THE IV / JULY 15,2010 =)

When I was a child, I used to wonder how on earth my parents got together. Mother and Father were as different as night and day, their interests as different as black and white.

Father would often joke, “Gumimick nga kami ng Mommy mo nung Friday!”, to which we would all react, quite surprised, “Talaga?! Sa’n kayo nagpunta?”

Laughing, he’d reply, “Ako, sa Glorietta. Siya…ah…ewan, sa simbahan yata.”

Wahahaha. Nice one.=D

Now, I never really understood how their dynamics worked (although the vast difference in their temperament and personalities did make for some pretty “interesting” conversations). When I was young, I tended to think of love and marriage in terms of rainbows and roses. I used to think marriage ought to be about two people who finished each other’s sentences, who walked hand-in-hand everywhere they went, who loved the same things, who hated the same things. Marriage ought to be about people who did everything together. My parents weren’t like that, and I used to wonder, actually, how they could’ve lasted as long as they did. I suppose with friendship and puppy love as the only real benchmark for human relationships, I tended to think back then, well, if you didn’t like doing the same things, you’d look for other people to call as friends, right? Why on earth would you marry someone whose tendency is to go East when your clear preference is to go West?

Then I met the Hubby, got married and all of a sudden, kaboom!

I realize now it’s because you don’t really start out thinking that you live on opposite ends of the spectrum, or worse, that you may actually live in parallel universes. When the relationship is new, you find yourself willing to try just about anything. So you’d eat pesto for the first very time and declare it really good (even though in your mind, you’re practically eating grass). Or you’d take thrice a week tennis lessons (even though you know deep inside that you only enjoy tennis while planted horizontal on your couch as you watch Rafa deliver death by forehand). The list is endless, of course, but the point is this. As you try to learn more about this person who caught your fancy, you would inevitably want to take part in the things he/she enjoys. To get to know him/her better, I suppose. To find out if you’d enjoy doing the same things too, maybe. And because you technically still live in different houses, there really is never enough time to try out everything. This Friday, we would do what you want. On Saturday, let’s try out what I enjoy. Your friends, for the most part, declare you missing-in-action. For the most part, hopefully, they also understood.

The thing is, in the process, you find out that there is more to this other person than the things he/she likes doing. Things like ambition. Like diskarte. Like a sense of humor. Like kindness. Like love of family. Like love.

And then you decide that you like enough of what you see.

So you make the leap of all leaps.

You get married.

To have and to hold. From this day forward until death do you part.

Thing is, after the wedding inevitably comes the marriage, and you find yourself settling in a place where you have all the time and freedom in the world to do “couple stuff”. And, initially, you do try to still do everything together. Until you begin to realize after the nth tennis match, that hitting a yellow fuzzy ball really isn’t your thing and that you’d rather just stay home and read a good book. Until you begin to realize after the nth pasta dish that, unless it’s the hotdog and ketchup variety, pasta does not really float your boat and that all you really want is good, old sinigang.

So your world begins to open up again. Of course you have to make sure that you do enough together on a regular basis (otherwise, you run the risk of ending up as two mere boarders forced to live in the same house), but, really, after a while, you realize that it’s OK to meet up with other friends who genuinely love tennis as much as you do. After a while, you decide that’s it’s really OK to eat out with other folks who, like you, find real comfort in a plate of Aglio Olio and a good round of crostini with spinach dips. After all, it would be a sad, sorry life to live if you had to give up everything you used to enjoy when you were single just so you could do "only the things you can do together with your spouse".

The point, I suppose, is this. Even as you open up your world to include other people again, you inevitably go home.

A boyfriend/girlfriend is there as a gimmick bud (with benefits) who can technically be replaced when the going gets tough (or boring)—which is why a husband/wife ought to count for something more than a hobby-mate.

Every cliché in the book is practically true.

More than just someone to do things with, your spouse is your anchor. Your north. Your light in the darkness. Your rock.

Never mind that you now occasionally play tennis with other people or that you now get your pasta fix with someone else. The thing is, these people and you, no matter how good your friendship is, go your separate ways at the end of the day. So while they commiserate with you in times of trouble and toast to you in times of success, at the end of meal (or the game, for that matter), they go home to a life separate from yours with its own set of worries and its own set of celebrations. They go home to a life where your stories are only incidental and someone else’s concern is king.

Only your spouse is bound to you in a way that makes your worries his/her own (whether he/she wants it to be so or not). Only your spouse is bound to you in a way that makes your success his/her own. He/she lives your life like you do, in the same way you live his/her life. There is no escaping it. And, no, it is not an automatic grant that magically comes with that little piece of paper that you signed. Beyond legalities and societal expectations, it is borne out of a deep sense of personal commitment.

To be each other’s anchor. Each other’s north. Each other’s light in the darkness. Each other’s rock. Every single day. No matter what.

Beyond finishing each other’s sentences, beyond walking everywhere hand-in-hand, beyond choosing to be on the same side of every argument, beyond loving the same things, beyond hating the same things, beyond doing everything together, that is the essense of marriage.

In the movie “Shall We Dance”, Susan Sarandon’s character delivered one of the most profound lines I’ve ever heard in cinema. It was definitely not foremost in my mind when I took the leap, but the moment I heard it, it struck a chord because I appreciated the truth behind it.

To the question, “Why is it do you think that people get married?”, she replied:

“Because we need a witness to our lives. There’s a billion people on the planet. I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you’re promising to care about everything. The good things. The bad things. The terrible things. The mundane things. All of it. All the time. Every day. You’re saying your life will not go unnoticed, because I will notice it. Your life will not go on unwitnessed, because I will be your witness.”

When I was a child, I used to wonder how on earth my parents got together. Mother and Father were as different as night and day, their interests as different as black and white.

Then I met the Hubby.

Took the leap. Got married.

Today, four years to the day I walked down the aisle, I finally understood.


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Happy 4th anniversary, Sweetie! Here’s to more years of noticing and witnessing. Kahit na ayaw mo na kumain ng pesto at ayaw ko nang mag-tennis. Haha. ;p