WHEN one is deeply in love, the brain takes backseat. Reason is shot. Decisions are anchored on a good feeling. If the relationship didn’t work, ah--blunder! Or, maybe both are cool... but love tricked lovers into believing that they’re meant to be together because it felt good for three minutes.
LOVE, or whatever we call that sweet nudge within is a seed. Whether I feel it after a shared candlelit dinner, random kiss, an intimate warmth at night. Whether I felt it after 2 days, 2 months, 2 years… this seed needs to be nurtured and cared for on a daily basis. When I feel that seed in me, I need to say it—I need to. When I do, that means I want that seed to grow…
WHAT’s perpetually interesting and intriguing about most women is—they are so multi-dimensional. They drain men’s patience a lot but it’s always a psychological/mental test to keep pace with their reflex and responses. So it’s fun, in the end… Unlike most men, they are very emotionally upfront—and although that sensibility/sensitivity ebbs and flows, at least I can see it coming right in front of my face. They are so moved by life that it’s almost impossible not to be drawn to one, at least.
WE always ask, “Do we still believe in love?” Well, I always write love poems—because I like to chronicle my experiences about the love thing through my words. But “love” isn’t about feeling so starry-eyed and floating in clouds anymore… It is now about just being there, being present—sharing a quiet dinner, watching movies legs on hips, ruminations by two on the bed on a Sunday morning, short drive in the mountains talking of good old days. Just being present means so much…
LOVE and friendship are most sublime when she’s beside you… When you’re sick, she surrenders control of the TV remote; when you lose a ball game, she’ll hug you: “You’ll win the next game, chipmunk!” When you’re on writers block, she’d listen to your incoherent rambling or hours of silent spell; when you’re broke, she’d offer to pay for Netflix… or when you get a correct guess on Jeopardy, she’d celebrate with you…WE ARE so fixated with the immaculate pledges of LOVE… When sexual intimacy’s euphoric heat and passion’s sweetest words have subsided—what do we see? The rough textures of spent bodies… Do we still listen when broken promises are swept by the quiet sincerity of mere presence, when passion’s sweat has been dried by time? Do we still touch when the words “I love you” are translated by just a sincere look in the eyes?
LOVE, in its most pristine and noble state, is mostly pursued in unpleasant, uncomfortable situations and circumstances. Like the Beast grappling for ways to overcome darkness to show the light of his heart to his Beauty; like a lamb offering shelter to a serpent amidst a storm in the woods; like “fighting for the right without question or pause—to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause.” Love is not about claiming a prize on journey’s end. It is about taming each other and healing together at a desert stop…
LOVE is crazy, insane. A hook, drug, intoxication… Dramatic bombast. Insistent, persistent madness! I was bewitched, bothered and bewildered—torn, shattered, broken—in so many occasions, I lost count. But then, I’d rather be in love than not. Not being in love is just soooo boring.
I PONDER relationships… How my parents were able to hold on to marriage for more than 60 years and nine children—despite my father’s many faults. My mom passed away 5 years ago still very much in love with my dad… How did love play up in those many years? I wonder… Will I ever know?
A MAN and a WOMAN are two distinct species that, when thrust together, friction is imminent. But like rational beasts in the jungle, survival needs usher coexistence. Although clash is expected, we must not accept that a man and a woman are in competitive mode each time they compromise to live as one. Things don’t work when one is deemed the oppressor and the other is the oppressed. Or is it a matter of interpretation? We evolved into super-conscious social/political animals that human relationships have become so complex.
SEX or other intimacies like kissing, cuddling, sharing dinner and laundry work together could usher a lasting relationship… But all these “primitive” display of human love and affection have been overtaken by focus on material security (ie “good credit” etc) and psychological wounds (ie failed past relationships). So gestures of intimacy are now mere leisure.
THE MAGICAL power of a long lingering kiss—or a flowing, unkempt sexual engagement—between lovers are often neglected or ignored. These singular gifts of intimacy pacify rage within, delay brewing tempests in people’s heart till the unease totally evaporates… these gifts of life heal and renew.
LOVE inspires me to write, it warms my heart… but I derive stronger motivation to write—from the dark side, cold pavements where the outcasts and the downtrodden thrive. My life finds more purpose if I feel deep in me that I’m writing for those people. I always remember the misery of what I saw—or experienced—when I was in my 20s and 30s… When I write, I also heal myself. Love poems heal me—but, deep in the night, I still struggle to recapture the agony of the past and then translate them in words. I write not because I love to write, I write because I NEED to write…
LOVE smells good. Most men don't have the nose for a woman’s scent because they only react to a hole, gets buried in there, then weakens like dead trees. Sometimes I’m guilty, as well. But love smells good—so dive in, swim, and explore. That's where you get the energy.
WE PERCH love in an immaculate pedestal. True love liberates the body and then the body seeks only the transcendent, the ethereal. Love makes us wallow in joy, warmth, pleasure—and then we fear losing them. Then we get scared that we may not be able to deserve such an immaculate pedestal—so we either maintain a distance from love or we set high standards… I want love when I am wounded, shattered, lost, and empty. Why would I need love when I am already happy?
THIS EERIE sexual politics. The preconceived, twisted notion that a man and woman on an intense attempt to forge a relationship is actually a competition on who dominates and controls: man over woman, or vice versa. Why can we just shut up—kiss, make love, then work out a life together?
AFTER years of life and love’s trials and tribulations, adventures and misadventures… relationships boil down to tolerance, respect and compromise. Smart words have already been said, truths have been explored, intimacy has evolved into belonging. This time, we seek that special someone who could share simple blessings of togetherness: share a quiet dinner, same bath towel, same garden gloves… two bodies on a tiny couch, two sets of lips on one coffeecup, two minds on Jeopardy! Just having someone beside, around…
WHAT’s LEFT to pronounce and exalt when I’ve already explored all entrancing syllabications of love and loving? What is there to argue and contend when I’ve already runneth the cup of my sweet mischief and reckless serenades? How do I make her feel it, when this chest of marble and fire has already given way to twilight’s walk by the beach? How do you I make her feel the love when these lips of wine and roses have already dried up like a drop of vagrant rain upon a desert’s cheek? Nothing… I just hold her like she’s the last remaining leaf on an oak tree on a stormy night, like she’s the first gash of warmth on a snowy morning… These moments remain as my only hold on life and love as I struggle to walk my last mile to redemption and rest.
HOW DID the prehistoric swain communicate love to his muse—in the absence of language… hand signals, moans and grunts, eye contact? Despite the flood of words, ambiguity of literature, deluge of tools—to express love these days, somehow we can’t seem to nail it good, we always miss the mark.
I WANT to love like the rain… There’s certain honesty in the rain’s intensity and calm. It just falls, flows – because that’s how it naturally moves. That’s what it’s made to be, it frees and cleanses the soil – no reserve, no qualms. Although it could devastate, it also soothes—most especially, it doesn’t stray or falter beyond its destination. And once it pours, it couldn’t be stopped. It feeds and nourishes the earth… like love, the rain makes life active and alive. I want to love like the rain—undying and always present.
MOMENTS we spend with those we love--need not be justified. When we lose those moments, it could be the most tragic in life... When moments spent in bed is more of healing than release, when quality time with your kid is more of reassurance than a task. When presence matters more than provision…
WHEN life histories and love stories have already been washed away by blood, sweat and tears onto the sea, all that is left is the quiet wisdom of peaceful moments by the porch… Two newborn hearts clutched by wrinkled hands, as the sun sets and rises and love flows like gentle rain. [--notes from a wedding of elderly couple]
COUPLES generations ago seem to stay married for many years. These days, couples hook up so fast and then give up just as quickly. LOVE? Are we more guarded these days than before? Man vs woman gender war, more material possessions equal more bills or “security” doubts, inter-racial relationships...
RELATIONSHIPS? Complicated. You have to deal with insecurities, fears, doubts, moods, hormones etc. The more you open up and be honest, the more you blur the entire subject—so more insecurities, fears, doubts etc ensue. Bottomline, love the one you’re with. When she’s not there, she’s NOT there.
I AM an annoying romantic. I always say “I love you” and I write love poems to her everyday… I serenade her with Air Supply songs and roses. I like candlelit dinners and hours and hours of goofing around like Popeye and Olive Oyl on midnight tryst by the sea. But I hate “Sleepless in Seattle,” no way!
INTIMACY at this stage—is that elusive peace following a long protracted bout with a thousand tempests. Healing moments, redemption time—like shared lemonade at the edge of a railway track after a long walk in the woods… where two naked bodies that when rubbed together, produces lasting warmth than fleeting heat. Where a kiss is enough to assure a beautiful day and a quiet night.
BEYOND irksome stereotypes that flirtation figures when men approach women, we also tend to underplay the fact that men prefer to work with women because, among other things, women have ears and hearts for emotional stuff—which makes work more human than functional…
LOVE has its own way of negotiating curves leading to a straight line... Loving someone doesn’t mean one gives up his/her dream in favor of the other's. Love is a partnership of two distinct creatures with different dreams, whose ultimate goal is the same: a peaceful afternoon by the porch enjoying the sunset. Happy together.
AGE brings us to our inner god. When scars of sorrows commune with joyful calm—in the quiet bliss of moments by the porch with the one we love, watching the sun sets and rises... as the churches and dogmas of our mind all break down to mere pebbles on the sand, washed away to the endless sea…
I SAY “I love you” in moments when I seem to be lost in intimate bliss, than having to say it following a thorough deliberation of such a strong affection and personal attachment. Love should not be analyzed at all. It’s abstract. Enjoy it while it’s in there. If I still feel it after a day or 10 years after, good deal!
LOVE is beautiful on its blossoming—at the heat of sexual intimacy. But pleasures deceive. Love nourishes if there’s mutual respect and recognition of flaws and faults, and the patience to help each other be better individuals. Love is not a constant; it matures as two people grow together… But all this loving feeling is not a picnic at all. When she says, get out! Would you stay? When she screams at your face, would you just keep quiet—and hug her? If you do, then… you love her.
THE HEALING strength of sexual intimacy between two human beings has subsided in favor of immediate needs of an electronic life that has gone quicksilver fast. The sweet scent of the body’s pristine imperfections has been washed away by a synthetic society that scrutinizes with laser eyes than through a heart the feels a beautiful human need. I wish we can hold, hold tight like it’s always the first time… kiss like we are surrendering to the sea in one sweep of bliss…
THERE’s so much to enjoy in a man-woman interaction: two living things which seem to be different from each other yet they have the ability to get along pretty good. There’s so many stuff and things to do together: Cook new dishes, explore the woods, build a tree house, laundry and vacuum, navigate uncharted roads, write music, watch a movie, cuddle by a bonfire, start a community project, produce a concert, nourish a farm… discuss, debate, argue, agree, make up, make out—and make love.
WE ARE so paranoid about trust, so obsessed with the word “control,” wary about security, extra-careful about finding Mr or Miss Right. Yet it is so freakin’ easy to hook up and get naked and do sex… or give up trying and break up after an argument who should pay Netflix or buy the 6-pack.
WHEN I FEEL love at any stage of my interaction with a woman, I always say I love her—while sharing dinner, sitting on a park bench, watching TV, doing the laundry, buying groceries, making love. It’s a mantra. It keeps me going, it makes me take care of that beautiful feeling each moment of the day.
RELATIONSHIPS are like snow. The grey vibe offers peace. It may also induce sadness and sow isolation. It is cold, dim—but it is also intimate. If a relationship’s winter froze survives, spring would be a blessing. Seeds are nurtured on springtime… If seeds manage to survive—the heart’s seasons of life and loving would be easy. But not many seeds live through winter—so we have to keep on trying.
LOVE is hugely overrated yet grossly undermined. We are so obsessed with testing the limits of “love” as an ideal, a transcendent end—like, it can be had with a kiss. At the same time, we make fun of the word—and mouth pledges in front of Elvis clowns on a drive-by “church” in a gambling city, or profess everlasting devotion with an expensive ring—as though that stone seals love… How things get so complex and so nonsensical when all that matters is—you’re still together after 50 years?
BEAUTIFUL MOMENTS of intimacy are either lost or nurtured—it depends on how we handle words to confirm, validate or remember those moments. The human need to connect in a most sincere way is often derailed by nagging pressures to justify or rationalize these gestures... A lingering kiss preludes a longer touch, a quiet dinner introduces a soothing conversation, friendship gives way to romance. How’d we know if a sweet nudge in our heart means love? Or a random gaze by a speeding train is equal to a meeting? Or a passionate night shared may mean mornings of warmth? Isn’t it sweeter to expect good things emerging from two people sharing moments than anticipating broken hearts? Otherwise, why connect at all?
WOMEN are intriguing caves of mysteries; sweet enticements that hint of contradictions upon contradictions of puzzling reflex. It is impossible to read them because they keep on evolving and revolving… I grew up with women around me: My grandmothers who imbued in me the passion for cooking; my mom who left me mindboggling lessons of unswerving love. My childhood was surrounded by women: writing coach, schoolteacher, househelper, neighbors. All my first editors were women. And then, I have four sisters and three daughters…. Women ignite the fire in me, at the same time—they douse me just like that. And they do it over and over and over again. Without women, I will never know what love (or life) was…
THE SINCEREST moments that I deeply cherish with the woman that I love were not those obligatory sweet gestures that are expected during anniversaries or Valentines. Not even those instances when I tried so hard to overcome my insecurities or reassure her my faithfulness by saying “I love you.” The moments that I keep so dearly in my heart are these: when I wipe away tears off her eyes when she’s sad, when I help her to bed when she’s sick, when I slip a short poem on her car’s windshield as she starts her day, when I hush her complaints with a kiss when she feels low self-esteem, when I just hold her at night as she sleeps—and wonder if I could still be there, present in her dreams, ready to protect her, when a nightmare comes…
THE WIND extinguishes candles and provokes fires. Love is pretty much the same… Love is not a constant. It shifts moods, changes course—at times, it shakes like a seizure. I don’t believe humans have the ability to love wholeheartedly all the time because we are moved and governed by fluctuating reflexes and unpredictable vulnerabilities. But then, when respect and trust are forged within and takes root in a relationship—no strong wind could bend love. Instead, challenges only heighten devotion and faithfulness…
I WISH the 5-second orgasm lasts from dusk till dawn. I couldn’t imagine spending moments with the one I love without holding her like she’s gentle fire than doesn’t burn, only warms; looking at her deep in the eyes like that’s where I could find directions home; kissing her like the searing moistness and playful frolic of mouth to mouth negate the 100 love poems and 1,000 promises that I could scrounge out of my beaten chest… I always try to define love but never got close to feeling it and sharing it in the absence of words…
HOW do we translate the intensity and depth of our love to the person we are with—when material acquisitions like diamond rings and bouquets of roses and 100 poems don’t suffice? It is only through sexual intimacy: the kiss that lingers through the dark of night, the touch that stays through the cold of winter, the passionate, naked intertwine that heals wounds and renews hopes and dreams. But how could we hold on to that glorious gift—when, most often than not, we view such connection as merchandise over the counter and clinches that could easily wear out till the next hook-up?
THERE’s something in a kiss, a long lingering kiss—that reassures, redeems, and reenergizes. For me, this is the most private and passionate gesture of human intimacy. When sexual fire has subsided and all fleshly manifestations of the most virulent projection of love or lust have fizzled—the kiss remains and stays and then the kiss replenishes and provokes heat again… So don’t underestimate or underplay the kiss. Without the kiss, love wouldn’t be able to fully channel its ethereal and undying message…
YOUTH’s romantic recklessness… seems like only yesterday. How sexual virulence burned chests and loins as masculine ego frolicked with playful adventurism and sheer body heat. You swept those hips off the floor with just a wave of your hand, aided by a searing poetic bravado that now—seemed so stupid and senseless. So wasted and lost… Now, you find shelter in her voice—wafting like gentle waves upon a weary sand, waking you up from stupor. Now, you derive warmth from her sleepy head rested on your beaten chest. And her kiss lingers through, the warmth stays in you—like it’s your only ticket to happiness. Love’s prodigal heart has gone home, and stayed.
DO WE REALLY believe in “…Till death us do part”? Yes, I believe in love, but I also believe that we tend to exalt love like it’s the ultimate response to everything within and around a relationship. Hence, we wallow on a transcendent dream and accept that love is forever and ever… But love is a continuum. A two-way process, a flowing intangible. Love is reinforced by presence, by being there… It is an acceptance of who we are and what we could be within a compromise; a sweet resolution borne out of constant negotiation. But then, how many of us could go past an argument and not be derailed by fears of: “Ah, this reminds me of the failures of the past?” Why can’t we just say: “Before this slides to what it was, we’re going to fix this…”
WE TEND to regard love like a ball that we could bounce around to our most pleasurable amusement and insatiable thirst for perfection. We bounce it to and fro, up and down—until it loses steam and air inside and just fizzle out… TRUST is the steam and air inside this ball called love. Overwork the steam/air inside, one way or the other the ball will pfft out, kaput. Love dies… Do we have to keep on pushing TRUST to its limits, perpetually asking the drained and tired inquisition: “Do you really love me? If you do, then why don’t you trust me?” The ball has it purpose for longevity and endurance—other than bouncing it like a rubber toy. Just keep the ball… let love stay.
COMPLICATED… Why say, “I am seeing someone,” or “going out with,” or “dating her,” or “engaged to be married.” Why not say, “I love her and I want to be with her the rest of my life”? When people ask, why say, “She’s my friend” or “I live with her”? If you love her, then she’s either your girlfriend or wife. So say it. Why categorize feelings as in: Serious and not serious, “I love you” and “I love you but I am not in love with you”? The strange part of all these is—SEX figures within, it’s the constant. If we could just throw in “sex” in whatever levels and labels of relationship we are in, how do we delineate “making love” from “fucking”? Why waste the pristine beauty of two naked bodies intertwined in passion and love?
RELATIONSHIPS are naturally flawed, yet sincerely human. Yet there are many sweet little things that are scattered randomly around it that makes us cling on. It’s not how many times “I love you” was said, or how many ceremonies were held to proclaim devotion. If you ask me, most of these are bullshit, anyway… What matters are those two sets of soiled boots that both of you wore on intervals as you plowed the backyard garden; the familiarity with the smell of pillow cases that stays as both mind the day’s business away from the bedroom; the birthdays and anniversaries and Christmases—or those moments when you just needed her, silent or grumpy—beside you. Intimacy stays in the heart, presence nourishes love… these make us stay.
MY HEART is bruised, bloodied. I stumbled and crawled. But I got up each time… Ah, this virulent determination and unswerving insistence. But then, aren’t we all “un-learning” warriors in this battlefield of love? It’s unlikely for the heart to close its door—because it is naturally wide open like a proud window that is never closed to rain, snow or wind. Our rational mind coaxes the heart to quit, but we don’t. I don’t. This time though, love isn’t a battlefield anymore… It’s more a slow walk by the seaside. Moments of remembrance, moments when we give and receive love with just a sincere gaze or a kiss on a cheek and a quiet night on the couch, watching the silliest TV show… We finally live love because our heart finally came home.
HOW we waste the words “I love you”—as we allow our heart to get lost deep in the ocean of our rational and reasonable minds. Pleasure and joy from giving and receiving love, as is—are ambushed by incessant fears of failure. We are clouded by the noisy workings of our insatiable craving for only the good and the nice. Love is ambushed by political correctness, sexual politics and cultural insensitivity. I wish love is sealed by just a kiss, and a look in the eyes. No explanations, no apologies—just the presence of the one we love beside us... But it doesn’t work that way. We explain our feelings and justify our emotions—and then we doubt its reality, as it beats in us.
SOMETIMES we so idealize and romanticize LOVE that we tend to test its limits and endurance. We often anchor devotion to a relationship through unswerving trust and unmitigated faithfulness… We are not satisfied with the words, “I love you” or mere presence of the person we love… We sometimes dare, “If you love me, you will…” or we let doubts intervene, “I think you don’t really trust me…” But love is sufficient unto itself. It is already gigantic in its own simplicity… but it is still fragile and it might break if we often choose to leave it amidst rain or snow just because we want to test if it will last the challenge?
LOVE is surrender, it is just letting go—acceptance with a hand that is wide open, like a door that is never closed. It welcomes, it reassures by holding—but it doesn’t grip… because hearts should breathe. It derives life from beating in consonance with another heart, like two bodies that ignite warmth and heat while they move in rhythm with their need and longing… Love is both the victory and defeat of words—since words are sufficient and insufficient to describe and express pain and pleasure that come in loving and being loved…
A SONG says, “I love you in a world where is no space or time…” Yet we oftentimes refuse to let love be as it is: a lingering abstraction that shouldn’t be measured or quantified at all. It just happens. Love, or whatever we call that sweet nudge within the confines of our heart, is a seed. It is not possible to place it in a box; it must be freed in the open and allowed to grow. Whether we feel it after a shared candlelit dinner or reading of a poem, whether we felt it after 2 days, 2 months, 2 years—this seed needs to be nurtured and cared for on a daily basis by being there. Presence—those are the moments when the words, “I love you” find its home…
LOVE launched a thousand ships, albeit sponsored by Verizon and Hallmark. Love is a many splendored thing—adorned with De Beers diamonds flashing with Bellagio’s dancing fountain... We proclaim our allegiance to love with pricey bombast and unbelievable pageantry that we usually understate what really matters. I prefer the budget home-cooked dinner lit by thrift store candles, two sets of intertwined limbs warming each other with an old Bogart movie, “I love you” that sneaks out of moist lips and scribbled on stick-on pads and grocery receipts…
ALL those failed relationships… We can only sigh, “I could’ve tried harder… but words got in the way.” How many lost loves could have survived—if only fights didn’t turn ugly. But then, was there a relationship that hasn’t been tarnished by difficulties? What if we weren’t really serious, or we took for granted those burning sexual intimacies that warmed cold vacuums at night? Then it was so easy not to feel insecure… But we do fall in love, and I commend those who carried on—despite nagging sexual politics that pits man and woman in war of attrition and power play. Love, I believe, doesn’t measure or calculate, analyze or intellectualize—it just flows and feeds. It endures. It can only be defined by feeling and sharing it, just because…
I LIKE to be in love. It makes me feel so alive, unaffected, and sweetly stupid. I believe in her like everything is bullshit and she’s the only truth I know. I kiss her like those are stolen moments at late nights, as I climbed walls to get to her window. I am so annoyingly insecure like I fear I’m going to lose her to a stud named Cheerios because she spent too much time in a grocery to buy a box of tampons while I wait for 5 minutes in the car… I like being in love because I am assured that I feel for another person—other than me—in a crazy but sweet way, after all.
HOW many times we tried and failed to shut down or numb our heart after it got terribly broken and bloodied—scared for love to lose again… But then, like the mind that ceaselessly ponders and rationalizes reflex and response, it’s impossible to stop the heart’s ability to feel. No matter how many times we suffer from shattered valentines, as long as we live and interact with humanity—the heart will always gravitate to pleasure and succumb to pain. So might as well leave it wide open, feel the breeze, touch fire—and hope that this time, love wins.
THE MAGICAL power of a long lingering kiss, or a flowing albeit unkempt sexual engagement, are often neglected or ignored these days—or consigned as just passing fancy… We have become skeptical with the longevity or endurance of relationships that we tend to compartmentalize interactions (usually with sex thrown in) in categories or levels, as in—going out with, seeing someone, dating him/her, engaged, it’s just sex etc… It’s so easy to say, “I love you,” and then afterwards, we say, “I love you but I am not in love with you…” But it’s all very simple: Sexual intimacy pacifies rage within, delay brewing tempests in people’s hearts… It heals.
RELATIONSHIPS can still be lovely and intimate in its trivial sweetness and easy simplicity. You see, the blues can be funky in this life and living gig—so be it. But I like to play it cool. I want to be with someone who could laugh with me over a silly Adam Sandler movie, share my $25 and splurge at a Goodwill Outlet, sit by an outdoor café bench and marvel at beautiful humanity without the rants and raves over politics and stuff. I let my writing throw a punch at an oppressive society sometimes, but when I am in love… I just wanna get down and rock.
WHEN I observe elderly couples who’ve been together for decades—walking hand in hand or seated by a park bench or sharing dinner… I am on endless marvel at the sublime beauty of such human familiarity and spiritual intimacy that they share. Would they talk about politics or religion or global cultural changes? Not much, I guess—but they have a passionately loving way at chatting in little grumbles and persistent whispers how they miss the grandkids and how good the chicken casserole or how lovely the sunset and peaceful snow flurries are…
WHEN relationships fail, we often believe that love is lost… But maybe, it’s not. We left because of love—we need to set free the person we love, so she/he could find fulfillment somewhere. Love, despite its sublimity, isn’t enough to keep a relationship. There are more practical exigencies of life and living that come ahead… Humans have so many needs. If love alone couldn’t suffice, we have to let go. That’s the time love becomes sublime—when our pain doesn’t matter as much as we do in regards the other person’s joy.
TODAY’s a LOVE day. There’s always a specific day to pronounce devotion, exalt memories, celebrate birthing. Long time ago, tribal rituals served to accentuate life’s good stuff: harvest season, coming of rain, peace truce, welcome to visitors. It’s always cool to have a day as reminder of beautiful gifts of humanity that we may have forgotten or ignored… But how all these change. There’s always an obligatory consumer product or commercial pitch that come with all these. Seems like love can only be shared today, on good credit…
THE BEST gifts of intimacy are the cornier confections: Two hands that sweat together while clutched, two sets of lips on a single coffeecup, two different hair strands on skirmish on an unkempt bed, his hand chops onions while hers wipes his silly tears away, her mouth swallows melting ice cream while his tongue licks drippings on her chin, shoulder to shoulder on a 14-hour Greyhound ride, long wet kisses that last till both slide to sleep, he writes her a poem on the couch as she embroiders him winter gloves across the room—as Schubert wafts along…
Ah, LOVE… A glance at a subway stop, a rose that melts a stone’s resolve within the internet’s confines, a sincere persistence the sends reasonable doubt to smithereens… The Beast reveals a sensitive humanity to his Beauty. The Phantom betrays his heart’s beautiful face to the muse of the Opera. Indeed, it is only through the heart where we could see clearly. Yet, what is clear as blue sky to LOVE is simply a romantic blur to REASON. A moment of love’s sweet shenanigans feels like a hundred years; a hundred years is simply a moment. How weird could that be?
A SINCERE heart that beats true love doesn’t usually see an impending avalanche of cold or onrushing mayhem from a speeding train. It just relies on the truth of the matter: Love conquers all… Love never falters or compromises or doubts. The heart negotiates a one-way highway with unrelenting focus and commitment that it defies huge humps and red lights along the road… That’s the very reason why, I still believe, the loves that I lost are those that I believed I could have kept in a glass globe and secured from battering rain and scorching heat.
WE ALWAYS ask, “Do we still believe in love?” Well, I always write love poems—because I like to chronicle my experiences about the love thing through my words. Those love poems calm my lingering anger down… But “love” isn’t about feeling so starry-eyed and floating in clouds anymore… It is now about just being there, being present—sharing a candlelit dinner, watching movies legs on hips, ruminations by two on the bed on a Sunday morning, short drive in the mountains talking of good old days. Just being present means so much… I’ve never felt so alone in my life—when I am not with the woman that I love. The oak tree in me crumbles into torn leaves of grass.
A MAN and a WOMAN are two distinct species that, when thrust together, friction is imminent. But like rational beasts in the jungle, survival needs usher coexistence. Although clash is expected, we must not accept that a man and a woman are in competitive mode each time they compromise to live as one. Things don’t work when one is deemed the oppressor and the other is the oppressed. Or is it a matter of interpretation? We evolved into super-conscious social/political animals that human relationships have become so complex. Why can’t love be an endless ballroom dance and not a boisterous battlefield?
LOVE is a many splendored thing... Whatever that meant—it is never sufficient to describe love’s intoxicating madness, its untraceable texture, its toxic sweetness. But without love, where would sexual intimacy anchor its nourishment, where would warm familiarity utter its gentle words? So we grapple for ways and means to secure that love stays in us. Hence, we over-explain ourselves, and fumble with the correct definition of our sincerity and devotion… But then, can we just love and let it flow—without too much analyses and logic? It’s a feeling—like a seed, it grows faster and sturdier when left under the care of nature’s loving and patient hands.
THE WORDS “I love you” flowed off our mouths while drowned in sexual heat. We heard these same words in one moonlit night, and then taken back as morning shower washed sweats away. How many times? I lost count… But I remember when she held my hand so tight, in between life and death, blood streaming out of my mouth… I heard her say a prayer as I lost consciousness. When I woke up, she was still holding my hand so tight… And I remember when she came to me with tears on her eyes—broken hearted and drunk. She threw up and passed out. I cleaned her up, wiped her tears, bathed her, changed her clothes, put her to bed—and watched her all night…. The words “I love you” were never said or heard in those moments—yet I knew how love felt.
