steps, and amidst the applause and glittery confetti, walked towards a new beginning in life.

That was ten years ago.

A million steps later, we have arrived at a milestone. Our Golden anniversary.

Looking back, that first step that we had planted together on the red carpet ten years ago, signified the beginning of our journey as husband and wife. In the space of the last decade, we have evolved and grown in so many ways, moving forward together, one event and one grey hair at a time. 

We have witnessed the passing of several of our loved ones and mourned for the loss of them. We celebrated the births of our beatiful children, and watched as they stumble and fall, and made progress at their own pace.  

Our lives also changed. Over the past ten years, there were some changes that were big, and others that were small. Our progression from a couple to parenthood made the most drastic changes to our lifestyle. Nights out that lasted till the wee hours and glorious sleep ins till noon have become quiet nights in and early rises in the mornings laden with responsibilities. 

Eating out no longer meant a table for two at a cosy corner. Instead, we looked out for places that were big and child friendly, and had clean baby chairs. Every meal revolved around the presence of wet wipes, hand sanitisers and plastic forks and spoons. 

Some of our characteristics were also transferred onto each other. Initially polar opposites, the gradual rubbing off each other over the years have caused the differences to somehow, meld together. Some of my likes became yours, and some of your dislikes became mine. 

You lost your ability to detect the off putting smell of pork, while I gained your sense of sensitivity in meat products. You, the ‘chinaman’, could now tolerate more bread in your diet, while I a previous bread-lover, became a fan of rice. The differences were subtle, and yet huge considering how far we both started out initially at opposite ends of the spectrum.

After 10 years, we have become, in your words, 老夫老妻了. There is no more a need for showy displays of love and affection. In my personal dictionery, little thoughtful acts and sacrifices that you do for me, matter much more than flowers, presents and lavish dining. (Although I do enjoy a good gorge-out at buffets from time to time.) These simple, everyday acts are what love is to me.

Love is all these and more.

Love is being the one that gets up earlier on weekends to keep an eye on the kids, so that I can sleep in a little later.

Love is fetching me to and fro, even if it means forsaking sleep after coming home from work at 5 am.

Love is always letting me have the bathroom first, no matter how hot and tired you are.

Love is giving me that only piece of dumpling in your bowl of noodles.

Love is offering me the cheeks of your fishead - the tenderest part of all, and helping to de-shell the prawns and crabs.

Love is sharing everything on a plate, right down to that egg on the plate of mee rebus, and letting me have that last piece of potato chip.

Love is loving each others' parents, and showing appreciation and respect to them.

Love is buying me penang tau sar pia, (I love those!) even though you only went to KL.

Love is filling up the petrol tank when you see it getting low, even though I am the one that is using the car.

Love is your warm hand on mine, and our footsteps side by side.

Love is quiet, constant, steady.

Our milestone of ten years. Let's continue on our journey towards many more decades to come.

Happy Tenth Anniversary, my Darling.

I love you.

Imagine.

During one recent evening, L came to me holding onto two stones that she had randomly picked from downstairs. Two black stones rested in her little palms, as her eyes eager and bright, asked if I could 'turn these stones into diamonds' for her to put on her crown.

My little girl has asked some of the oddest questions before, but this one totally floored me. Although children often think the world of their parents and our ability to make wrong things right again, this was obviously beyond the parental 'superpowers' that I owned. 

I could kiss away the pain of cuts and bruises. 

I could soothe sadness and angry red rashes better.

I could dry tears and hug away fears.

I could fix broken toys and turn a frown into a smile. 

But there was no way I could turn rocks into diamonds.

I didn't know how to react. I wondered if I should chuckle at her silliness, or encourage her little mind of magic and fairytales. Should I explain the harsh fact of reality, or indulge in her sense of wonder? 

Her mannerisms reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago. A little girl that was me, when I was an eager believer in all things magical.

When I was a little girl, I adored Walt Disney's movies. I'd marvel in all the magic that each show contained, and secretly imagined that I was a princess. I remembered The Little Mermaid most vividly because it was the last movie that I caught in the string of Walt Disney shows. 

I'd cringed whenever Ursala came on, and loved all the songs sung by Ariel, specifically 'Part Of Your World'. I memorised all the lyrics and sang when I was in the shower or when I was alone. Whenever I went swimming, I would dive down to the bottom of the pool and imagined myself touching the ocean floor.

Somewhere in between, I also gravitated towards books. I read several titles here and there, some books by Roald Dahl, and coincidentally chanced upon books titled The Little Princess and The Little Prince to name a few. The contents of these books are recalled in varying degrees of vagueness. But all that I remembered reading were books of fiction and fantasy. 

Of all my books, I remembered most the books of Enid Blyton's Enchanted Wood and the Faraway Tree. I'd delight myself in their world and imagined what it would be like climbing up the tree to have tea with Moon-face and his friends, or visit whatever lands that swung by at the top.

As I grew a little older into secondary school, grades, school work and hanging out with friends took up a big part of my life. I read less until I didn't read anymore. And once I graduated into the world of adulthood, fiction and fantasy had totally lost its hold over me. Reality in all its glory and responsibilities had crowded into my life and stealthily elbowed away the ability to dream and to believe. 

In its place, performances and figures held importance. Issues like how I could get moving on in life held importance. Facing my father's impending passing, held importance. 

Time was constantly and ruthlessly moving onwards. There was none left to look back, and to stop and dream. I had lost myself in the world of reality, until I lost the ability to believe.

I should have encouraged her sense of magic and weaved a tale of how a fairy might come and turn those stones into diamonds if she was good. Instead, my trigger response then was to launch into an explaination on why it was impossible to turn stones into diamonds. I watched as she walked away disappointedly, instantly regretful to have killed off a portion of her sense of imagination with my grown-up response.

Growing up into a realistic adult is great. But she is barely only five years old and adulthood is far away still for her. I'm sure she could be indulged with more years of wondrous, magical imagination before growing older.

L's recent request was a reminder of the magical moments that I once believed in, and the imagination that I used to own. I had a lovely childhood and I'd want nothing less for her to own.

Now, how do I turn two stones into diamonds?