A foiled plan

So his sis and I decided that we'd scream out his name when he passed through the airport exit door.

We stood there on tiptoe, craning our necks to see over the wooly hair of a middle-aged lady who kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, blocking our view like an undecided pendulum. Our calves began to hurt then, and it felt like we'd been standing in stilettos. He came when we had grown tired of expecting the next person to be him. And poof went our POA...coz while we had planned to shout out his name, neither of us could even manage an "Oh!" So all we did was swing our upraised arms in every possible direction and hop like thirsty birds who'd just caught the first drop of rain.

And then that smile from him.

A foiled plan has never tasted blissful before.

This is ridiculous! I have tummy butterfiles just because he's coming home tonight...well, yeah it is after seven months and all. But I'm 25! This is prepubsecent behavior.

Gaaaah! I can't read a single line of this document that's lying on my desk without stopping for a wistful glance outside the window (and the most pathetic part is that this window overlooks grimy traffic and asbestos-roofed houses). Ridiculous, I tell you. I really should be more mature.

Concentrics

Swirling swishing heap of dont-know-what
circing raging about
refusing to settle like
a diseased fly
intent on spreading ill
so noiseless thought bubbles
empty my head

I wish I could do something to make time run faster.

Another voyage. Another 7 months apart.

Random Thoughts

It's been a while. I just haven't felt like leaving my cocoon and filling thought bubbles with words. I've just felt like hiding behind the mask of normalcy and keeping all signs of what's within, within. What was I to say? That I'm missing him and I can't wait till he gets back? Well, saying it isn't gonna poke a spear into Time's behind and hurry him on. So no point in going there.

Oh alright, let's get out of this melancholia and talk about sunnier things.

I'm having a great time professionally. I work in the perfect place. Growing up, I could never decide if I wanted to be a teacher, a wordsmith, or an event manager (I didn't think of this in exactly those words--the phrase didn't exist then). But I loved doing all of these. I'd help my friends with studies after school, I'd write for and edit the school mag and various locals mags, and I'd orgainze all sorts of events from a school function to a city-level event.

Never once did I think that I'd get to do all of this and get paid handsomely for it. Until I joined this place. I'm an editor, a trainer, a content developer, an organizer--all of this and more fulfilled than I thought possible.

To top it off, I have the kind of friends that normally take years to find--sincere and supportive. What more could a girl ask for? Hmmm, that her boyfriend come home, I guess :) That too will be...soon. And then my perfect ville will be complete.

Arranging love

So a matchmaker calls and tells your parents that she (matchmakers are mostly women; imagine men arranging marriages...they'd fail before they began) has a 'good' boy in mind for you.

Does not smoke, does not drink, earning like hell, and very tall and nice-looking.

And your parents are already calculating the wedding expenses.

Do these 'arranged marriages' work? Well, much as I would like to yell myself hoarse and say they don't, they apparently do. Of course, we don't know what happens behind those walls...but that holds for 'love marriages' as well.

The love marriage vs. arranged marriage debate is entertaining if you want to sit down and relax in the lunchroom a little while longer so you don't have to get back to work. But it's pointless. Either way, you marry a person you don't really know. You could be in love for 10 years and yet not know how things will turn out. Yes, there are more chances of knowing a person when you're in love...but it's still a chance.

Let me clarify. I don't mean to say I'm okay with arranged marriages...not for one millionth of a nanosecond. I think the concept itself is all wrong. Arranging love! How do you do that? (Let's not get into how we 'set up' our friends with each other :)) But arranged or love, marriage is still a gamble. And the stakes are the same. Always was...always will be. Of course, the only difference is that when you're in love, it's a gamble worth taking.

Alone again

In April, we took long walks--holding hands when no one looked. After a long day at work, it was rejuvenating to see him waiting for me at the railway station with that toddler smile he wears. He'd slip his arm about me and tell me how he loved me. And suddenly, I wouldn't be tired anymore.

In May, we'd try to catch the last light of day and watch the blue-n-white puffs melt into orange and black. We knew time was at our heels, so we caught every fleeing moment and held on a little longer.

In June, the rain brought news...he would be gone by the end of the month. It was tempting to brood about how I'd miss him, but then, as he says, I'd be missing out on the moments we had together. In the car on the way to the airport, he held my palm in his and his eyes said all that was needed and more.

April's yellow buds, May's green carpets and June's silver drops have gone. So has my Pirate. And here I am...alone again. And yet, with him.

It's amazing! Even with a world of words, it's impossible to articulate the essence of feeling. How could I possibly trap the warmth and security and tingling that fuse into a shaky yet stable feeling surging through me each time I look into his eyes and see my love there?

It's like I'm sitting at a fireplace and being hugged by the comfort of the flames. It's like tiptoeing the edge of a precipice with a wonderful view, without the fear of falling. It's like having the first raindrops splash on my palm. It's...it's what his love makes me...throbbing with life and love and goodness. He makes me wanna love, give, be.

I have his picture on my computer. It's a b&w picture of him as a 2 year-old baby. Adorable. A week ago when I looked at it, I thought how sweet it would have been if I could have placed a kiss on his forehead when he was a baby. In a flash came the thought that...

I wanted to tell him what I felt, so I messaged him that night, saying, 'I saw your baby pic and decided that I want...'

But I could not type further. I sent it as it was...incomplete. The next day and the next and the next, he kept asking me what that message was about. But I could not muster enough courage to say it out loud. Yesterday, I finally did.

We were sitting in the rickshaw. He had been urging me to tell him what it was. So I began, 'When I saw your baby picture that night...you looked so cute...' Unable to go on, I buried my face in his shoulder. He laughed softly. 'Tell me, Jes.'
'I thought that...'
Gosh! This was so hard to spell out.
He nodded encouragingly, 'Hmmm?'
I closed my eyes for a moment, then looked him straight in the eye and blurted out, 'I want my son to look just like you.'

Neither of us could speak for a while after that. He whispered something like 'sweetheart' and held me close, saying, 'It sounds so sweet when you say it. I really wanted to hear it from you.'

It was one of those moments that only silence can articulate. Your throat gets a stone in it. And all you can do is hold each other close ... and hope that that lil' boy will indeed look like him.